Attitude

This work ethic is work
It is not play,
Play is different.
It resides on the same plane,
But is a different vein.
Attitude relates the two;
Notions of good and well,
Interested
And seeing life
From a perspective of fun.

Work ethic is motivated
Play is motivated
Peace must also be motivated
So that we can find
Within our depths
The actions to take.

Each state of being
Has the possibility
Of infinite attitudes.
Each attitude
Can be applied
To each action.
Actions and state of beings
Are choices on the same plane,
Choices that each take motivation.
Attitude chosen for one
Can easily be the attitude
Chosen for another action.

Looking For This (day 3035)

I am looking for this.
All of my efforts and truths
Are running in parallel with my actions.
I am calling to my inner self,
Feeling my bones rumble
At each swing I make,
Splitting my observations into fragments
That live long in the hearts of men
Who come and sit and talk.
Yet this action has no idle,
It bears resemblance to sweat
Breaking the cloth in toil,
For when the sun rises in the East,
Each drop of frost rises
Like the man I am looking for.

Looking for This by Ned Tobin

Bushel (day 2954)

This is not the answer nor should it be left misunderstood
Gods carefully listened but none took action
Forgotten and dead lay the bushel of corn
Raspy, hoarse, brown
Thickening day lay low
And Divine Interpretation was a plan that could not be laid
For dead leaves had fallen and no new growth was expected
Until the decaying layers of slumber departed
Swift onset of thaw set in for another season under her breast.

Stuffing Dance (day 2903)

I’m getting tired of this dance
Stuffing our faces
With experiences
We dont know if we enjoy.
Who designed our minds?
Who gave us this style inprint
That requires consistent change?
Updating, renewing, regulating…
There is no end game
It’s just a consume point,
Many consume points
That filter me
Based on my character profile
That I work hard at eliminating
Because I’m a stereotype
Who doesn’t like being stereotyped.
I’m entitled to use my words
More than I use my action,
And I take pains to twist words
To judge others
Before I myself
Be my harshest critics.
Lost on a translation
Misunderstanding,
This changing time…
Imagining a different world
We hope to be in
But refusing to acknowledge
The disconnect
With a path that is too far gone.

Taut (day 2833)

Each glow has been filtered
Down a line of education
Memories clouded
By acid rain
And electromagnetic radiation.
In spite it all
Each effort
Each consciousness
Each advocacy
No singular action could resolve
Bitterness we all so feel strong
Yet must we search on?
Should we seek to find answers
So desperately within our reach?
Should we gamble and risk,
Dream and desire,
Fight and protest,
Gripe and lament?
The glow, ever glow,
Keep the strings taut.

Agape (day 795)

No desire, no direction pointed towards
Or passion warming the hearth
With a listless presence, standing
Mouth agape, as bait laid carelessly
In a young child’s idle play
Ebbs at the sight of prey
Understanding, in the heat of noon
Dirt clouds seeking moisture,
Wild calls shan’t be pry thy ears
Shan’t whip thy conscience into curt action
That thunders in yonder distant hills

All rests timelessly
All accumulates that which old books,
Unactivated ceiling fans, and
Old couch-sofas in a sunbeam’s gaze
Collect, like passport stickers,
Green-rot below country home taps, and
Knots in old women’s backs
Seem to enrich all our lives in
Sweet mother natures precious stamp
Time which counts ever longer
Into agape county rancher-home scenes

Tea is served through the wire mesh
Swing door on a rancher style patio
With hard footsteps of stiff manners
And an old rocking chair
With one checkered cushion
While sun recedes behind
Yonder silent hills
Slowly rocking in the evenings breeze

Stranger (day 604)

A passing stranger steps onto the street
Three wise men watch him with their eyes
Pulling apart the layers of unknown
With one single nod it’s all gone to waste

Flying with patience an assault comes ahead
Loaded with a single sword
One made to draw the blood of valiant men
The attack goes ahead

Hands moving without thought
Trained for this night
The four become one
Across the rough surface of the street

Clanging swords ring out into the night
Intensified by the glaring moon high in the sky
The warrior’s shadows all bounce off the walls
Leaving traces carved out on the surfaces

One man with hair tied high above his head
Yells out into the night
A victim to the strangers sword:
One knee, sword curled into the heart

The three that remain round into the stable
Horses are gone; all out for the night
Only the warriors remain
The magician starts the fire and the blazing builds

One nick on the shoulder for the stranger in rags
The wise men were right, they knew who he was
Staring and breathing and allowing it to flow
The three, instant action, begin once again

A sword through the neck takes down the second wise man
His long netted hair flails out in a circle
Around the dying corpse, gasping for breath
Flying down low, another life for you now

With that quick flick of the wrist, two is all who remain
A wise man now friendless, and the stranger in rags
They know it has come to this, they saw it begin
A few knowing glances, a few words to share

But not with this bounty, the booty in rags
Tucked deep inside, is what they came for at last
It is death for one more, this battle is fast
Swords drawn for attack and a rush to the head

Circling one another they trace out their path
The fight and its wings is back on the street
With swords flashing wildly repeating their names
The masters dance in the ancient martial art

Without a noise escaping their mouths
The show, a pure form and fashion, carries on
Dust kicking up and the moons glare from all angles
Then, instantaneous rest

A calming all around as if hushed by the night
Settling of the dust, echoing of the night
And footsteps leading away, one last wise man dead
One stranger continues, awaiting the next challengers without relent