Tomahawk on the wall
Side by side
For a new cut
From the Cutler
Master of the scissors
What was I once?
Did I stand up for our rights?
And speak out with our voice?
Did I hold my own
In discussions of the future?
Did I make decisions
Understanding the gravity
Of seven generations?
And how many times
Did I remain calm
As those around me couldn’t?
Did I react to danger
As a leading protector?
Did I give safety
To those around me who couldn’t?
Did I stand up to help?
Did I give you a chance?
Have I become
I’m growing tired of seeing your reflection
The gates are locked
And my side
Looks like it’s full of open pastures
And wild forest jungles.
There was a time that I knew nothing,
Blinded by skulls and candy
That barked at growing starlight
Strangling each reason
With desperate acts of non-violence
Non-sense that rooted blasphemy
In a solid stone foundation,
Un-able, un-desired, un-restricted
By a garden of eden dream space
Too conditioned and nostalgic
To grow wings of a new spring
And follow what has been set in your path.
My clock’s big bold numbers have flipped
Into a new season
A colder season of inner reflection
Observation, closeness with tranquil harbours
That cannot be exhausted in one evening,
One spell cast fool-heartedly,
One lonesome wolf that shall not howl tonight
Though this moon she grows
Swollen and sombre,
And embers within this hearth
Yet to forget this fire that burns within them.
I will sweep the floors of my hearth
And I will stand up against the wind
I will call out in response
To endless tests of Zeus
I will raise my voice at oppressors
Fighting for the oppressed
I will look into the eyes
Of ten thousand hungry demons
And breathe my fire back
Into visions of my birth
So I can continue my journey
Into the heart of my vision
And build the fire within my hearth.
My hair is getting longer than
I care to let it get
But my teeth get brushed
And I shower in a tap
Near by every morning.
I haven’t seen a razor
Since I’ve left my sheeted bed
But I know life’s just right
The way I ride
An iron horse
Through the day’s open sky.
I’m on the run for bits of fun
And lots of seriousness
To find my own
In a land far off
Where I’ll know no one again.
I eat my meals by picnic bench
And chop my food with a pocket knife
And fall to sleep nearly every night
As the sky says it’s goodnight.
A handy man should always have
A pocket knife by his side
No better friend in times of need
Could come to be at the ready
Rope was made for just the tool
So was whittling by the fire
And opening each bag of tools
Was fit just for that knife’s service.
Eager was the folding knife
Tucked away discreetly in thy pocket
So, then, was the fixed blade
Attached at a leather belt secure
To become of such valiant service.
For each man holds on to their tools
In which way feels right to them,
So no man shall defame a man
Who holds a knife at the ready
A handyman recognizes a good man
Who keeps a pocket knife ready for service.
But just as important for the handyman
A sharp blade makes one smile
A stone that keeps a blade able
For any task that rests at hand
No handyman should relax as if
Their blade be forever sharp
It is forever right that a handyman keep
Beside every dressing table to thy name
A handyman should keep right there
A handyman’s sharpening stone.
As a fire I torch the way
Alight into this night
Burning each timber
Amber lays my path behind.
I take apart
Each sliver of wood
Placed into my path
I bite and lick each crack.
But as wind doth die down
As kindling wanes at the hearth
Gentle doth my folly go
Slowing each flicker
And midnight’s roe fares well.
I felt good beating away my irrational fear
That this hungry stranger was wild man
He did have some unkempt parts about him
But nothing more than your average man.
He said he’d been working on a pig farm
Just inside the Ontario border
For the last four years
A smell I had keenly detected
When I first met him.
He warmed over as he drank the tea
And soon he was calmer
As the dog stopped growling at the stranger
The fire I kept going I’m sure
Also brought up his spirits.
I fed him toasted bread, jam, and eggs
And sent him off to the barn
Before darkness set in.