Tag Archives: Brow

Ode To Dried Flowers (day 2139)

When skies blow clouds
So lazily
And grass sways side to side
I feel your heart pull
About a time that’s past
I remember, I do!
I watched you lift your brows
To the sky each morning dew
And sunsets captured a feeling
Of what it was to be you
And now we carry on
Taken, but not forgot.

Far Away (day 2089)

Walking past a darkened window
About my business of the day
I caught a glimpse deep inside
That sent me far away.

I shuddered at the thought upon
My furrowed brow, so cold
A memory of a locked trunk
I had believed far away.

Oh torment, why thou doth attack me
In my daily sugared tea
Leaves me holding secateurs
A photograph from far away.

There then rests thy saving grace
A cutout tacked to thee wall
A guillotine for my dancing fingers
Upon darkness far away.

Far Away by Ned Tobin

Flames (day 2065)

Rushing, I was an ember
Falling aimlessly amidst sweet coals
A surrender, long ago
Admitted sensationalism
Upon your sweet brow
Walking hand in hand
Between flames I would never know.

Ode to a Cresting Wave (day 1884)

As I look out
I see you there
Playing amidst such full swells
A liar so dangerously deep
Just out of reach
And here I am in dream.
You shall be
For my clear eyes
Dark dream upon my brow
For when wind blows
And my eyes close
You are forever, my flutter.

Trailhead Mirth (day 1736)

Let our hero becometh she may;
Sky shines today, today.
Path beyond is tangled up
Amidst a heart that glows so stead.
But beware signs about thy trail
That alert an eye to deep sorrow,
Let mirth be kind and easy to
The brow that shakes, a cloudy stew.

Sewn With My Name (day 1285)

When you whisper my name a thousand miles away
A little fairy floats from you on to me
With a gift wrapped in satin, sewn with my name.

Moments keep building through conquest and torture,
With every gamble perching icicles upon our brows
That tickle and fancy and etch out our fate.

My deepened breath at the sight of your fairy
Keep me awake, for no thought should go wasted;
No lingering memory or heart pitter-patter missed.

Just like my serpent, I’m alive with no name,
All else flickers and slithers; lost into bane.
‘Goes here with my fairy, a thousand miles away.

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.

They Have Got Me (day 1013)

I have got angels.
They dance around naked with long blonde locks
And sing amongst each other banging a drum.
Whenever I stand up to join the chorus
They stop and they wonder and stare at me lost;
It’s not a ‘what the hell is he doing’ stare,
But a ‘caught in the crossfire of beauty’ look.
They tell me my voice is why they stay
Dancing around here, naked as they play.
I have no reason to not believe my angels
For when I am lonely, they are my commitment.
They are what brushes past my face after tears flow,
They are what flickers in my early morning eyes,
They are the cinnamon spicing my sauce,
They are what smooths my sleepy brow out.
My angels cannot do me wrong.
No matter what song perches about their supple lips,
Their fingers dance nimbly through the air.
When they dream of things I cannot yet see,
Their drum echoes through my heart
And I imagine that I can indeed see their spells,
– Woven upon me so tight –
And I hear even in daylight they’re not far away.
When I begin dancing, when I share their dream,
I know I have got angels, and they have got me.

My Brow, Your Brow (day 953)

How do you commit to someone
To accept one entirely?
For it isn’t just a walk about
Strolling arm in arm…
Nor is it even a moment laughing
To which the poke’s about.

When I sleep, I do not know
What the murmuring’s about.
And walking gaily, all alone
I shouldn’t dare to stop.
Nor when I sleep in my lone bed
Best guess I’m zig-zag hogging

Is it just when my brow’s a furrowed
That I must dig down deep…
Or when I’m afar, a lonesome distance
Away from my fair damosel?
For strong I am, a soldier here
A valiant man of fortune

And when I catch a glimpse of that
Which doesn’t mesh with thyself,
Is it my duty to embrace distaste?
Or fare me well, when I am proud
To turn my head and trod
Into horizon, into the end, farewell! Be off! Be gone!

No. It isn’t that.
This is not the way.
This is not my heart’s desire.
For my own brow,
And your worn brow,
Are forever joined to cherish.

So I do now know what comes of me,
What begs me to be done.
It’s simply a hand of mine, outstretched and outlaid
Accepting another’s sun, vast, wild, and aglow
In peace, enjoyment.. conquest ho!
We run together, apart.

Free to be a memory,
Or a child in incubation.
Free to hide, and free to glow,
And free to bring the world to me.
Free to hold and free to love,
And free to be with me!

Forward [a Smile] (day 920)

I didn’t think I heard you right
Calling my name like a love bird
“Coo. Coo.”
My baited ear; bent.

But your eye, raised brow
Intrigued my senses,
Tingled my nerves, and
Shook my tailored cuff
Into a slow waltz,
A casual saunter.

Dimmed lights
And a smile that pulled
[Gravitational laws of attraction]
Which spit out the cork
And drank straight from the bottle

A blood red moon burned that night
As lovers made their way
Past steaming alleys.
Sleeping sidewalks glistening
In moonlit silence.
Clip-clop street talk with
Romance in a new nights air.

Forward to waking eyes,
Resting pants [still belted]
Carelessly draped over
A wooden powder-blue picket chair,
So tenderly close to that
Matching vanity with a mirror

Murmurs rustling through the sheets
[Down filled comforter]
And a familiar close to home
Written between
Those smiling lips,
But crying a hidden tear.
A soft memory.

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