Mother’s Heart (day 1385)

When winter swells have chased away
Fleeting moments of bright sunny days,
A gull shall float along the shore
Reminding her of nature’s cyclic core.

For in blasts of thy deepest torrents,
In rain and wind and sun and clouds,
In darkness and in dull fog thick,
There exists forever a chasing of
Heart to the next heart.

Where one began the next shall start,
Just as the last lingers on,
Even the strongest of hearts, aghast at last!
Behold, a tulip before the first of March!

She comes with her an army of life –
Carrying about to and fro,
That march with purpose through every strife,
Conquering even her very last blow.

Ned Tobin - Cariboo Hill Flower Basket

Catered Driftwood (day 1383)

I paused to reflect on waves
Splashing my reflecting peace.
I knew that twinkling waves
Were unspent thoughts
Still waiting for my fancy.
Yet here I was, clear of thought,
Amongst children thinking it funny
To throw plastic cups in the sea,
Unaware of volunteers
Cleaning her from bow to stern;
Amongst gulls pecking at my toes;
Amidst catered driftwood
Aligned in rows.
Yet my thought was still overwhelmed
By sweet shining sun:
Heavenly as she chose.
And I lay still here
Until memory aligned again with thought,
And the sea was ebb and flow.

Identifying Marks (day 1382)

How does a day slip away?
How does time float on by?
Left alone wondering why
On my mind on my mind.

Footsteps echo loudly
Walking down a dotted line,
Catch a moon and hold it high;
Forever wild at heart and free.

Darkness is pure daylight;
Speakers louder then heartbeat.
Walk into a no return lane,
Find a door that marks your name.

A Proper Man’s Time (day 1381)

Darker abstracts of our life
Face open windows
When calms begun once again.

In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.

Could the full moon retreat life,
Could it catch hold of time?
When the blinds keep a blowin’.

In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.

Old dog’s been here resting
Against the old wooden door.
Got his head in the sunlight,
Open window no more.

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If It Is You (day 1379)

I crumple into random acts of sincerity.

“Who are you hollering at?” I said,
Half past the guilty and looking down the road at
Honesty.

Did an Angel touch your shoulder gentle-like?
I felt a slight flutter
In a whirlwind of forever,
Dancing in my opera house memory.

Hold onto you like it is you,
And if it is you be you.