Discover the art of Larry Bourland, a poet in Durango, Colorado. His website offers a captivating glimpse into his book, "Laughing At The Scars" (©1992, all rights reserved). Here, Larry shares his profound poems, rich with powerful imagery and emotional depth. Immerse yourself in Larry's unique voice as he brings his experiences to life through his poetry. His work not only showcases his talent as a poet in Durango, Colorado but also invites readers to explore the transformative power of poetry. Engage with his vivid, thought-provoking pieces and be part of a journey that transcends the ordinary. Explore More: Step into the world of a distinguished Poet in Durango, Colorado, and experience the magic of Larry Bourland's poetry.
SONG OF THE CICADAS
SONG OF THE CICADAS If I only had voices in my head at least I would have someone to talk to. I have no silence in my life for the creatures ringing in my head wail the Cicadas seven-year itch, every day, every minute, every excruciating second of my life. Calling out to one another from different branches from trees far and wide within my skull. an unjoyful symphony bellowing like the slow death of a dying rabbit. There is no reprieve. No one else can hear the battle inside my head, it could only be worse if I were deaf, for the songs of the Cicada are a never-ending scream fest. Others suffer this malady and I finally understand how suicide is a viable option…
IN CELEBRATION OF A LIFE
I lost a friend today. One of the good ones. One who didn’t seek change in the world, except for the better. My friend loved and lived within the arms of Mother Earth. A Flower Child defined. My friend, since childhood grew up to circle the globe, taking in everything from the peaks of the Andes to gaze upon a comets starlit path, from atop the globe to the bottom, reaching toward heaven just to see how close she could get. All the world between held beauty I would see only through her eyes. I lost a friend today, one of the few I have had. You that I do call friend know that you each are special, you are the rhythm of my heart. I lost a friend today. One who now brightly shines in heaven lighting the path ahead. I accept your fate as my own and pray we meet again. Yet time has no meaning when you only by chance are given the gift of someone like this. You defined kindness, moving hearts and souls. Now you embrace the universe before you. I lost a friend today. Sweet, sweet Judy you were not supposed to leave before me. I lost a friend today.
SIGN LANGUAGE OF THE HEART
SIGN LANGUAGE OF THE HEART From near the fire across the room you would gaze upon me, I could feel your eyes and unseen hands caress my willing body. You were well rehearsed in sign language of the heart like when you turned your “I’ll see later naked” smile, inward that only I could read. You could play the heat in the room like Nero on a chilly Tuesday night. Warmed in winter in our fireside rendezvous your body was as perfect as a BLT with the crusts cut off. Always exhausting each other in love’s aftermath, gloriously catching our collective breaths fully sated yet, starved for more, ever more. I could not get enough of you, could not give you enough of me but we tried and we tried. Love’s never-ending hunger.
DISCRETION BEING THE
BETTER PART OF VALOR
DISCRETION BEING THE BETTER PART OF VALOR I saw two people arguing in a Walmart parking lot yesterday. I couldn’t hear their words of war, a war nonetheless. They looked like a murder of crows scavenging for common sense and the need to fill hungry intentions. Arms flailed, wild display of angry gesticulations egging the other to throw the first salvo. He was bigger, by a continent, but even he could see and seriously perceived the invisible army standing behind this petite female warrior consisting of Gods, champions, super heroes and the rage within of a protective mother, all at the ready to be unleashed upon her command.
.webp)
RIPE FOR THE PICKIN’S
RIPE FOR THE PICKIN’S We bathe in our passions we circle in dance and delight in drink. Our senses attuned although a wee bit clumsy, but what is clumsy when diving into aching loins? Night after night blending into day into tomorrow and tomorrow’s memories. We rush to make every memory count, leaving nothing for granted. Each scrap of our sex is nibbled up so, others who follow have little clue of our ravage. But the air is electric where our loins joined leaving behind only a hint, a hint that something so consuming occurred. Only a hint that where they sit is a place in time ripe for ravage and desire.
GIVE AND TAKE
GIVE AND TAKE There’s no greed or stinginess in being properly fucked. You take what is rightly yours when properly offered.
