Treasure Chest (day 2131)

Rambling when I remembered to stop
A limb broken and I heard it drop
Methodically stripping naked
A consciously wrapped envelope
Placed at the trunk of a mighty old oak
Who waved back and forth
Silly gamblers marching about
To the tune of engines
Sputtering confusion
And lay raindrops upon folded corners
Which shall leak kava upon this ancient floor
Upon which I rest upon
To humbly assess the treasure chest.

Fog Horn (day 1969)

Where were you?
Alone at last and one day you will see
That my attempts to make things pass differently
Will go un-answered, un-fooled,
Soundscapes passing by my tender touches
In an envelope neatly packed so.
A heavy rain left my sweet flowers
Like pillars of a ruin,
And tapping lightly culls my darkness –
A soft smile about my face.
Willow in the season of dying
Soothes a fog horn off my ragged coastline,
I whistle into the coming darkness:
Where do you lay your head tonight?

Mail (day 1815)

A callused hand is my tomorrow;
You’re never far behind.
Leave alone the matted mess
That flirts with every question
For in the envelope of time
Was never sort of guessing, no,
All that was ever called
To surface of the law
Was packaged neatly, sorted, drawn,
And placed into a manilla – shut
Stamped with half ones love

Mail by Ned Tobin

Dreaming (day 1810)

You don’t understand the envelope of my heart
You never did.
You grabbed hold
Of little pieces
I had never used before.
That held me dreaming
Because I am a dreamer
Dreaming my damnedest truths.
Buy your grabbing on to,
Was your dreaming of, too;
I, wild as beasts held
Flickering of hope
On the heaviest and darkest of nights
Finding cold love
In the season of heat.

Precious Moments (day 1445)

Precious moments found inside silence,
Inside floating,
Inside crisp envelopes
Opened with a sharp knife,
Wait like a foreign Uncle
Who’s unaware of customs,
Unaware of time changes,
Unaware that foreign currencies
Cost in translation.
Precious moments are our forgiveness
And our floral holiday
Lightly cloaked in a daydream.
Hot sun on the patio
And sirens invisibly floating by,
Followed closely by breeze
Amongst full branches of a willow
And a lost call of a gull,
Precious.

Angels Without Matches and a Number For My Name (day 1088)

So undetermined angels
That hadn’t written down my name
Asked me for a light
Which I hadn’t one to share.
But you know, as they were Angels
It wasn’t smart to tell a lie.
But I had this itching habit
I couldn’t shake though I tried.

The angels looked at me strangely,
My eyes right back at them
With eyebrows quickly twitching
Like two forgotten nuns at prayer.
You could tell they weren’t impressed
By the color of my hair
For I had turned it over
Like my favorite forty five
That had recently been spinning
On my hi-fi stereo.

The one said, “Mister look here
Though we don’t look like much,
From battle we have come,
You can see we have our wings
Floating elegantly behind.”
I said: “yeh sure man, I see them there behind.
But I think that you’re confusin’
That I might be someone else,
For I’ve got some pretty faces
Expecting me to come back home.
I mean you both no harm,
You can understand my duress.
But I’m going to pay the cover
And say all my goodbyes.”

So they looked each other over
To decide just what to do.
I picked up my old envelope
With all I had to ever offer.
They handed me some matches
With a number snuck inside
One that I’ve never called
And I hope never see again.

Into An Envelope (day 924)

Conscious slipped into the envelope
Daring the nocturnal feat like wisdom on ice

Memories flip-flop over the landscape
Wooden circle stains hovering dangerously close
To Turkish tea
Little glass handle-less cups
I’d melt a single sugar cube
Balanced on a mismatched spoon

Through big bay windows
I’d get distracted with cats
Hushed away by crazy-hairs
But beautiful foreign lovelies
To my journey’s eyes
I would reach out and touch
With my curious eyes

I’d watch patrons, their rituals
Some hipsters would come in
Groups of them, shattering serenity
With chess, checkers… what else was there?
What else did there need to be?
Sweet eyes, dimples
High waisted 70s chitter-chatter

There was a couple I loved from afar
Full of love and soft mumbles
That sat in different spots each day
Depending on direct power
The second day I took their seat
Where they had sat when
I had fallen in love
The first day at that joint

Cheers darling, I had to say hello
I love your guitar, your dimples
I love language as it rolls off your tongue
Easing my weary shoulders down
Below this shading summer tree
My new folded philosophy