Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Sleeping Children - Song Lyrics from the 90s

Lyrics from the 90s+

Sleeping Children
By Julie Gengo

Sleeping children sigh
In the morning I grow weary
Something crossed my mind
A distraction I see clearly

Deeper I climb
Into my slumber
I’m searching for the words
That will guide me through the storm
It weeps
It’s caught me by surprise
And I can’t hold on to anything at all
I sit around the circle
I wonder for myself

Sleeping children sigh
In the morning I grow weary
Something on my mind
A distraction I see clearly

Deeper I climb
Sometimes I ponder
Why words are so forlorn
A fraction of their size
I dream
And bundle up my pride
In the distance I can see the angels fall
To comfort all the strangers
That lie upon my shelf

A sensory that fails to keep
Here beside you
I wish for dancing days that shine again
In time

Sleeping children sigh
In the morning I grow weary
Something crossed my mind
A distraction I see clearly

Deeper I climb
     deeper I climb
Deeper I climb
    deeper I climb
Deeper I climb

    deeper I climb

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Merry Widow - Song Lyrics from the 90s



Lyrics and Vocal Melody
By Julie Gengo

The cradle rocks desperately  

And you break down

While the merry widow sleeps

You break down, break down

You ramble on all alone

But your pockets aren’t sewn

And there ain’t nothing left

You can’t buy your lifeline with it

Or a place called home

(Guitar Break)

How reckless abandonment 

That has raped your soul dry

Could still exist

There is no pride

Or a lullaby called home

And you still can’t reach

But your hands are untied

So you can’t complain

And they taught you not to ever speak again

Speak again

The light seems so pale 

Reflecting off your skin

As deep as your despair 

Penetrating within

And you break down 

And you break down

And you break down

And you break down

And there ain’t nothing left

You can’t buy your lifeline 

Or a place called home

And you still can’t reach

But your hands are untied

So you can’t complain

And they taught you not to ever speak again

Speak again

Speak again

Speak again 

Speak again 

Speak, speak again…..


Wednesday, September 2, 2015

If You Lived Near By

If you lived near by
I would become thin
and crawl through your cat door
and sneak up
as you sat in your chair
reading your book

I would light a candle
and sit next to you
to keep you company

We would play cards
or chess
even though I don't know how to play

If you lived near by
I would call you from a phone booth
on a rainy night
and make you come to your window

I would smile and wave
and you would come down
and we would dance
in the warm rain
and get soaking wet

If you lived near by
I would bring you zucchini
from my garden
and a pumpkin
when they were in season

I would teach you
how to make soup
and how adding in
a little bit of this and a touch of that
can make all the difference

If you lived near by
I would hand deliver
postcards from exotic places
that I found at garage sales

I would write little notes
on them
pretending to be having a
fabulous time
but also sending you love
and kisses
and telling you how much I missed you


by Julie Gengo

hello from the back
of the hollow wall
the sound of last year's 
concert in the park
a tiny murmur from yesterday
girl peers out
from behind a book
and listens
counting the meter
as the words 
catch up to the 
day that changed everything

Wednesday, August 26, 2015


by Julie Gengo

Color brown-red
Used for attention-grabbing
To match the sun's
and cover up words
dared to be spoken

The time to locate
the shoes used
to secure traction
and stop slippage
and chances of
falling down

The day the rain fell
and filled buckets
with tears of sorrow
for broken promises
and dreams of togetherness
in distant places
that never came to be

310 (three hundred and ten)
degrees on
the other side of the world
where the day
has more meaning than the
time in which it was placed

the platform where
trains stop
friends connect
saturated in discussion
about the future
and points of happiness

310(three hundred and ten)
pages whose sole purpose
is to disconnect what
was once perfection
now strands of solitude
left naked in
what went wrong

the average amount of
dedication and determination
to prove the reasons
why you were chosen to inspire

310 (three hundred and ten)
lines of subjective thoughts
and patterns
that twist
acceptable meaning
into unrecognizable
and incongruous
observation of the
way things are
should be

310(three hundred and ten)
miles of travel
that carries a burden
before it is released
after the weight became too much
to bear

310(three hundred and ten)
that encompasses the mind
per moments of
and all
that is broken

Monday, August 24, 2015

Tripped Up By The Moon

Tripped up by the moon
Stumbling onto your doorstep
Happiness is a secret poet
Whispering sonnets 
Softness between the sheets

Sunday, August 23, 2015


by Julie Gengo

What about water?
Does it flow
through your soul
cleansing out the debris?

Does it splash in your face
forging drops of innovation
and images
of distant lands?

Does it show up for dinner
then leave
the dishwasher wishes
running down the drain?

What about the time you said
you'd bathe me
in the fresh water spring
on the other side of the world?

The soft cooling calm
when we were in love
even though you had moved on
to firmer ground

A ground that
couldn't absorb the rain
that filled your heart

By the way
I passed a puddle
and thought of the time
you threw me overboard

and I sank down
so deep
I thought
I'd never surface again

But I did
and the sweet water
continues to flow
like tears from the sky

And the river
continues to bring
of what could have been
and again

Friday, August 21, 2015

You Gave Me Chocolate

You Gave Me Chocolate
by Julie Gengo

You gave me chocolate
When no one was looking
Four hearts of cerulean gold
In a box with a clear plastic cover

One swirled in pink
Capturing the tree-lined moment
After Thanksgiving dinner
At your parent’s house in the country

Another rich in deep darkness
When we explored the rain forest on a raft
Water snakes beckoning  
To climb on board

The third white with speckled brownness
Like the spots in the snow
After the cars drove by
When you were gone for a long time

The last a blend of magnificent and surreal
In a texture that put me to sleep
As you watched from a distance
The fire slowly dying

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

The Other Side of You

The Other Side of You

A picture of you pinned to my wall
One half of a picture really
knowing she is on the other side

Nonetheless it sits in view
In stillness
While the world is moving around us

Not us really
Just you and me
And she
On the other side of you 

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Spanish Love - Part I

Spanish Love - Part I
by Julie Gengo

“So I'm supposed to just get on the train without any money at all, and it's supposed to be okay?” Kristi shouted as she stepped into the tiny green, slightly rusted Renault. Peter leaned over and said “yep.” She gladly gave him the finger as they departed. “That fucking dick” she muttered a little too loudly knowing that the driver couldn't speak any English. But the driver probably knew those words, she thought as she rolled her eyes.

