Cowboy’s Pasture (day 1163)

Pastures I walk on
Where my window-less remains.
Crickets and butterflies,
Like this dusty ramblin-rose.

I am not a soldier,
Bandaged up and bruised,
I am a the lone cowboy
Pictured and framed.

It escapes the wild warriors
With my heart: dear, forever.
Like a copper pan at the tin store,
Stars in my campfire.

Cyclical moon which bringeth thy sun:
Boil over warm coffee.
Because I love this way,
Where my window-less remains.

Roses are Beautiful (day 1159)

My grandmother tells me that roses are beautiful,
That common sense is all around us.
She tells me that stars float on at night and
Clouds make perfect animals
Which change upon a whim.
She has upon her windowsill
An old foot I’ve always admired.
It holds in it (like a steady hand)
Utensils ready for marking.
To its right: new words for every day.
Never a day goes by without
Her graceful way of flipping.
With all her heart the words so dear,
Hold powers of deep providence.
And from that table, when sitting to dine
Upon a chair plumped by two softening cushions,
One can see through a window of far off China mountain.
More importantly, however, a quite a bit closer
In fact – just below her window,
Is a bush grown wild from years
Unceasingly blooming so.
It’s a rose, and she knows
How beautiful it is.

My Dear Loon (day 1154)

Upon the brook I sat a while
Whistling my long & lone tune,
I thought I heard a critter come
But it was just the moon.

It echoed off the water so clean
That my heart lept at the thought.
And soon my mind was back again
Amidst this lone lagoon.

In my tarry I carried a pack
Stuffed with my new booty.
Not filled with random this and that,
But of my especial boon.

I held it close to my lone heart
As I breathed in the vista,
And just as I approached depart
I was greeted by a loon

Who whispered my heart a calm.
I knew once more, with no regret
That as I sat and whistled along
It would be time to go home soon.

Push Me (day 1151)

Push me.
Push twilight hours into dark corners
That swim amongst nevermore, nevermore.
Push my symbols into vertical black lines
Twisting about blurred vision scapes.
Push elephant hoof raindrops
Deep within my exposed and crackling skin.
Push out spring bloom’s beauty
Like a healthy garden explodes.
And if the camping hustlers deny
Engulfing catalytic tremors,
Then I shall be forced with all my might
To push my crows to vigor.

Measures of the Mind (day 1134)

Don’t shake wisdom apart again
Like you’ve been carrying it
Upon a heart so strong.
Like a canvas yet painted
This is a crime eating time.
And if emptiness enjoys a lie
So grass grows long in a mother’s worry,
Let the sunset cleanse the sky
And soothe you’re ancient mind tonight.
In yesterday there’s a tomorrow,
In an island there’s some fun,
As every eye is an open window
Let this song be an empty gun.
With skies and broken arrows
Memories will get me home,
And your heart can mend the worn beyond
Any measure of your mind.