LET THEM PLAY
LET THEM PLAY The wind was still yet empty playground swings swayed in memory, staying limber for the after-school crowd. Echoes of laughter could be seen playing hide ‘n seek between the quietly rustling leaves of the hundred-year-old oak trees. Those majestic playground sentinels protecting children from summer heat, autumn winds, winter snow. Joyful laughter never leaves this place as this is where the seeds of imagination are sowed. Children grow, move away taking with them memories of laughter shared, unbridled happiness of adolescent imaginings played out absent concerns of worldly ills. A time of true innocence to revel and rejoice in. Here the world seen through the eyes of a child without the clutter of definitions, pure, innocent, wonder. Our world is still a child’s playground. Let them play. Let them be children for just one more day…
IN THE END (Dedicated to my fellow Veterans)
IN THE END (Dedicated to my fellow Veterans) He was in his 82nd year when life moved on without him. He’d seen it coming and was ready. Finding it an interesting challenge, preparations were made myriad donations well executed, a life quickly becoming uncluttered. A minimal ending, becoming a burden to none, leaving him sated with delicious memories of his collected books, art, antiques, photographs, memories of family, friends (famous and infamous). ahh, it was the memories he loved the most. For his final adventure he left himself one pair of thread worn Levi’s, favorite sandals, trusty walking shoes, a classic black tuxedo, with matching accoutrement, 2 cargo shorts, 3 Hawaiian shirts, sunglasses, dapper Panama and his signature Blackthorn Shillelagh. He was destined to go in style and comfort until it was time to go. FAST FORWARD Another lifetime after his departure it was discovered he’d left behind a box addressed To Whom. Carefully packed back in his 24th year. He spent his life reveling in the recollection during his years reflecting when he’d removed the medals from his uniform, medals declaring his bravery, his heroism, (which he always denied) facing a forgotten enemy. An enemy in desperate hatred to kill him before he killed them. Colorful ribbons destined to fade with time, bright medals left to tarnish with age. His memories, never faded nor tarnished. Memories, his true medals, of those he fought with side by side, laughed with buried, never reunited with, never forgot, always cherished, always loved. 60 years on a forgotten uniform now faded, outdated, ancient-like yet still neatly folded, medals quietly tucked inside. This private treasure may well remain hidden for yet another 60 years on only to be questioned as to who was the warrior in this uniform who earned these medals, this hero of a forgotten war? A forgotten hero for such a short time in history. And did any of it really matter? It matters to us!
EL RIO de la PROSA PERDIDA
EL RIO de la PROSA PERDIDA (The River of Lost Prose) Sitting at the river’s edge watching as the poetry flows by listening as each stanza wakes around every perfectly placed boulder where beneath poets reside waiting to ambush their next meal. A poet on the shore casts his imagination into the deepest pool hoping to snag his best inspiration to be shared later at supper with other poets who’ve gathered ‘round a crackling campfire where tall tales of their own poetic adventures of the day on the river will be shared. That evening stillness falls over those gathered as he recites his poetic tale: “The pool was deep, filled with mystery and inspiration. The contest began SUDDENLY, unexpectedly, I could feel immense inspiration fighting on the end of the line as the biggest poem taunted me! Teased me!! Played me!!! Writing its own sonnet. Alas, the Rainbow Poet slipped my line, swimming to more creative depths to be written about another time. It was the biggest! The best! The hardest poem I’ve ever hooked…” The gathered poets sat stoic. Respectful. Reflective in their own poetic imagination. The silence was broken with a collective sigh… Eventually, the most reverent poetic fishing guide softly uttered; “That’s the biggest fish tale piece of poetic bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
RESUMES ARE FOR PUSSIES
RESUMES ARE FOR PUSSIES On a whim I applied for an executive position at a Fortune 500 Company specializing in addressing in-house and inter-agency communication skills with which to better facilitate their product on the global market. I had the necessary skills, albeit self-taught, necessary education, albeit life experience from living on the street, and the necessary set of bullshit abilities, albeit the necessary set of bullshit abilities. My only unexpected and unplanned obstacle was Phyllis the Majordomo and dominatrix guarding the reception office of the 118-floor executive tower. Phyllis was never wrong, she knew everything about everything. If you belonged in her building, she was your guardian angel otherwise, you were the enemy. I fit one of those two categories and was about to find out which. My reasoning skills were a bit dull, albeit to no less than excessive THC blood levels. The match, one sided as it was, was about to begin: Me: “Good Morning, my name is Evans, Bob Evans and…” Phyllis: “You don’t belong here. Leave. Now!” I left. Well, Fuck that. Fuck them and their self-righteous communications thingy business stuff, I’m a poet. I never looked back.
