I wasn’t born to be let go
I wasn’t here to weep o’r mine angels
I was left alone to build my kingdom
To heights I’ve touched with thoughts of wings
Until the end, evermore
Category: fantasy
Unsold and Awaiting (day 979)
Unsold and awaiting
I’m lost, un-masterpiece
Untended beside grand grapevines
To the spiders weaving webs
Crawling slowly over
Minding cracks with every inch
Dishing out my good vibes
To sun, forever strong
I take my time maturing
Beyond what’s seen, known
Counting (day 978)
Let’s make it together slow, baby
…Tonight baby
Tonight’s the night
Turn the page into another.
A land of bitten numbers
And satellites florescent
If we watch together baby
If we watch the night together
Let’s make it together slow, baby
Tonight’s the night
Tonight’s the land of another
Where we will fall as numbers
Night’s Delicate Dance (day 976)
Maybe we balanced our cross-hairs when we sent our whispers into night’s air.
A long, hollow howl,
A song to our own dainty ears,
Wishing for night to tarry while bringing us sleep
Footsteps reaching horizons edge, so evenly spaced so late in the day.
How did we manage,
How many words were pure thoughts,
Lingering ’bout our hesitant breaths like foxglove in the summer.
My moon silhouetted your name-sake tree, standing afar tall and proud.
Bloodline crawls down stony steps to waters edge,
Breaking off into still, deep black abyss
Waiting to find another whisper.
Protest Poetry (day 975)
What was the arctic before it became an oil well?
What was a forest overrun with trees?
What was my name before I was a sibling?
What was my right before I’d been stamped?
Did I come straight from a hologram?
Was I brought home on a road?
Whence and where from did the light come?
And the warmth, did it come before gas, painted and housed within four block walls of a thousand pixels per inch?
Where did I walk to before a wood chipped trail led my way?
How did the day fill before the calendar?
Can a city be a city without city lights?
How did one tarry about a late night corner before floating electric drones showed I was withing safety?
Because dammit, I’m starting to wonder
Is there any point in the quest?
What is the point in stuffing our bellies?
Where did the idea of nik-naks come hither from?
How did function get replaced by aesthetics?
When did choice become demand?
When did want become a dire need?
Why did our brothers and sisters turn from extensions of ourselves to examples of our desires?
When did we lose all of our trust?
And where has my community resettled?
Where has my tree grown its roots?
Where is my moon?
This is a protest poem
Teach Me the Moment of That (day 972)
Teach me the moment of that.
The moment we collided
In an orchestral orgasm,
Ecstasy of fragrants and essences…
And soft music blowing
Leaves in a swirl about our thoughts
That hang like spring rainclouds.
Teach me the moment of that.
Where I walk on the balls of my feet
Through soft summer warmed sand.
Seagulls walking quietly, lazily,
Hand in hand with sunglasses and oversized hats
That smile at most all things,
And run home to.
Reverie (day 967)
The day that I died
I rose to heights I’d never imagined
I screamed at the clouds
For breaking my ascent
And snarled at the trees
For leaving me behind
The day that I died
I put two left socks on my right foot
I wore my pants a little bit low
To scare old folks
And throw out literal puns
Like the madman I was
The day that I died
I gave mother the biggest hug she’d ever had
She felt within her own arms
The rise and fall of my own heart
She cried great tears that washed away villages
And carved out the mighty Fraser
The day that I died
My heart went to Tibet
Where it sat upon a flagpole
And could do no harm
In times of need, it was unbounded luck
To those who wished upon it
The day that I died
Not a piece of green grass died
Lush was the planet
As the stars made way for me
To call into eternity
That which cannot be given a name
The day that I died
Reverie floated about
Where we lost moments that chided
Our deep complexion of humanity
And all about the silent house
Peace was found existing
Written (day 965)
Letters budge my soul
They dig deep
They remind me of a moon lit sky
Shining down on my half inebriated eyes
A little goblin that wrestles with trees
Dark and settling in
Just holding form until scripts are written
Letters make me remember
Not just my latest flirtations
But memories of my soul’s soul
That existed when plastic didn’t fill
Empty holes mines didn’t dig
Long ago, filtered through memories
So remember
As letters float on by my closed eyelids
As fat cats dodge rat traps
That morph their edges into lost doorways
It’s not just whispers that shift unfiltered frequencies
It’s corpses and serifs, un-written and un-scripted
Un-animated in a midnights grace
That pull my toes tight in a grip of pure delight
Daemon (day 964)
Could you hold my hand
Unzip the past;
Let the edges break off, away.
Could we lift the moon
– High up above –
To share it’s calming embrace.
Could our souls entwine
Wildly mixed with time
To the edges of our daemon
Tibetan Orbs (day 955)
While straddling my time between Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot
I kissed the roasting bacon nuzzling up against my clothes, a warm glove
“Ouch” said the lonely spot of a remnant hot plate as I smooth talked her into a gentle coo
From here, I could almost hear the other patrons, busily slurping their medium roast over
Minding the color swirls developing in their half and half and brew mix; mind the honey, sugar
I twisted wildly to see a maiden, one of fairer skin and lovelier smile than this twirling vinyl chair I’d been making eyes at
I couldn’t quite understand her stuffed down puff jacket obstructing her twisted cursive
As she coiled and rounded the blue ball point pen about the pages of her soft red scribbler
But my eyes were taken by her small Tibetan orbs delicately dangling from her lobes
I wondered how far she had come today, and if it meant to her as much as it meant to me
That she was also sitting by her lonesome, like I was, at a buck fifty diner, romancing wildly with Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot