Tag Archives: Birth

Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)

When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.

I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.

When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.

So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.

Ode to the Apple (day 1914)

I walk the orchard with eyes so wild
Heart so strong and free
I look towards where you fall from
Then bob back to where you’re from.

A-joy I see as each new leaf
Spreads out with all it’s cheer
And my heart leaps at every blossom
An orb of what’s setting free.

Into my hand I hold on to thee
Like miracle of child birth
Soon to be returned to earth
My footsteps weave through the orchard.

Ode to the Apple by Ned Tobin

Fall (day 812)

I lost that feeling deep within the cavernous region of my lonely heart
When the holy sun set upon the western banks of euphoria
My fingers crawled with memories over burning sand shifting away time
Like Mother Nature’s wiles as summer turns to fall
Leaves challenging gravity to a duo, a fate well known to man
Fruits come to spoil and nights come to close amongst sober flight
Silently and diligently animals march their way with instincts
Into warmer climes and distant hills, far off ponds of migration
Flocks and herds and pods and groups and hibernation
With the great cycle of life: life and death and birth and age
And here I sit: legs crossed with my third eye alert
Searching amongst the birch trees and clovers for only that which comes
Without forced determination, without abrupt distraction
As the harvest moon breaches the young evenings virginity
And the lone coyote sings a song of love into the cool night air

Riga - 201209 (400 of 605)

Ancient Ruins (day 702)

Standing here marked in my sentinel pose
The pigeons have come home, bringing what blows
Shifting time here from then, now, and future
And watching seasons twist before my eyes
Carrying new colours with birth, love, and death

But my purpose has been lost in the changing of regime
What once was a tyrant has now become kindly
Taxes increased, but civil liberties have too

Blinking slowly I become a shifting flower of dust
A shocking array of memories unwritten
While passersby brood and confuse points on maps
And come more and go, pigeons of flight
Remain here in harbour, remain here at rest

Dark (day 425)

You will run but you cannot escape my all seeing, all knowing eye
Forget not that I see no boundaries, I will peer through that mask
Directly at the shadowed eyes that burn fists of fire through my soul
I will not let you run with your heels of fire digging into my sin
Resting for only little bits of laughter let loose into the blue nights sky
Late the raven calls upon the unsuspecting pray as it lies in shame
Hidden beneath the oak tree, wasted as if perturbed by an inescapable fate

Gather your storms you mighty Gods
Forgive me not for my ugly sins
Forgive the rain for soiling the earth
Giving it light and day
But not I, the doer of dark

In time the noose shall loosen from around the bitter Apollo’s neck
Released from the havoc that only the underground animals shall ever know
Hidden from the gems that ignite the last memories of a dying man
Crying from the birth that has taken place in time since we last spoke
And pacing restlessly along the cold stone candle lit memories
Trying to rid my withered bones of the transcendental war
Do not forget to close the door as you step inside the chamber of health