Wisdom shocked the senses
Into thinking of a way out.
Too many goblins chatting
At the back door, closing soon.
Laying sun in crimson skin
Knicked at the very tips
Of mirth and exposed bits,
Beneath a woven scarf
Tied much to tight;
Killed in a drunken sun.
Category: black heart
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
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.
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.
Lair (day 1965)
If a dream
Were only mine to hold
I’d never share
My deepest lair
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.
A Salty Crown (day 1961)
Later then that
I would be the sea
I would wash upon each shore
Up and down
A salty crown
Foaming as every splash
Erupts into
Jubilee
Then fades off
As darkness, lost.
Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)
When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.
I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.
When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.
So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.
Holy Boats (day 1956)
Blame not the recharge
Left slowly puddling into a dark corner
Of this uneven hardwood floor,
Nor should holy boats
Hold these oars tightly so.
Thee witness’ callused palm
Scrapes dry a soiled seat,
And a martyr hangs listlessly
As townsfolk carry on.
Mild wind blows a crooked sign
Making rust set within,
Harder then an open wound
Stronger then the sun.