Little old lion
That sits on a brick
Looking as though a guard
What respite doth bring
Such sentinel a beast
In the hour
Of a deep felt freeze?
Tag: brick
Gates (day 3136)
You guarded the gate
Like Sphynx afar
Stoned and vacant
And mighty imposing
Like a thundering Lord
With a wish for more
Yet slowly people
Fell away
As bricks built upon
A ragged foundation
Of imposed rules
And stolen goods
Will always crumble
Until at last
It broke
Hinges and all
Leaving each pebble
In your wake
A memory
Of a truth once shared
No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)
It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.
Ol’ Ginter’s Ruins (day 737)
There’s a lady I walk by-the-by
She drags her feet like
With hair out wide
She’s got an old black lab
That huffs and puffs
Up ol’ Ginter’s Hill
She ain’t much of a hill
But the ruins at the top
Make a nice place to stop
For a break and a view
Let my mind sit and stew
Upon the brick walls that remain
In front of ol’ Ginter’s ruins
Lays a meadow and a copse
Brooding in green
With a gurgling stream
Which I roam up and down
Day in and day out
Some days I go up
Above ol’ Ginter’s ruins
There’s a well up there
At the end of the trail
Along the gurgling stream
Where I listen to the wild
There are two paths
From ol’ Ginter’s hill
To the house where I stay
One weaves through the woods
The other: a wide rocky path
I always go through the woods
The City (day 269)
Windows
And faces
And murals
And cement
And brick
With mortar
Smells
And stains
And trash
And brooms
And homeless
With doubt
Sounds
And colours
And damage
And cursing
And beauty
With breath
