I paused to reflect on waves
Splashing my reflecting peace.
I knew that twinkling waves
Were unspent thoughts
Still waiting for my fancy.
Yet here I was, clear of thought,
Amongst children thinking it funny
To throw plastic cups in the sea,
Unaware of volunteers
Cleaning her from bow to stern;
Amongst gulls pecking at my toes;
Amidst catered driftwood
Aligned in rows.
Yet my thought was still overwhelmed
By sweet shining sun:
Heavenly as she chose.
And I lay still here
Until memory aligned again with thought,
And the sea was ebb and flow.
Category: nature
Identifying Marks (day 1382)
How does a day slip away?
How does time float on by?
Left alone wondering why
On my mind on my mind.
Footsteps echo loudly
Walking down a dotted line,
Catch a moon and hold it high;
Forever wild at heart and free.
Darkness is pure daylight;
Speakers louder then heartbeat.
Walk into a no return lane,
Find a door that marks your name.
A Proper Man’s Time (day 1381)
Darker abstracts of our life
Face open windows
When calms begun once again.
In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.
Could the full moon retreat life,
Could it catch hold of time?
When the blinds keep a blowin’.
In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.
Old dog’s been here resting
Against the old wooden door.
Got his head in the sunlight,
Open window no more.
City Cycling (day 1380)
Liberation
Lock racks
Non-congestion
Until Luck (day 1377)
Wish me until luck.
Take your eyes from our black sky
And slowly walk along
This overgrown trail.
I have hardly noticed
Changing seasons.
Eight Minutes and Nineteen Seconds (day 1374)
Solar reflections
Brought my dreams home,
To which I promptly ate
Full well knowing
Eight minutes and nineteen seconds
Had passed
Since I last blinked.
Captain Black Gun (day 1371)
Never alone he traveled the Seven seas
In sound and perfect harmony
Like wisdom is a memory
Clear blue days were sanctimony.
For our strong Captain whose sea was his own,
We fought together – bonded right strong,
Aligned was his order at once to every cause,
Slave to the Master, Master of us all.
Lost in distances were clear mountain peaks
Of a land no longer home that we’d set off from,
Wives and lovers we’d taken on who
Intently listened for our great song carrying on.
With strength of a thousand men strong
Our ship broke mooring, the voyage was on.
All hands on deck looked forward, ho!
Minds focused intently on journey begun.
Land became imagination that coo’d our souls
Quietly to sleep, rocking to and fro.
To every morning, as we woke to clear day,
Cheap sailors rations to make us row.
Night to day and dark to dawn,
Feign attempts at moving on.
A sailors dream but lasts two days,
Quickly blown and torn away.
It’s here where brotherhood arises,
Amidst thick fog and setting horizons;
A common quest, through all disguises,
Men! Heave-ho! Booty and prizes!
Aye! To think the lot a mere bunch of sailors?
Ruddy men dancing with nightly fancies!
Whence stopped at port, may the best man win!
Captain Black Gun and his notorious escort.
Tis’ not all easy for the roughest of men
Amidst all deceit lives honesty then,
A Pirate’s code delivered in blood
Rests all accused deep below their judgment plank.
And as time comes for setting on,
Morning awaits, mooring long gone,
For silently creaking we steal away
Locked in our treaty of the great Pirate code.
Off again then, land locked lovers lament,
Open sea and sweet smelling air.
All becomes lost, save the fresh smell
Of a clear sunny day and wind in our hair.
So whenever you hear tell of a sailor’s ship
Sailing through the Seven seas at a magnificent clip,
Think to yourself of Captain Black Gun
And the legend that carries the Pirate code strong.
Opacity (day 1366)
Mist hovers around distant peaks
In layers of varying degrees of opacity.
This romantic gesture of nature
Elegantly caresses the rolling edges
Of Oceans’ depth,
Lapping in anticipation of condensation,
Of erosion, of a life ready for swimming
And torrents swiftly moving debris,
Leftover madness,
In a slow waltz towards decomposition.
For life in its continued cycle
Sweeps all amongst its grip,
Heaves and blows, wisps and snows.
And goes and goes between distant tree tops
Of deep hidden green
Where damp darkness within hallows out
Moss and lichen’s dear nest,
Amidst fallen giants, long ever lasting,
With hearts of true desire so deeply brown
That all surrounding colour forms a perfect match,
Like needle covered ground,
Healthily swept clean of fungi
By the little nature cleaners,
Bacteria and organisms alive in depths
Scarcely observed in fleeting moments of daylight,
Heavily felt as clouds consistently continue
Rolling along distant peaks
In varying degrees of opacity.
Hell is My Political Agenda (day 1356)
Our political agendas are nauseating.
They’re stuffed so full of capital letters
That the underlying messages of our society –
Hell, even our cultures,
Are suffocated with exhaust stacks and bottom dollars.
If I could have dreamed up a Heathenistic Hell,
I’d put city roads and destruction for progress
Right at the top of that scorched list.
I’d decree land had suddenly become a commodity
We could sell simply because we had a gun that said we could.
Just like young adults unable to find their righteous paths,
Explicit lyrics contaminating the innocent minds,
My Hell would be a prescribed better way, mothers.
Did you feel my heart as it’s ripped out every single day
When land mines help fight swollen populations,
Planted in a war to help save lives?
War to not war! Fight fire with fire!
And in my Hell, in my political agenda I call my country,
I would give us hope, every.single.day.
We would wake up to the smell of progress
And desire to capture it in any way possible
So that it could be shared with anybody we knew.
We would mutually feel good about the loss of our trees,
Because our heads were buried so deep in our electricity
Where we were collectively dreaming about
Ways to continue our progress.
For my simple pleasure I’d have dandelions everywhere
As symbols of true health and prosperity.
I’d pull up my old lawn chair, warm beer in hand,
And watch as all the sinners pulled out their organic chemicals
To spray the evil yellow root to death.
On the cold days when there were no death machines
I’d read my botanical books and let the rain
Wash tears into my Hell.
For me this is the saddest thought of all,
Because in spite all my attempts to rectify ignorance,
I would be a black seed living in my own true Hell.
I would be a puppet, inspired to raise my voice
And told that I do mean something to this Hell.
There I’d be, red faced eating my poisoned earth,
Handed another blank Party card
And told why I should be excited.
Good Morning on the Farm (day 1354)
She stopped to look at me;
Of course I noticed,
It’s what’s come and saved me;
In the garden that we’ve planted,
In the life that we’ve harvested.
So long nights are star-lit,
Wisdom is a campfire,
Pride is found in a solid axe
And love is what reminds me…
Just like a well worn pair of leggings.
You’re there every night!
Roosters wake me at the break of dawn.
I smell well worn leather
And anticipate your footsteps
Coming to say good morning every morning.