Listen locked up troubadour
I’ve had just about enough from you
Flat tones with hardly any decibel
What part of the unwritten story
Didn’t you read?
Weren’t you just a little bit stunned
When the little Draculas
Began roaming these cliffs
On the cold nights
The windy nights
Where out in the distances
Witches are heard
Cooking up their recipe
Madness with glee
Forever is the preciousness
Longing is the game
Put forth a valiant effort
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Troubadours and lab technicians
All united; a singular cause
Pulled into the parking lot
Brushed away the wild sea
Battled the neckerswaps
And unscrewed the top
Crossed the great yellow barrier
By walking in through that door
The market was ahead of them
It awaited there lovely wallets
Where they stared in all it’s preciousness
In glitter and in shine
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Pulling away from the parking lots
Mad hatters and tea sets
Blinded by ammunition
The Troubadour and his silent friend
Set out for sea
Bleeding through darkness
Into night
Peddling for fire starter
Drinking whiskey for the cold
Laughing at all glorious things
As wheels of giant steel spun
You shall not run like thee
You see
Past moons and past reefs
The cold sea lay in splashing
Madness settled over mortals
Hell welcomed in
Demons and rat infested decks
Lay crawling amongst eyes of stranded
Bitterly washing away stains
Laid down by the blood of another man
Coveting distant targets
Booty unheard of, unfound
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Reaching the distant lands
With the devil at their backs
Reeling from sheer horror
Exotic bazaars and neon lights
Collector man watched his pray
As the Troubadour and his friends
Circled the shore
Marching two by two
Their prize lay in the hands of a king
Bloodshed played over widowers
Death lay the victim asleep
Washed over with a thin black veil
With a light shower of diamonds
The King was laid below
And you shall not run like thee
For thee has run too long
Over distant mountain tops
Into far off valleys
Soaring across blue skies
Crumbling foreign castles to their demise
Fair haired spoils
Fruits of hard labour
You see
You shall not run like thee
Black masks and pony tales
Sidekicks and sport goggles
Ripped jeans and too good hats
Curly hair and bending knees
Diamonds in these eyes you see
It is over for you thin man
I see you standing there
Troubadour in your madness
You shall not run like thee
Learned Journey (day 640)
Remember that feeling as we swept off the sheets?
Placing delicate fruits aside for passionate love
Amid the sweet summer’s breeze
Goodnights and long days fold our hearts away
Sliding the time carefully amongst the wrinkled back pages of our hearts
Crawling carelessly across the barren desert
Scratching away like ravenous fowl
The knees of our plight, the oiled and trusty hinges
Leading the battle march forth
Gravitating back to that passionate distillery
We remember from a day long passed
Move on handsome soldier
Passion changes, lust morphs, love grows
Bicycle (day 639)
Your marvelous wheels
That catch a shining glare
Turn all the girls heads
When we roll on by
Summer golden locks
With pink crop tops
Big eyed shades
It’s gelato time
And racing through parks
Jacket flowing wide
Wind in my hair
Big smile on my eyes
Freedom!
Freedom at last!
As we curl past the final gazebo
Home stretch in front
We’ll stop just in time
Shippin’ Off Blues (day 638)
Blues running through my veins like a thousand year old steam train
Shufflin’ with rhythm unprecedented, unfounded, and glorious
Hustlin’ with mood set out for bad-ass gangsters fixing for the night
I’m gone baby, I’m ready for the big show
I’ve been shining these here two toned, Italian made leathers far too long
I’m shipping off in the next thing that moves
Towards better days with freedom I call home
Fixating on darker things of the night
Little noises
Smoke wafting up fedora covered heads
Huddled around the exclusive club
Ladies with silk dresses courtin’ slips
Not of tongues, but of long slender lines that draw up the side of a beautiful woman’s leg
Moonshine whiskey in small parlour glasses that clink with each sip from thawing rocks
Baby, I’ve got the blues tonight
Steady glow from jukebox blues
Ol’ wooden chairs that drag on hardwood floors
Pompadours for men with long chains scraping round the ground
Bouffants on pretty ladies with elbow length satin gloves
Sittin’ ‘mongst the men, leanin’ on tables and chairs
And Lady Theodore, the spectacle of my amazement
The light of the establishment
Glory and style and beauty encapsulated
I’m hustlin’ tonight baby
I’m ready for the big show
I’m shippin’ off ‘n the next thing that moves
Art Tonight (day 637)
Velvet Underground
Paintbrushes
Sore feet
Earth as We Know It (day 636)
Apocalyptic desires spread across the landscape into horizons of jubilant joy, needlessly wandering about the edges in a vignetted blur of reason and sacrifice.
