Distance (day 1827)

I hate distance
It makes me anxious
And unwilling to move
And at the same point
Lost in translation
For locked inside
My nomadic heart
Beating upon different soil
Fleeting like broken sheets
And immersed
In a distant photograph
Soiled with the essence
Of a soul wandering,
A soul purely exposed
And awaiting.

photo by and of Danielle Nicol
photo by and of Danielle Nicol

Just Fine (day 1587)

Left my memories
On an empty bank today
Singing an old song
And my heart bleeds on

Turned to a broken arrow
Shot through the dark
Loosely wrapped with a
Half written love letter

Leather upon my wrists
Empty and holding it tight
Got a wing on my mind
Baby, I’m doing just fine.

Just Fine by Ned Tobin

Winter Footsteps (day 1337)

Winter swept away my eyes,
Blinded while in memory
That lay half spent from truth,
Half lost on an innocent blue eyes
That woke with no name.

I walked backwards to confirm my footsteps –
Innocents of a broken heart.
For too many, my dear love,
Have fallen unwatched upon this cold ground.
Share this memory with my awaiting cold winter steps.

Transition From Hurt to Love, and then Back Again (day 1092)

..And there were golden letters.
[Can I finally tell you?]
Like streams lapping mossy brooks,
To which my gloss rolled over.
In spite my anarchy,
My self propulsion…
Towards your grace.
I left slipping,
Jumping to and fro
Unto my broken jaw,
Lifelessly turning me over
Into airbrushed aluminum oxide.
Geometrically tracing
My bloodless sorrow
Into triangles
[Non-conducive triangles]
That weaved my sorrow
Into perfect pitches
[Acute pitches]
Hallowing my desire
Into five unspoken pledges,
Five needle point succulents
Layering my borders
Like foggy rolling alcoves
Set deep amongst
Cool summer’s afternoon
Wheeping willow rushes
– faint memories about this seascape –
But my layered angles sheltered me
From petty hearts that soothed me
To make my sleepless nights
Ever lonely, evermore.
A riddle I can’t play just so.
But lighting candles
That broke into my bedroom
And watched my brow quiver
As morning wretched it’s yawning
About the dusty trails,
I traced an even pathway
In triangles, forever faster
Until my morning had at last come
Filled with ancient rhythm.
Eyes so better clearer
Than one thousand lenses focused
On a heart so muddy [clearer].
I held onto my breath
Until anxious had subsided,
For I could not remember
What words had come before it.
And in such built excitement
A heart did flutter on,
Lost but not forgotten
Into books of golden letters
– Bound with broken arrows –
That felt so narrow holding
Pieces of leather’d sorrow
[Remember bloodless triangles]
That wept a stainless trail
From deep within desperation
Into worn hands of a savior
Who whittled out a triangle
To feed alotted perscriptions
With ever nimble fingers
Soaked in rosé water
And dried with ancient scrolls
Written in a forgotten language
That told of a lost soul
Who pledged a life to quill
Written in golden letters
And tied with broken arrows.
Words he’d lost to scrolls.
A heart he’d bled for food scraps
To feed his lifeless voodoo doll
Filled with needled pin holes
And scarred with a single triangle
Between worn out eye holes.
And written just below it
In tiny golden letters
Was ‘dia de la muerte’,
And the eyes all turned to sun
That grasped their holy language,
Blinding them to forgiveness
In smokeless trans-am tires
With a golden eagle flying.
This was not the end of stardust,
Not a burning pledge for Satan,
Not midnight’s showdown in dusty boots.
This was the last redemption hour,
A stained wedding gown and laughter.
And two boots made of leather
Tied tight with broken arrows,
Tracing triangles in the dirt
At gun points scary tremor.
Written neatly in a book
In perfect golden letters
Signed only with a triangle.

Flower’s Heart (day 1090)

I’ve got memories stored deep inside a flower’s heart.
It’s named sunshine and a memory
For your hidden broken secret.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.
Dancing with the street lights,
Unmarked walls of silent hallways.
Which have me singing out loudly
With angry pixies and upset fairies.
Lightly dancing strings of laughter
About my hidden secrets name,
Knowing I’m forever dreaming
Deep inside this heart’s remains.
This flower never after.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.

Exactly 29 Times (day 988)

Mystically speaking, the proverbs are relating accurately;
Horizontally strengthened with the thinnest of threads
Circled around my baby finger exactly 29 times
In a very tightly strewn pattern, accidentally.

Insomniac. Running at top speeds with wild horses;
That old farmhouse sitting amongst poppies and buttercups
Where I’ve lived once before; a feeling from depths unexplainable
Leveraging it’s way amongst modernities.

So it was a callused palm that broke this frozen spell;
Alone upon a park bench of inner city, inner beauty,
Brook bubbling by with homeless and suits (much quicker)
An eye awoke to stretch it’s glorious wings wide.

To which I had never encountered before;
To who I had never held hands with before;
To where I had never stepped in and amongst before;
To here, to this home of a quietly broken fear.

Berlin - 25062012 (42 of 51)

Turn the Page (day 970)

Today my wings fell off
Gravity took them from me
Curling and twisting the whole way down
Smashing as they hit the ground

For a moment I stood there
Dumbstruck
Unaware where life will lead
Unsure how life can continue

I bound what was left of my wings
Like one would a broken toy
Desperately holding onto memories
Avoiding change

My tail between my legs
I moped on, off into my distance
One mixed between here and there
A mirage straddling the line

Bow and Arrows (day 597)

Pull me apart with a thousand broken arrows
Tell me secrets of a far off and lonely maiden
Give me history we’ve never written down
And tear out my soul to feed wizards
That grant me three wishes that open realms
I fly to with all winds at my back
For future walks with thousands of bows
Bending under the pressures of love

Gone (day 493)

Gone is the sanity that I have rested upon
Gone is the broken wing I have mended so long
Gone is the eye of love, heralded with steel
Gone is the breakers edge, chariots wheel
Gone is the mystery of histories story
Gone is the evidence in a place of once glory
Gone is the solitude enjoyed in the park
Gone is the morning call, a flick and a spark
Gone is the choke ring about my own neck
Gone is the control once held at my beck
Gone is the grass I’ve laid with my own two hands
Gone is the bitter truth that never parts from these lands