I wont work on your memory
Until raindrops fill the sky
For in the meadow of our life
A stream runs us far and wide
So that the summer we both know
Can carry our hearts high
And help us to build our time
Like rings of old growth.
Category: manly
Inner Heart
Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.
To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.
But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.
There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.
Cold Fusion of the Mind
Cold fusion plugging my artery
Making its way into my brain
Locked in embrace
With two swines for dinner
Make me a salad if you please.
And a winedrop
Caressing the glass window
Spilled over with a passionate moment
Left a gray cloud
Hovering closely
To the carved portrait on the wall
With graceful messages
In times of need
To all those who took to listen.
And I never left the door open
To invite all the neighbours
Though they took all the mail
And ate the fridge dry
I wore my best suits
And tied my own tie.
Who listened when the podcasts were turned on?
Will the beet juice stain
Each keyboard with fury
Slowly running down the lips
Of the sweetheart
With eyes of translocation
Heavy on my mind.
Sweet Moon
From the nights sweet dancing moon
Comes ecstasy I cant turn away
Emotion of a day well spent
Crawling through my veins
Distant coyotes call
To a pack not far apart
And my hand finds yours tonight
Sweet embrace I’ll always take.
Inside Cobwebs
I awoke with steam
Overtaking my barely opened eye
Stretched cobwebs holding
My eyelids
In a foggy embrace
That reminded me of fishnets
In tunnel vision
Locked in sweaty fantasies
Of a late night low light
Where forbidden
And forgotten
Are both flickers of imagination
And soft light
Of a golden new day
Controlled my reaching hands
To stretch across
Open areas of cobwebs
To feel around inside.
Early Morning Hour
In the early morning hour
Wind seems to lay down
Rising sun sets out to warm
Every frosty blade of grass
And when my horse is saddled up
I mount my trusty steed to roam
Every bit of our home range
To find my cows and learn the land
For my life I’m setting out
Warm coffee in the morning
Another day to go about
In this early morning hour.
Take
Take what you want
Need nothing more
For remembering
For singing song
There was no audience
No standing pride
Call of the monkey
Song of coyote
When the willow
Grows over your head
Look to the weather
Summer’s soon over
Find me in
The falling weather
Temperature dropping
Frost is coming
Always remember
Take what you want
Nothing worth calling
This singing song
Fighting For A Softer Edge
If you give me a softer edge
I will believe in your touch
For in the grasp
Of a summer day
I remember all these dreams
And I can hear the buzz
Of the honey bee
Singing in my ear.
But if the edge continues to hone
I’ll find my sharpness cutting knots
Deep within my root stricken back
Holding me to gnarly strength.
I am the fire
Should I be struck
For I awake within my heart,
I am the dirt
That crumbles with
A slipping fist no longer clenched
No longer fighting back.
Breathing Grand
It has been hard to admit
That my words have lost meaning.
Even the breath
That inhales to explain
Where my full self has departed to
Has lost its strength;
Faintly attached
With two softly drawn cords
Like a spider web
In early morning dew
(Too delicate and lost
To be trecherous and hard),
Whispers inside myself
Have fallen down.
This weakness has touched my message
– Ice crumbling at the brink of water –
So much so that my eyes
Are no longer opening
With meaning and fury
For they have bid me adieu
While rainwater is expected
To stain this grand scheme.
Cutting Hay in a Field (day 3224)
Three days of sun
Blade depth
Amidst in field