Sting My Dream (day 1971)

I want to be the sea
Cold water rushing up
Unfurl my tongue
And every cup
Salty hope to sting my dream
Barnicle my soul whole
And flee away low tide
Rattling rocks wash away
Never still and beating on

Still Life in the Window (day 1970)

Raindrops set the mood
On an open Thursday night,
Songs reverberated callusedly
Against a faint rattle
Hardly heard under the crash
Of elephant hoof raindrops
Where the marksman’s twang
Nearly captured,
Patiently awaiting amidst a
Two pane dust memory
With a perfect view
Of empty hopes;
A thin cobblestone path
Weaves its way
Amidst falling whitewashed fencepoats
And tufts of sheep fodder
With eager gumboots
Avoiding eye contact
With our token warrior
Next to a thimble and needle
And a postcard received yesterday.

Fog Horn (day 1969)

Where were you?
Alone at last and one day you will see
That my attempts to make things pass differently
Will go un-answered, un-fooled,
Soundscapes passing by my tender touches
In an envelope neatly packed so.
A heavy rain left my sweet flowers
Like pillars of a ruin,
And tapping lightly culls my darkness –
A soft smile about my face.
Willow in the season of dying
Soothes a fog horn off my ragged coastline,
I whistle into the coming darkness:
Where do you lay your head tonight?

Deeper (day 1968)

I want this into my soul
And just like that.
I want to be clearer
As fog rolls inside
Toiling amidst grace
As ten thousand tears
Roll down my thorns
And leave, hurriedly,
Like my moonlight
Arching my silhouette madly
With spirals digging holes
Into my soul, sadly.

Deeper by Ned Tobon

Toiling Shuffle, Softer (day 1967)

Each shoulder I shift, shuffle,
Creaks with passion left un-stoked.
A winding splinter soaking
In the full moon’s setting sun,
A twisted root dancing
With leaves of another season.
Little whispers call out my name,
And it’s feeling a lot like rain.

So this path goes on,
Leaves fall to the tune of a breeze
And guesses punctuate each heave
With uneven ground, frolicking madly
Amidst pebbles and sticks
That grow wilder, fonder,
Of screw-top frameworks
Settling into the pocket
Of our toiling shuffle, softer.

Time Deeply Sighs (day 1966)

Blues are blues
The loneliest blues
That cover the ground
And seep through trees.
From morning to night
Lost all delight
Everything small
Blues are so blue.
Soft is each drip
Delicate footsteps
Mind rewinds
And time deeply sighs.

Lair (day 1965)

If a dream
Were only mine to hold
I’d never share
My deepest lair

Storms in Autumn (day 1964)

Needle footsteps
Lost twigs
Newly bare and exposed

Cold Again (day 1963)

Cancelled my heart
It’s beat away
It’s tracked too soon
Rhythm of our moon
Cold again
At midnight’s glow
And sweet embrace
Has lost it’s grace
For all my mellow
Holds on to sand
Kicks so lost
Cold again.

Island Dribble (day 1962)

My island leaks
It dribbles uncontrollably
On passing dolphins
And soaks mosses
That covers hardwood
And little squirrels
That come hither
Jump and play
In each their puddle
Falling calmly
Upon dark rocks
That take away
My islands dribble

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