Hell On Wheels
HELL ON WHEELS Decades recalled as if only moments passed. The distant future wasn’t in our expectations of tomorrow. We made no plans, we were busy all consuming in the here and now of today. With no expectation of our extinction we left ourselves vulnerable without an escape route. Racing headlong in oblivion we rode our codependence with abandoned. In grand Hollywood romance style our relationship would not simply dissolve. As explosive as we lived so we died. Gloriously painful, dramatically conflicting. Locomotives speeding at suicide speed, crowds gathered at appointed time and place, the locomotives of our lives raced toward each other. The crowd was not disappointed.
EARTH DAY
EARTH DAY The sun dragged itself like a road grader across the barren August sky, scaring and searing the earth below. Dog days would be a relief to what the heavens were offering; a prophetic hellish scene of Dante’s reality. Those few, those lucky few who could still travel sought temporary relief in Death Valley. Unbearable climes below sea level were temperate in these intemperate times of misery and global confusion. Mankind was paying the price for its choices resulting in no option other than human remains presenting as burn spots on the charred soil. Relief was nye impossible as the devil laughed a duet to the audible screaming of unholy heat escaping the strangled gasps of the quickly dying who soon, agonizingly not soon enough, would be relieved of their pain, only to leave the planet continuing to suffer unfathomable agony. Trees, buildings, plastics, all living, every inanimate blending cooking a massive swirling conglomerate of detritus coating the surface of this, our home until until the blue hue of Mother Earth conceded defeat ultimately regressing to the lifeless third stone from the sun covered in the goo of mankind’s consciousness. We had a choice. We chose poorly. Happy Earth Day.
THE INVISIBILITY OF THE KISS
THE INVISIBILITY OF THE KISS No one paid attention when we kissed aboard the city bus, in the school cafeteria or on the park bench that we’d claimed as ours. No one paid attention when we kissed at the rodeo, outside Dolphin Market or when we walked our kids to school in the mornings. No one paid attention when we kissed aboard the red eye flight to anywhere or in the sweet smell of the bakery. No one paid attention when we kissed on our 50th or when lingering a little longer as we shared a boardwalk stroll. Well, there was that one time when 14-year-old gum smackers stared and said, “Eewww” under their breath. No one paid attention when we kissed at the Post Office retrieving our mail. After all it was our PO Box. No one paid attention when we kissed in line at the theater box office or at the ball game you thinking everyone was cheering for us, causing you to blush. No one paid attention when we kissed during hospital visits when cadres of doctors scrambled to save our broken bodies. They always prescribed more kissing. No one paid attention when we kissed and we kissed a lot. It was who we were, who we are. We never cared who cared. We have been invisible all of our lives whenever we kiss.
JACKLEG HEART THIEF
JACKLEG HEART THIEF Riverboat gamblers have come and gone, Mostly gone. His All-In poker face telling all comers, “C’mon, boys, lay it on the line or go home!” He might be bluffing behind that mustache twirling sneer of supreme ego. Maybe not… Deciding to play her hand, arming herself with a coquettish smile she goes all-in… a collective sneer fills the saloon the bloodthirsty poker slicks look on in disbelief at the fortunes they’ve just staked to the table. Feigning sad eyes of despair she lays down a full house, aces over kings and steals the pot including the deeds to their losing hearts.
