Old Worn Out Stool (day 308)

Leftover confessions sit on the old worn out stool
Gathering dust bunnies in the corner
Spider webs slowly crawl into the sunlight
And time slips between the cracks eroding

The warm fly stops a while
Basking in the stray beams sent in loveletters
From the sun lollygagging afar

With a slam the scared stool shakes
Temperamental floor boards wobbling
From the heavy oak door’s hinges

Muddy work boots shift the scene
Askew rays reach but cannot touch
The newly placed stool covered in rags

And darkness ensues
For the old worn out stool
Night trickles in

Sinister Dish (day 306)

Sweet sunsets and mangled reminders of the only stages you’ve ever stepped on that collapsed under your pressure and exploded into your dreams of the last days on earth.

Brought to you by the evanescence, the ultra cool but oh so very hot glow that recorded the passing of time with little whispers that spoke to you like a hard boiled egg or a clinking glass of scotch [on the rocks].

Deeper, deeper I desired as I swayed to the easy listening of the devil’s music that crunched my ear drums like the vibrating stool I now sit on.

Perhaps it’s the toxicity of the room that invites me to pray upon my victim with relentless desires only my dilated pupils can explain away as if I was some mute teenager sneaking out the back door a gunnysack full of father’s liquor.

Did I ever run away from that devious sight I had designed from the first time that I set a foot on your precious neck?

I’ve lost two dollars to the little man we’ve befriended for bets that I’ve drunkenly took and never intended to see through till the end like the lot would have hoped I would have.

Yet, like the flame throwing dummies burnt up in the all to familiar smoke of the madness, I too have found my glory box hidden deep beneath my sock drawer with my fifty dollar bills where no man shall ever speak of.

I salute you, tiny panther, I salute your devilish glare as you circle your pray and wait for their moment of weakness and slaughter them in a feast of all that has been and shall ever come to pass.

This is good.

This feeds both our souls.

This proves that the only thing that has ever rolled from the base of this lone tree that stands in our way was the rupture of happiness.

And forever I shall witness the spiderwebs slowly creep further into the corners of my eyes until one day they too shall bear witness to the struggling undergrowth that shall be sworn to secrecy with the stomping foots of the passing time.

Dare to lay down this sinister dish and feed upon my gravely voice and dried up blood spots.

Fast Cars and Pointy Toes (day 305)

Rummaging through last nights painted fingers
I find an old story I had forgotten to tell
The bent pages tell me I’ve worn it well
The frayed ends say too long

With one single strand of hair hanging down
Flirting with the edges of a smile
And too many dance classes have given
Sexy posture to that romantic back

The light it sits turned down low
Casting devious glances around the room
Slowly flirting with purposeful hands
Roaming over tightly ironed pant legs

Smoke lingers in the air from a burnt candle
Matching the smooth frequencies roaming
About the room like the ladies in sheer dresses
Their fragrances waft into my domain

Slowly brushed aside with a smile
Mischievous smile and a sideways glance
The whiskey pulsing through my veins
Tonight is a game of fast cars and pointy toes

One Houndred Days (day 302)

We paddled and paddled
For one houndred days straight
Neither rest nor sleep
Was our friend all the while
We came about falls
We came about rapids
We came about bears
Finding winters warmth flapping
We passed by the furs
Of the coastal regions
We passed by the spruce
Of the swampier interiors
We passed by the pines
When the river twined
And we never complained
For our destination inclined
Not a single soul to speak
Not a diverting path to take
No energy was lost
In the battle we fought
We all had our children
Our warm wives back at home
But our socks they were warm when
Our backs they lay cold
Our knit caps, they
So red and so bold
We paddled until
Our paddles they broke
Then paddled some more
With the spares that we towed
And then, in the distance
As we pushed through the night
First one, then another
Then tens of houndreds they did burn
The fires of our friends
The fires of our family
The first of the First Nations
As they sat along the bank
Celebrating their season in the sun
The drums we had felt
Many days before
A pace threatening saunter
A force for our driving
As we came to the landing
We were swarmed by the tribe
We had always come here
We would always return
We were family here
We were friends here
This was our home
The land of the free
And after we shared
With the children all around
We welcomed the tribes men
We embraced our dear wives
We brought out our treasures
We had bargained for at the market
One houndred days paddling
One houndred days to the east
They sang songs for us
They sang songs with us
We brought out our fiddles
And we sang songs for them
We danced through the night
And we danced all the day
We hunted with the men
And we slept with the women
But then, when we saw
The leaves turning colours
We packed up our furs
And loaded our pelts
Carved out our paddles
And sorted our gear
Sad and long faces
As the morning progressed
We paddled on silently
Into one houndred days to the East

