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April 24, 2018

The Dreamer


He has little sense of sorrow,
He thinks of fond tomorrows.
He’s a fabulist, a dreamer.
Not quite a true schemer
That would be too hard.
More like a half-awake bard
Making up poetic outcomes
For a reality that never comes.
Mostly he’s a bum.

He’s a moonbeamer,
Sliding down colorless rainbows
That he paints himself daily
Proclaiming about how gaily
The emptiness of his canvas
Has so sadly missed us
And somehow we are to blame
For not managing to be the same
As he is by appreciating
That which is not there.
He has daydreams to spare.

He shares his hopeful possibilities
That are not always practicalities
Made of unborn actualities
And fanciful surrealities
Painted over his shortcomings
Hoping nobody will see them
And talk too badly against them
Ahem-ing and coughing phlegm
When he orates and pontificates
On his latest boilerplate stories
Of his imagined future glories.
Lost in his own thought stream,
He’s a totally hopeless dreamer.

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Brent Kincaid
Brent Kincaid, born in Kansas City, Missouri just before WWII ended, moved to Hollywood in 1967 to pursue a career as a singer, actor and freelance artist. A gay man all his life, he began to take gay pride issues seriously and marched in the first Pride Parade in Hollywood in 1970. As years went by, he kept writing poetry, and painting while maintaining employment at a series of jobs over the years, finally moving to Kauai, Hawaii in 2003 where he now works as an artist and writer. He has been published nationally and also recently in The Blue Route. In his work you will find he is politically motivated as well as a teller of stories about the America in which he grew up.
Brent Kincaid

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