Misty Boughs (day 2258)

You, a burning flame did grow
Dancing with the morning fog
Shake the dew that left birds in
A maze of ribbons and boughs.
A colour ran straight down from
Each gap of the misty morn
Tingled each dancing toe
O’er the wild grassy knoll.
Whence the house came peeking through
Ominous black set back in fog
Home at last to elm pews
Shaggy black goat on the road.

Exist Between (day 1861)

Where is this spot that exists between dream and reality
The viscerally imaginative soft stuff
That shakes shaggy ground free of complaints
And sunsets clear morning’s dew
From cobwebs shining as if testing new approaches
To similar corners, similar filters, similar dreams
That sit still and recoil while inhale meets exhale
And spring meets autumn
And one meets two
And a shoe gets worn through by impermanence of space
That’s always been growing up and chopped down
And eaten and fed and counted and weighed
And slotted into a spreadsheet marked with scales
Ranging from zero to ten with a save button
That creates multiple redundancies.
When the only request is for a tiny piece of convenience
For just one moment.
And in a flash,
With feet firmly planted securely on uneven ground
And hands held out in wide Namaskar to this beautiful world
A little droplet of rain shall fall perfectly
Upon a freckled upturned nose holding thoughts
Of a sunny day and all the rays of life shall shine down
In abundant warmth like a ticking clock
Chiming in at every quarter hour.

Exist Between by Ned Tobin

Those Words (day 1062)

Don’t say those words.
Don’t whisper into the madness.
Don’t hold my hand when wind blows so strong.
For I am only a man,
A lonely man
Stepping lightly through long blades of grass
Soaked with morning dew.
Hanging on.
Lifting my love
That sits balanced on a finely pressed
Single sheet
Of stationary,
Manufactured with my namesake in mind
And imprinted with layered words
Of forgotten notes
Passed along in a time when I knew
Those words were necessary.

We All Die Old (day 503)

The water pushing past the secret doors of the needle riddled floor
Sing to the lonely leaves forgotten and rotting amongst the mushrooms
The trees that have spewn forth their dying seasons
Happily lap up the dotted dew resting a while in the sunlight
And spiders that haven’t eaten yet this morning
Share the same edges of bark with the sleeping moths
Burrowing into the nice alcoves of hidden mysteries
Stretching between the years written into the aging forest
With squirrels keeping track of all the scores
Hunting out that which shouldn’t be forgotten
But in this season of time that dances amongst the shoots
Where the fresh birds chirp happily to the echoes of the canopy
There is always the runner, he who ensures nobody gets comfortable
In the center of the trail he kills with rubber
The youngest of them all, the new growing sprout

But the earth is all life
The change is all good
The circle grows bigger
And we all die old

Seasons of Memories (day 392)

Moments that hang onto us like the deep winters night
Make the hard rain warming, deep to the bone
Smiles that come from long lost smells
Perfect the spinning wheels that hum in my ears

Moments that hang onto us like the warm sun of a summers day
Remind us of no better days
They take away the pain and dim the pleasant drone
Into a see of light thoughts and salty kisses

Moments that hang onto us like fresh dew of a springs morning
Help to refresh the cutest moments we’ve lived before
The green bike that rode straight, the small footsteps
There are no memories that escape the seasons of time

Dew (day 233)

I’ll be seeing you again
With panthers and snakes
Wildly collapsing concepts of hope
Against the backdrop of humanity

And blasphemy
Blasphemy blows down the doors of occupation
Ringing from the lonesome dove
And comforting as holy mothers do

Forever dew drips lonely from the tree
Grasping at obstructed blades of sunshine

Soon the warmth will be all over me