Poor Silly Darling (day 301)

Poor silly darling
With her eyes open so wide
It’s such a shame
The moon passed it’s time
Sailing the dark seas
Forever calming
Amongst the rustling leaves

Poor silly darling
With her arms so comforting
They haven’t told stories
They’ve shared life
With the ailing soldiers
They’ve doped dressings
Amongst the morphine lectures

Poor silly darling
Who I love there so quietly
Books on her lap
And her feet resting flat
The river that runs
Along high mountain plains
Is always cold against the virgin skin

Mother and Daughter (day 299)

Every day, as the days get longer;
Every moment that pushes forward
Into the existence that propels us,
As if a non-rebelling down slope
And gravity had a serendipitous
Waltz into the passing sunshine.
Glistening brightly into
The peering eyes of a dreamer
And her mother of fashion.
From here, they made their way forth
Into the shades of unknown
To hopefully grow as a unit:
Mother and daughter

Skin (day 283)

Awake I lie cowering in the cold
Asleep I remember nothing
The cold seems to suck the will to live
Knees so sore they could cry

Rhythmic music penetrating the deepest confines of my soul
Letting the cold seep further in
My eyes, they slowly close
Inward they lean, down they venture

While the spiral takes me in
The cold soothes my sin
With tiny little dancers
I begin moving to the tune of my skin

Spinning Circles (day 276)

I could light up a room full of lost causes
I could make my neck worn out
From the ever spinning circles
I could love the little light on
At the far end of the tunnel
But with all this pent up energy
I could never tear your heart apart
I could never walk alone along
The ever spinning circles here
The ever increasing boardwalk where
My pennies never fall too far
But idly standing by so close
Are the ravens and the hawks so dear
I’ve given them all my food
Now they’ve come for hair
“Dinner time was hours ago”
I yell from my twisted knoll
They don’t care
Or perhaps they do
It’s just the language barrier that overrules
I lay my gaze upon the maze
Spinning in circles out before me
I watch the masses
Gather their plastics
Make do with what money can buy
Perhaps share themselves some dollar bills
Perhaps watch as Cinderella waltzes
Her shoeless countenance slowly down the long stairs
I could watch her for hours
As she moved in her spinning circles
Up and down, and all around
I could walk up and hold out my hand
Perhaps it would change the fate of mankind
Perhaps it would turn our world upside down
The charming prince would never have known
The sisters would have been left alone
I could have spun my dear Cinderella
In spinning circles around the open streets
Watch as the pumpkins and field mice
Pulled heavily on the reins
Or perhaps in my new world
There would always be sunsets
No more sun going about its spinning circles
Just moments of fun
Judged merely by the growing grass
The growth of the beard
The interest in some rest
Or perhaps I could slowly slumber
Down a lamp lit street
Snow growing rapidly in the corners
No traffic, it’s that hour of the night
Pausing, maybe, to watch the snow
Spinning circles around the glowing light
Fluttering nicely down onto my nose
Perhaps there is a girl there
Hand stuffed in my pocket
Taking me in spinning circles
Around the blocks, looking for the best cafe
The one we’ve been always looking for
Dressed in our shades of black
Mod hair to the side part
We used to drive
But there were too many spinning circles