Tag Archives: Dirt

Each Torrent (day 2177)

Wisdom calls in the elements
And smiles to each torrent and fury
Wisdom tramples upon no minion
Takes no weakened arrow
And pulls no tender feather
Wisdom spews no fallacy
Nor isolates convenient truths
Wisdom sweeps no dirt
Under our very own beds
Wisdom holds space
For every voice to share
And walks hand in hand
To the center of the square
A march of justice
With a silent peace flag
Wisdom charges the air
With truth and an open heart.

Silhouetted Cacti (day 2172)

I will be the sun dripping
Down legs of golden heroes

I will be the crumbling dirt
Amidst each footstep, counted

I will be the wings soaring
To each ebb and matching flow

I will be the wandering nomad
Caught in effortless migration

I will be the passion building
Spring cannot be stopped

I will be the hours breathing
While a hand rests, exhausted

I will be the knot tied
Alert silhouetted cacti

I will be the red ball
Dipped into old red wine

I will be the front porch song
For each moment you are my anchor.

Window Drops (day 2171)

Along the ways of window drops
A bird flew out the nest
Cloud came to my very door
And my hair lay flattened down.
Yet every signal
East be at it’s back
Signaled me to rise above
What midnight I had not looked back.
Nor did my animosity
Rumble to a stop
A grinding halting dusty jalopy
My chariot of grim time.
True, each dirt splash lay bare
The deeper grit of sand
Which held my flower to my nose
Thus, bow down low I dearly bade.

Disturb Me (day 2093)

Stir my cesspool of random thoughts
That hold each of my ears wide
Collecting bits of random chaos;
Ricochet through a knotty web
Like the tangled mass hairs on my head
Have spun about my brain;
Shift my gears into 5th
As we barrel down a dirt road at midnight
With the lights cut.

Ode to Autumn (day 1931)

When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Bugs, beetles..
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Preparation everywhere,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.

Heart & Soul (day 1779)

When I crawled to the edge of a forever span
I got so close to a miracle
I laid my nose right down to the stone
And breathed in the dirt that was my heart and soul

When I reached so high from the up most top
My mind was scorching in an unbent sky
With rainbows and eagles far below
I was a full thought in a twinkling eye

When I caused each leaf to rock and sway
From an ebb and flow in my very glow
I sent my prana to behold the world
To return double-fold, with such secrets that’d never been told.

Golden trees along the PNW coastline of Vancouver Island, Canada

Ode to the Soil (day 1755)

Sweet dirt, my soil;
Great bounty of life.
Breathing and heaving and turning delight.
You break down my blossoms
And decompose your own waste
To help nurture all life
Balanced, and full of bugs and worms.
Your kindness is forgiving,
Your consistency is staggering,
Your patience is humbling,
Your vitality encouraging.
Even your air is enlivening –
Quite literally in fact.
And if until forever I had
Betwixt my fingernails and toes
Your rich presence to look at
Your heart in my hand,
I’d forever be full
Of everything I’d ever need
Until the day at last did come
For me to join thee, forever free.

image of dirt, grass, a section of spine bone, and dandilion

Saturation (day 1711)

It is remarkable how
Even with our last clean dirt
We remain entitled,
Oblivious to our learning
And passions
To remain pleasantly
Saturated.

Memory (day 1596)

Your heart rings on the bars of my faint memory
Tingling windows that never seem to open right
While lights flicker from unknown sources
As if silent messengers in night’s sky.

I touch my lips and think about a sensation
Once so familiar to my heart that it left an ocre mark
And scalded the new moon twice since
Leaving rays of blood light shifting my reminiscence.

I cannot wait here long, for leaves follow my mind
Upon a downward spiral to freshly rooted dirt
Awaiting new seeds of our ancient memory
And lifting lines that varicose their way back to my heart.

Memory by Ned Tobin

Crispy Wallows (day 1593)

Crispy wallows and snakes following ancient trails down spirals, leading only to a perfectly spherical, blood-moon-packed dirt bubble where one thousand and one perpendicular lines scarred concave smoothness, remarkably resembling an eerie odessical scene of Labyrinth, David Lynch infused simplicity and snakes. With an omnipresent light leaving no shadows, even in such depths, that echoed with every heartbeat snaking it’s way downward, downward, downward until the downward was no longer downward but stuck in a simple sphere, simply circled as if snakes and ladders were suddenly trapped in an empty crystal ball bubbling with misunderstood and toppled (read:shook) reason that inhabitants were too impatient to digest, leaving perpendicular marks in frightened terror as retraced steps traced their snaking along ancient trails back into the under-root of an atmospheric tragedy they had become familiar with and called home.

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