FIRST FRIDAY
A criminally blue sky, and soft mountain breeze carrying the freshness of life was the backdrop for a festival in this glorious Colorado town. Downtown Durango was cordoned off for its first celebration following a hard winter: Peddlers peddled. Shoppers shopped. Vendors vended. Drunks won dance contests. Jesters jested. Banners proclaiming First Friday blazoned across Main Avenue at every intersection. Laughter rang supreme above the burgeoning crowd. Musicians made their magic playing all of my favorite songs from decades past. Inevitably I invited myself on stage—we belted out rock-n-roll, ballads, and love songs all committed to memory from my previous lives… then, THEN I spotted her in the crowd; Yellow sundress, a shock of red hair. She smiled and then laughed. Over the PA system I asked her to dance, she rendered a proper curtsy and I surrendered the microphone to roaring thankful applause. We danced as the sun set. Holding me tightly, matching my every step. Her hair smelled of sunshine. Her laughter was music set to a love song. Her green eyes were filled with passion and mischief. The closeness of her body was intoxicating. In my ear she softly whispered her name as if it was a secret. She held me for just so long and then, as if time itself stood still, cradling my face in her hands she kissed me, full and deep on my lips. A wanting kiss. A knowing kiss that this would be the only one we would ever share. I could feel her tremble. Sadly, she then said goodbye. Walking away we both looked back, a last glance, our smiles told the whole story of the celebration. I wasn’t allowed back on stage.
RELIQUARY
Passed down through generations of a single family this holy relic of the faithful not much larger than a grain of rice reputed (never questioned) sliver of wood from the cross of the crucifixion. The horror of the remnant symbolizing faith, love, hope of God thrust upon humanity despite the unpredictability through time of our faith or free will. Blissfully ignoring questions of what faith means the reliquary is the mission while the faithful stumbling lost in religious peace of mind gripping tight to this artifact of hope rather than practicing its meaning.
Lunch with Jesus
I was watching Jesus walking down Main Street in our beach town when all the guns fell silent. He strolled into the Tastee Freeze sitting down next to me smiling taking the cone from my hand closing His eyes lapping the Soft Serve, ecstasy spread across His face. Looking around finally asking “What the hell happened here?” I could only shrug. A crowd began to gather a multitude of sinners mingling with the faithful and otherwise curious pressed against the plate glass window all staring, none blinking. “Why me?” I asked as I watched ice cream drip down His hand onto His robe. “Lord. Why me?” Our eyes met (Oh, Lord did our eyes meet) He began to chuckle and then a hearty, deep, benevolent laugh until He began to choke. Wiping tears of joy from His cheek He took my hand told me “Pay the bill, son.” The Tastee Freeze crowd parted as we walked out hand in hand. Traffic stopped people stared faithful fell prostrate in the street. on sidewalks non-believers questioning their own beliefs sat shattered in the gutters. We walked to the beach along the way I bought us sandwich’s and a Coke. We sat in the sand next to the pier where a crowd would, no doubt, gather seagulls stood in quiet military formation and respect around us. Jesus unwrapped His sandwich I opened His Coke He ate, drank deeply belched and wiped his lips with His sleeve. As the tide ebbed and the sun sat idle on the edge of the sea Jesus looked into my eyes and finally said “THIS is my church!” I told Him, “I know. I’ve always known.” “Well, son you were right.” The last to fade was His smile then His touch. Then He was gone. I picked up the Lord’s litter and walked home…
ODD BOY
as a poet I assumed i wasn’t normal thank God i looked at the world differently trying to rearrange it to my words my understanding- the inexplicable often succeeding at least in the eyes of others ‘what an odd boy’ there’s satisfaction creating confusion and chaos at least for me i smiled a lot that alone confused normals
WHAT PRICE LOVE
if ever you're in need of love real love i can be found i won't be waiting i'll just always be here what price love
SAFE AT HOME WITH STEVE AND ROUGH RIDER
i'm still here the same place the same sandy beach i'm not waiting but i don't want to give it up it's time to go people say go where and just who the hell are these people the beach has grown yet it remains i've grown still i havent left it's a beautiful place and it fits so very well
SHE WAS