All that was known then suddenly became lost, like the vision from the eyes when consciousness is shifted into the willing arms of a sideways glance, a flicker at the edges of a landscape.
Energy begins to build with anticipation and excitement; roaming birds know this feeling well, they make love to the feeling on sunny days when warm winds blow fresh scents of motherly creations of earth upon their nest.
Laying absentmindedness at the door, whipper-whisps swap the mind to the present, dust floats up from the awoken floorboards hitting sunlight that delights lovers, playing with time and space it’s exchange grows with anticipation into one final exultant gasp and releases such a tremor the rest fall into a deep dark sleep.
Deep within runs wild, from all except the grumpy gnome, the soldier of harbouring resentment, who scowls at all life and pushes away forthcoming joys to create for himself the place he never wished he had.
Alongside this dwelling of darkness runs a brook wild, over mossy rocks, through gnarled trees, past covered bridges, and out into the pussy willows and lily pads.
Taking away with it, from upstream down to the lowlands, all hate, love, magic, potions, desires, misspent emotions, and dying flowers into a new season of germination where new things shall sprout and grow with playful arches of sun that float onwards and away as the magical fruits of earth we know.
Winter’s Air (day 635)
I opened my heart today
Let it dry out in the winter air
Unbeknownst to me
A snowflake
Built upon infinite possibilities
Floated about my heart
Landing in a precious spot
I felt it glisten
In that cold winter air
Tingling sensation to the tips of my toes
Flirting with the edges of a smile
When just as easily
Just as simply as the path of the flake
A teardrop formed
Occupying the folded regions
Of my shaded eye
Drying in the winter’s air
The Number Three (day 634)
Imagine the shallows of tepid water
Wading through with no regard
And tiny snowblowers buzzing in the background
Reminding you of childhood horrors
In the year of the Rat
With Chinese food at the local diner
Chopsticks and good year fortunes
Like hockey cards and good luck pitchers
Walking two by three down sloppy roads
Three crammed in the back of an ol’ pickup truck
The bumpy way from ice cream to the lookout
With sand banks and long lobs
Exploding in magical madness
Imagine all the broken bike tires
Lost pucks and dead tennis balls
Bounced bald flat basketballs
And the advent of the GameBoy
All within view of this
Tepid water swaying about your
Soaking feet wading through
Mysteries of histories
Hallow’d be Thy Casting Stone (day 633)
Love crawled away
And I said safe
Time stretched our touches
And I said delay
Why don’t soldiers of fortune
Get the last wrecking ball
Make last what you love, man
Make last what you love
Perhaps bothered angels
Floated down to touch sin
Leftover madness
Is tomorrow head’n in
Bothered be laughter
Set out in stone
Hallow’d be thy casting stone
Full may its splash be charged
Dirty Secret (day 632)
For a while there I was thinking of quitting you
My dirty secret
My dungeon of love
Your united sound log
Your division of hope
I pushed you forth without ever knowing
Then you tossed away the breaking point
And spat it all across the roxy red chairs
Peanuts and gamblers
Standing around
Betting on sure things laid out to waste
Frothing animals with strapping young lads Riding their backs
Challenging each poser who attempts to stretch into the lead
Corners and white rails with grass always green
And a little buggy trailer that spins once around
Chasing some distant smell out in the grains
Smell that fooled no one that came out of the benches
Punching through lost bottles and dribbles of spit
Discarded score cards with random numbers
Little numbers, faint numbers, broken numbers, black numbers
Doors swing wildly here without much aim
Ghosts come and go, lost without a name
And in all the hallways one can hear the distant thunder
Of heels pounding against the ground