The Clown Cried

By : Gus Victoria

The verse was one delivered by a master,

Improvised truth practiced to perfection

On a stage made home

That was never so,

He knew love and admiration,

He knew struggle and derision,

Dark shadows played

Wherever light was,

He was a clown

The world adored,

He lived and gave,

He struggled and he paid,

Ever the gentle soul,

We’d never know

The sadness within

That consumed,

That devoured

The noble man.

One day the sun rose

To never set,

The Clown cried,

But the laughter,

The joy, the memories,

They never died,

And we would never forget.

Strangers Walking Away

By: Gus Victoria

Holding on to the ember,

Fire left its scar,

Soon only ash,

Consuming hope,

There was little left,

Faith withered long ago,

Only habits lingered,

Passion ran once,

A mighty river it carried them,

Empty dust about

Strands them,

Each walks in a different direction,

To seek what might revive

What could not be lost,

Each remembers a vision

That changes with time.

She was dark when he was light,

She was day when he was night,

Alternating in their own way,

One and the other,

Friends and lovers.

Strangers walking away,

Days and Years

By: Gus Victoria

Days forgotten to years have turned

And the world has moved on,

No end was written

Before the book was closed.

The pages have yellowed,

Turned, tattered, and turned again.

To find what was missing

Reliving the past, aware

Of the fairy tale ended,

By two bound hearts created.

Memories burn ever clearer

Banishing the fog of vague recollection,

Consigned once to oblivion,

Yet kept hidden like jewels

In the heart,

Locked, until now.

Wounds never heal

When the pain

Is a preferred companion.

And the scar

The badge of finality.

The confession of loss.

The truth of oblivion.

Messenger, Be Gone

By: Gus Victoria

Tortured messenger beyond the shade of knowledge

You toil in memory to keep alive

That which best is forgotten.

A spark here sets aflame

An inferno of regret

That casts dancing shadows of doubt

To play on the face of the fateful beauty

To whom we’ve given all.

We drink the wine of joy

Soured to despair

Poured by unsteady hands

Into a chalice made

Of once-broken glass.

We drink deep,

And dare not sleep,

For dreams wake

Demons thought slain

That we cast out in vain.

No messenger,

Best be gone,

Leave be the tattered memories,

Leave be the shattered future,

Be gone,

Be gone,

I drink.

On the Steps...

By: Gus Victoria

On the steps, velvet-lined and incense-infused,

Of that grand cathedral I left a shattered dream

Split a loving heart,

Spilt all that Fate’s chalice had for me saved

And knew not the crime

Until the sentence was carried out.

I battered in tenderness the soul that cared

And no, for neither were we spared,

Engulfed in each other

Ashes in the breeze

As the wind changed.

Dreams became memory,

Joy was misery unknown

And sadness an old coat.

We struggled against the storm of passion

And the uncertainty of tomorrow,

We fought the shadows of doubt

And the light of reason.

We burned in the flame of love

Until we were no more,

Consumed together,

Cinder and ash

On the steps of our wedding altar,

On the steps of St. Patrick’s

Tears of Strength

By: Gus Victoria

Cry!

Cry, no more…

Tears of strength

Shed bear no weakness.

For the distraught

In Misery’s bosom held

Hold not long there.

Surrounded by love

Given and taken,

Known and discovered,

All strike deep

Into the heart of grief

That seeks to destroy

As death in visit

Charged high

The price not paid

But stolen dearly.

We betrothed to grim despair

Look not upon

The spectre of pallid death,

Divorced instead, we beseech

The mistress in memories found

Of days now gone

That shine as diamonds in the heart,

Stars in the soul, 

Specks of joy

Amid a sea of sorrow

We sail on the winds of hope,

Bourne on the wings of friendship,

To a port unknown,

She as our guiding light,

She as our eternal flame.

Though poor sailors we,

In our hearts she’ll ever be.

Meat Loaf Memories

It was a tiki bar in south Florida where it happened. Her uncle had built it by hand himself and it looked absolutely beautiful; a piece of Hawaii with a uniquely Floridian touch. And yet that was not his greatest talent. He was a master cook and could grill just about anything to such perfection that you would swear that you had never truly had barbeque anything until this man cooked it. It was Christmas day when she first took me to this oasis deep in Florida’s relative backcountry. We had been dating for several months, but it was one of the first times I had met any of her extended family and naturally she was a bit nervous initially. As the day and evening unfolded she relaxed and I had one of the most wonderful Christmases ever with a great group of people that later would feel like family to me as well.

I would not be writing this if we had stayed together I don’t think. That is the tragedy of reflection; we often don’t do it until some sort of sadness has been overcome to put into focus within a different light the events that to that point been simply part of it all and not warranted a second look. Now she was no longer mine nor I hers. Those people might remember me, but no more Christmases would I share with them. Worse, no longer would I spend Christmases with HER.

Amicable break-ups can be very deceiving when you let circumstances end the relationship instead of letting it end mutually from a deep conviction and understanding that it simply did not work out. That however is another rant for another time. The memory of that Christmas is paired with other outings we took to her uncle’s oasis in south Florida. Together they create a string of memories that are indelibly connected but which do not inhabit the forefront of my mind. In fact rarely am I compelled to look back and think, fondly or not, on those days long gone. Except that is when a particular song comes on…

That is the great wonder, if not proper mystery, to me. How a song can become so powerful in forcing upon us the memories we do not desire to relive. Worse when those memories are sweet. For me the song is part of the memory and I think this gives it even more power over me.

Each time we attended a party with her family at this place I mentioned above it was tradition that Karaoke be part of the entertainment. As you can imagine a lot of hilarity followed as a result. A tradition within this tradition was one song in particular that she sang with her father or uncle. She had been raised as a big fan of classic rock and Meat Loaf was an artist everyone loved. “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” was the song she knew word for word and which she and her family sang enthusiastically. I was amazed the first time I saw it and experienced it that Christmas.

Years later life has moved on, with and without my consent. We are no longer together and I have found someone else that has taken my heart. However I have not been able to escape the flood of memories that inevitably is released every time I happen to hear that song. I know I am not the only one with linked memories refreshed by songs popular and obscure. Every time I hear that song I am taken back to that tiki bar and an image of her with a microphone in hand singing “Do you love me? Will you love me forever? Do you need me? Will you never leave me?” If I close my eyes I can see her too.

This would be well and good if I were single. It would fall right in line with my inadvertent masochistic tendencies. Tendencies which are inherent in most poets I would venture to say. However I find that I am not. And I am happily not. That makes these memories less and less welcome. They are happy if not altogether welcome intrusions into a present I work hard to live in and impediments to a future I am trying to build.

The strange irony of all this is that the more I try to forget, the harder these memories become to dismiss. And also because there is some cosmic comedian behind it all, the more often this song seems to play. So my remedy is no remedy at all. I shall listen to Meat Loaf when and where I please and if these memories intrude then I will tackle them there and then. Perhaps in the preoccupation of what they may mean to our current state we dismiss what they can inform us about the past and ourselves. “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” is to me now and forever a snapshot into a happier time that I will always cherish and keep much like an old photograph, there at the edge of memory.