she was like the smiling eyes of a stranger in a crowd of cruel people your faith in mankind is restored just as fast as she is found she is gone and the pain remains and you don't remember her face and you'll never forget her smile and the warm feelings she gave you
SETTING SAIL
flesh and blood sewn together by faith and love blessed and christened by god we set sail with the warmth of the sun filling our hearts as the winds of time and knowledge carry our vessel towards tomorrow where to my love together
RIPTIDE
the power of the sea is as unpredictable as love itself for what of the tide that never reaches the shore or the love that is never given
MOST OF THE TIME
i run to you for friendship love and guidance most of the time i run to you as a little boy scurrying home to where it's safe
HEART SONGS
just before the dawn i stopped along the way and watched a rose waking from a peaceful sleep white and pure i thought of you and smiled upon its petals drops of dew unerasable inseperable a living giving part of each other that is love i took a deep breath and on the wind i heard my heart sing
A LOSING RACE
the rising sun once again we've begun a journey toward the horizon a losing race with the sun beyond the horizon we find ourselves far from yesterday and tomorrow is yet to be found always in search of tomorrow rarely looking at what or where we are here and now today
LIKE A CHILD
she tugs on my heart strings...... not unlike the eyes of a child who waits with open arms and unselfish affection as i walk through the door.... ....with her touch she takes the chaos from my life unspoken promises of devotion as trusting as sure as the rising sun though clouds may mask the morning sky she fills me with the warmth of the unseen sun
FAR AWAY & ALONE
missing the sound of your voice and feeling foolish for in your feelings you were so unsure so young and afraid missing you
2 B 1
to be one with the wind as it blows through my hair share with the ocean the warmth of the setting sun to come alive with a waking rose or watch the leaves falling from the trees feeling the love god has given me as i stand naked in the rain giving learning to receive to be an unselfish part of another's happiness compassionate with his losses to find a smile on a street filled with strangers learning to express knowing all the while of one's existence that you're closer always closer
FINAL FAREWELL
i kiss the tear from your cheek feelings emotions pass between us before i leave your smile a show of hidden strength and faith God help me be strong you tear will tenderly rest upon my lips forever
COMBAT PHOTOGRAPH
(I KEPT YOURS WITH ME)
been around the world on a carousel of emotions living with only the vivid memory and a faded photograph of you it will have to do sometimes i get too busy and can’t take the time to think of you then i remember i used to want you (used to) need you hold you taste your lips be with you thank god things don’t change
MAIL CALL
post marked military post office San Fransisco April 26, 1971 dear john (what did you think i would say when i was faced with what you thought would hurt me)
I SAW A GIRL IN BANGKOK AND THOUGHT IT WAS YOU. HER BOYFRIEND LET ME TAKE A PHOTO OF THEM TOGETHER
nobody knows how well we loved (i had to get use to sleeping with you) nobody knows how good you felt in my arms (problem being, you didn’t know either) beachfront winters (sharing the flu) wrapped together in knitted afghans (before our make believe fireplace) sleeping cat furled at our feet now so distant so very far away and time (our forever enemy) finds you wrapped in someone else’s arms maybe in a cafe on that busy sidestreet in France we’ll meet again share a glass of wine (but not too much please) drive the countryside (catch a glimpse of wild horses) i still sing songs of you (us) the good times and not so good ones too (and remember the smiles that would cross your face when we made love the taste of your lips and the warmth of your breath in our afterglow) we had seasons no one can take away (starfish on the beach were stars that shone so bright and always just beyond our reach) until France, then i'll let you go
...AND STILL THE MEMORY OF YOU HURTS SO GOOD
a million silver stars blanket the velvet evening sky and so captivating is the gold star shining brighter than the rest you are that gold star in my life and you've been my favorite heartbreak
SILENT SONGS
sitting through midnight writing words never to be spoken never to be heard words for songs that will never see music songs silently sung within
WHAT GRANDMOTHERS BECOME
Nona sweet pretty lady a gift of love and light so deep within the lines of her aging face a face alive with the ageless wisdom only grandmothers know Nona Sweet and lovely eyes shining like that of a child treasures of wisdom given gratefully to her children Nona caring smile loving heart always a warm hand to hold she always has been she always will be eternally Nona
