Read more of the Sandman Express poems.
except when he left
it mattered that
someone had stolen the barrel
and plucked out the wood like
a house of broken marionettes
it was a scene that played out
like a two-cent fiddle, a rhyme that
never rounded the bend, an unholy
landslide that broke through a
fat-barreled barricade and
blocked the Sandman from the
gates to that vibey oasis of
sunshine and hay, where all
the locals sat atop the leaves of
a great golden palm tree
sipping tequila and
catching dreams
the air hung low and the clouds clung to our
brows in a magnetic shade of blue as we
sailed over a ditch and through a neon waterfall,
that sly-eyed hippie mystic ghost grabbing
the reigns of the Sandman by both hands
while we hooked a left at a minecart crossing
and landed in a tub full of floating mushrooms
we were so close i could see it, the reflection
of that sparkling palm, as the sound of
Crosby, Stills & Nash rung out from
inside those sandcastle walls,
meanwhile we were sitting sideways
in our own busted up Marrakesh Express
listen good, says the old conductor,
Sandman’s wheels spinning like
glowing green turbines beneath an
overripe cloud, you’ll never get through
those gates by thinking something’s
gonna carry you in, you weren’t
born to sail through this life on some kind
of crystal ship, magic’s in the making
it’s setting your light to the stars and
makin’ em shine *pours a cider and
takes a ride on a swinging yellow beehive*
we spend too much of our lives
casting our light in the wrong direction
*wags tattooed finger under my nose*
and that means you’re making shadows
where you should be making sunshine
just then, that gnarly old wizard
grabbed me by both hands and
hoisted me up on the wall of the
hallowed city of tequila and hay and
we went dancing across the sand like a
couple of electric fireflies, that great
golden palm tree glittering like a devil
beneath the flames of a blood-red sun
look, he says, pointing towards a
lazy dreamcatcher, spinning in a
giant funnel of gold and light, if you
wanna live in the city where the
sun never sets, you gotta
cast no shadow—that’s the
key to it—you’ll never get
there any other way
and i’ll de damned but just then i
peaked beyond those walls and
there was a giant sea of technicolor beams
as far as i could see, a whole city
singing along to Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On”
and tie-dying the sky
with the rays of a
never-setting sun
The Used Life 
14 responses to “Sandman Express VI”
This is fantastic, takes me right back to 60’s and 70’s (immediately identifies me as being very old!) and magical days when life was there to be lived and we made no rules. I love the magic, the psychedelic touches, the mystery, they all really capture those wonderful days. Not too sure about the Marrakesh Express, when I visited I was a bit disappointed, the place is full of tourists and you now have to get out to the Atlas Mountains to feel the life in the country and the warmth of a Berber home 🙂 Great poem, brightened the start to my day 🙂 🙂
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Thank you for the compliment! I’m glad this poem takes you someplace magical. And while I wasn’t alive during the 60s/70s (though my musical preferences very much tend toward classic rock), I do revel in the sense of possibility that comes with blurring the lines between reality and imagination–and using poetry to create colorful, magical and fantastical worlds. As for Marrakesh….I can’t say I’ve ever been. Only listened to the Crosby, Stills & Nash song. 😉 Although, I think I would like to visit someday. Thank you again for commenting, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the weekend! 🙂
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“the air hung low and the clouds clung to our
brows in a magnetic shade of blue as we
sailed over a ditch and through a neon waterfall”
Beautiful!
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Thank you very much!
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Je vous lis avec dévotion depuis plusieurs semaines. Parfois, je le fais en écoutant une ballade triste de Johnny Cash. Mais la vérité est que votre poésie est si proche de la lumière que c’est une paupière ouverte à une hauteur inconcevable. Toujours cette touche habile de vrai poète dans vos écrits, une touche magique dans les mots pour nommer l’irréalité. Votre voix nomme également le sujet et vit avec elle: cest une poésie d’espérance pour les captifs déprimés comme moi.
Bon semaine! 🙂
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Merci pour votre commentaire, Xyz. La poésie, pour moi, devrait être inspirée par la lumière de l’imagination. Et l’imagination est une porte d’entrée vers un immense espoir et une possibilité. (L’imagination n’embrasse pas trop la poésie contemporaine. Elle est donc dépourvue d’espoir et de magie.) Puis-je faire une suggestion? Vous ne devriez peut-être pas écouter autant Johnny Cash en lisant ces poèmes. Pendant que je les écris, j’écoute beaucoup d’artistes nommés: Crosby, Stills & Nash, The Allman Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Creedence Clearwater Revival…if “Lookin’ Out My Back Door” doesn’t make your soul smile, my friend, what will? The music is part of the journey. I wish you a happy and creative week! 🙂
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Je vais essayer de suivre ton conseil. Je ne sais pas si ça va marcher. Je suis un homme mélancolique,
Joyeux lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi, vendredi et samedi. Si tu te tiens bien, la semaine suivante, vous aurez de nouveaux vœux de ma part. ;.)
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Well, I hope we are both well by the end of next week! On a more serious note, I do want to thank you for encouraging me many months ago to move forward in my poetry writing. When you suggested it to me, after I’d published a few short poems (before I’d really found my voice), I was wavering on the matter. Not sure if it was worth putting serious effort into. Your encouragement at that point was meaningful. It was significant in my decision to move forward, and I would like to say thank you. 🙂
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I don’t deserve that gratitude, cher poet. Is your incredible capacity to convert into poetry the ideas and images that inhabit your creative and wonderful mind the only responsible for that gift you received at birth. That evolution in your poetry had to occur, as it has happened, in a natural way. In any case, I appreciate your words very much.
Happy Sunday dreams! 😴
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Even the most gifted among us occasionally need advisement on how best to use their gifts. Perhaps a necessary part of their evolution. At any rate..bonne nuit, mon ami! 🙂
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We can never go back to Manderly, for never
have I rambled aboard the Marrakesh Express.
But I have heard an entire village, united in
song,
singing ‘Hey Jude’ … till the rising of the Sun.
Your poetry takes me back to that sweeter time.
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Thank you. That makes me happy to hear 🙂
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Powerfully written. Your musical references added a nice touch to this piece. Love that haunting finale too.
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Thank you very much! I’m happy you liked it 🙂
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