At this point, she didn't care. I can handle this, she tried to convince herself.

The driver smelled of vodka and she was pissed. “So what's your name?” She said as she looked at him. He was a man possibly in his late 30's and she, a spunky 26 year-old who had to remind herself that being an American from a big city had its benefits, or so she was told.

“Yeah, just tell him you're an American and they will leave you alone,” Peter said as they stood on the side of the dusty road with their thumbs out. “Leave me alone? What the fuck do you mean by that?” “Well, when you get on the train, just tell the guy who collects the tickets that you're an American and everything should work out fine. They can't kick you off the train once you've gotten on since it is an express straight to Madrid,” Peter said with his pathetic British accent and a smile.

What did she ever see in him, she thought? She should have made a commitment long ago to never have anything to do with him after he showed up with another girl named Summer. Summer played the saxophone in a band. When she smiled, sunshine came out of her eyes. Kristi should have known that Peter would eventually do something like that – fall for a girl with sunshine in her eyes.

The slightly tipsy Spanish man with a somber face turned to her and smiled. “Como te llamo,” she uttered pensively. “Pedro” he said. Her Spanish wasn't working that well but somehow he understood her. Oh fuck, she thought. Isn't Pedro Spanish for Peter? She suspected she was moving from one idiot to another, but this time the Spanish version. This was confirmed when Pedro, the Spanish version of Peter, tried to kiss her. She used to like it when Peter kissed her but then the seasons changed.

She pushed Pedro away. She even thought she heard him say something about marriage. Maybe he thought he struck gold with a young American girl that would soon be his wife? How did she get into this situation?  And then she thought of Peter and why she never wanted to speak to him again.

Pablo began asking her a few questions but she didn't have the brain capacity to translate and she really didn't want to know what was on his mind. Her mind was preoccupied with safety as they swerved in and out of the narrow two-lane road that cut along the Spanish coast.

Kristi couldn't relax. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she clenched her belongings (which included an overstuffed bag of clothes, a purse, a tennis racquet, sunglasses and a hat - she always wore a hat).
She also ran through various scenarios on what might happen on the rest of her journey. Would he try to kiss her again? Would he take her to an abandon place and try to do more things with his stinky breath and body? She also thought, if she didn't have the confidence to speak the little Spanish that she spent years studying, how was she supposed to even get on the right train  -- the train that would get her to Madrid in time to catch her plane back to London?  

Did Pedro even know that she needed to go to the train station?

But Kristi had no choice. She was in a car, with a man, who smelled like vodka, whose name was Pedro, the Spanish version of Peter, who was her only option.

After a short while, she eased into the journey allowing herself to relax, in an upright position, but unclenching her belongings so that they now rested on her lap.

The man kept talking with his mouth and then began talking with his hand. She watched the talking hand, that wasn't on the wheel. Made sure the other hand stayed on the wheel. But when the free talking hand started wondering over to her side of the seat, she quickly whipped out her tennis racquet and executed a nice back-hand slice. "No mas, no mas" she said frantically. "Lass mich allein. "Oh shit, wrong language" she spurted out, but Pedro somehow complied. Kristi then called in her American feistiness, uttered a few expletives, then looked the other way. Her heart was racing, but she somehow knew nothing horrible would happen. This was coastal Spain after all and not Bed-Stuy.

A few 100 meters later, she, now positioned as far away from him as possible, realized he was pulling into the parking lot of a shabby green building that was covered in dust. It was a cafe or a bar or something like that. It looked like a place you would see along the street of ghost town, but one that even ghost hunters avoided.

Why did he stop, she thought? She didn't know how to ask. 

Kristi got out of the car, fumbled her belongings and followed him in. He walked towards the bar and ordered a shot. He held up his glass and looked her in the eyes to see if she wanted a drink, but she beckoned no. She couldn't believe he was drinking again, but then again, with the way things were going, she wasn't surprised.

Was this her chance to escape, she thought?  She took a few moments, then walked to the window and thought about her next move. The next thing she knew, she was moving, following him back into the car. "You better take me to the train station," she said as she slammed the door shut. 

Once on their way, Pedro started talking about marriage again but this time she ignored him. She felt as if she had been through a bad marriage and was now ready for divorce.

It was a speedy ride and within 15 minutes, Pedro pulled up to the station and she got out. That was it, and she yelled out a big ole' "adios" and waved goodbye.

Getting on the train was another venture waiting to take on a life of its own, but somehow she knew it would work out just fine too. After all, she is an American.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015


By Julie Gengo

There is something about Persephone
She gets under your skin 
Drum beats to the rhythm of 
Raindrops dropping on glass tables
Subtle impressions 
Like soft kisses on the neck 
"What does it take"
She asks and then continues to do her thing

Friday, July 10, 2015

Springtime 2014 2 Haikus for NY Times

Scurrying bodies
Happy tulips rise
Inhale effervescence


Bodies scurrying
Tulips peep
Hazy sunshine in coffee cups

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Tuesday, January 27, 2015


conspicuously crafting clever anomalies 
to keep in corners 
in case voyagers visit 
and are in need of supplies