THAT WAS FAST
once i said i love you she's not been back i'm sorry that she didn't understand the end
THE EXPENDABLE ROMANCE
The wind blew with a fury then silence a calm I felt like running looking searching I would have found you too but i was wating for a phone call
THE YUGOSLAVIAN IMMIGRANT VS THE AMERICAN HERSHEY BAR PRIMATE
immigrants in bagging pants reveling at the sunbathers stretched along the summer shore unsure of the odor of coppertone but realizing they are a step closer to heaven sun bathers closer to black skinned africans some closer to skin cancer all the while in joyful jubilation wide-eyed aliens are closer always closer to dreams that could satisfy any of us
YOU TOLD ME
just moved to the city L.A. is an eternity from the Rockies you dropped into my unshuffled life the unfinished pages the unwritten words so much time was spent on each and every line they were left ignored you told me to knock em dead you told me where to start you told me when to stop sure you smiled it just never reached your eyes still i loved you all the while knowing you wouldn't stay you shared with me what love you could then you set me free you thought i was (a little?) crazy didn't think i'd leave you (did you) i wasn't to be forgotten or be ignored home in the mountain air you can find me with my poems and my songs but please don't stay too long
DAY DREAM
you were like magic when we made love but that's another song
STUCK TO THE BUS BENCH OF LIFE
the wine so warmed my soul it helped me think problem was it didn't help my writing it was like watching a bus filled with precious thoughts and close friends i couldn't stop it from driving away all i could do was watch and wave good-bye
WRITER'S BLOCK
didn't give the alarm clock the pleasure of waking me sun wasn't even up why is it good days never last but (those lonely nights) never pass so i sit keeping faithful vigilance over my sleeping typewriter
THIS ONE TAUGHT ME I COULD LEAVE IF IT WASN'T RIGHT FOR ME
and so i am gone coming not too soon you can live the life you want it's alright by me the memory of missing me will make you smile sunsets flowers a cat with a funny name and electric eyes an attitude to live & cottage fries these you will miss and we will never share again
...AND THEN THERE ARE THE NOT SO SUBTLE MEMORIES OF YOU
and again you have left me i sit in a chair across the room from the bed that still tells of our pleasure the blankets settled comfortably in a hastened pile at the foot of the bed stain covered sheets gently wrinkled where our bodies pressed into each other the room echo's our sounds of love moonlight lingers in the empty corners the room is so still and again you have left sleep cries loudly for me now
BLIND
I never meant to hurt you problem was I didn't know you were hurt thought I had it all together knowing what I wanted never asked you what it was you wanted loving you without paying attention to your needs
ANOTHER SON
with admiration and pride filling every pore in his body he watched his son breastfed by mother from his loins to mother's womb nourished by love time and God a son was born a poet? a carpenter? be what he may I'll hold his hand until it's time to let go
FINALLY HOME
soaking away work day frustrations and flaming hemorrhoids in the warm bath water as my son's plastic duck wages a battle against the dripping faucet
AUGUST 16, 1965
i'm going to die after living my entire life in love with you
JUST BEFORE SLEEP
some evenings as sleep has me almost wrapped warm within its womb that familiar fragrance which is you overtakes the strength of sleep i lay awake basking in the thought of your unsure smile and remembering your fingers that touched me with confidence your lips that told mine of secrets not yet revealed into the grasp of the evening tide i fall with the thought and fragrance which is you deep within my soul alone i sleep
MUSE
Muse What is my muse? Who, who is my muse? I’ve never seen her, wouldn’t recognize her on a bus bench or at a grand Hollywood premier. But I know when she arrives. She steals away my spirit to a place I always long to be but cannot name. She comes to me on ethereal wings through an open window or she just appears. When she sits beside me her presence permeates every inch of my body and soul causing me to reach deep into my world finding the very best part of me. She comforts me only as I write, leaving as she desires like the birth from a cocoon, rising like Botticelli’s Venus exploding back into the universe. It is not for me to gaze upon her beauty for I fear my poetry lost as my words will never match her beauty. So, I go no closer allowing her the freedom deserving of a muse I am content to wait for her, to wake me, or deny me sleep as she so inspires.
