Moon at Midnight – Part II (day 1976)

(part I)

I woke to complete silence
Yet my knees screamed louder the murder
When I shifted them from slumber
Half crosslegged I had fallen backwards
Into sleep that left smoke trails
Through my dreams.
My nose was hiding itself from the cold
I looked searchingly at the fire
I could feel wasn’t even hopeful.

My pack was close enough
So I knew where matches were
But kindling rested beside my axe
Yet to be shorn from its whole
So were the tea bags that would slowly ooze life
Back into my cold frame
Easily forgetting the eyes of last night’s terror.

I made it a habit not to look back
When I walked away from yesterday’s camp
You don’t need that to remember what’s already known
Like folded socks in the side of my pack
I was well kempt and had a full bottle of water
And the industrious chipmunk
Was happy to see me go
Understood by the sounds of his chatter
That followed me along a path
I was making with my compass pointing East.

My first few steps always remembered
What yesterday so easily forgot
So I stopped and untied my shoe
To clip my nails that were growing healthy
It’s much nicer to put on warm socks
Then cold and wet socks of the first light of morning
And my pack jingled merrily
As I swung it back on.

Scanning the vastness was hard to comprehend
What had alarmed me so easily
The night before,
What creatures our dark mind magically creates,
And now looking back at me was salal so thick
No ghost could sneak through
And my heart reminded my mind
To believe in thy safety one thousand times again.

Slowly my breath found it’s groove
Steadily flowing with each footstep
My packs new bumps settled itself softly
And the world began to expose itself to me
With every step a new angle
A new tree fallen sideways
A slug neatly stepped over
An unidentified toadstool
A river softly gurgling somewhere in the distance
An obstacle I’d have to traverse.

part III

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Three Marks (day 1954)

She rode the waves of mercy
Climbing with every swell
A Venus in every mystery
Searching the world round

She cried with every bit of
Excitement in the air
Like fireworks in her eyes
A flair inside her heart

She amplified the colours
That rose so bright at daybreak
In every exhale of her breath
More mountains rose to shine

She left three marks to show the way
In a maze of lost lagoons
For every star that awoke at night
Was here for her to stay

Rolling Along (day 1941)

A long way from home
And two coyotes howl into the night,
Pale moon’s looking me in the eye,
And I don’t got no campfire going tonight.

A saddle’s a lonesome companion
But this trusty steed’s sure good to me,
Four hooves and a long mane
And my dusty trail goes on.

A valley’s spread is my eager eye
Around every cresting corner,
Naming trees and flicking bees
And I’m just rolling along.

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Here To Stay (day 1929)

I want to go off and into something else
I’m not here anymore, left blowing into the wind.
Where does my pain come from every night?
Leave me there, it’s in my soothing song.
It’s not lines I’ve drawn across my head
Nor lines that draw my sheet to bed,
It’s circles running down my cheeks
To smother every heartbeat I don’t want to forget.
I’ve lost the difference in my dreams,
They’ve come into my days with open eyes
Reaching out to what I see;
Reflections shaking out in twilight’s lake.
Harmony will be my memory’s drawing
As I lay my bedding down as straw,
Take my hand with what I’ve yet to say
And brush my dusty shoes so that it’s here I’ll stay.

Most Likely Chance (day 1922)

Who’s got that hat on the floor?
Someone’s burning at the other end
Smoke trails and it’s begun
For the last of the cobblestones have shattered
Into night’s mystery, coo-coo, coo-coo.

Though one long sidewalk dance
Let it be called a clean romance
Cigarette’s burning down some more
Her eyes still singing forever in implore.

Judged like the colour of pure milk
A canvas rolled into the corners ilk
While every patron danced around the room,
Spilled wine and tossed off shoes
And pearls upon every hearted romance,
As art, given at most likely chance.

White Blues (day 1921)

It was late, early as the birds wake. The sun making it’s trajectory project through blind slits that tickled my nose and ruffled pure white sheets that smelled of everything I had ever dreamed. I wished I had worn my own button up so she could wear it, cotton thoughts underneath the purest thoughts I could believe, her ear lobe dangerously close to my sanity I buried deep into the sleepy eyes she wiped away.

She was business and I was coffee on Sunday morning. Her ancient wooden bowls with carved and stained mosaics sat on bare shelves between three curiously new vinyl records I had yet to identify or spin, so my bare feet sadly ripped spaces beside this cocoon to leave invisible heat scores on a treasure hunt around pieces of clothing that each had still alive memories attached, each a little puddle of our reserve that began as we stepped towards our island.

As the needle scratched dangerously towards the first note, it was the crackling that trumped even her cigarette into casual, I spotted her pinstripe skirt, now draped across the wicker chair underneath a baby blue Fender Telecaster she had plugged into a tiny hand held amplifier to show me what she knew of blues.

I propped myself up with her pillow and through the patio window I saw she was looking at me.

photograph courtesy of model / Lisa // photography / Jen Hill
photograph courtesy of model / Lisa // photography / Jen Hill

Sunshine (day 1919)

Would you be a heart that will call out?
Shoes so familiar
Like eyes closed into sunshine,
And memories that float into this blank space –
Too happy to change it –
For we’ve started to understand
That tomorrow never comes,
And all we can hold on to
Is the ball clanging around wildly
Inside what we close our eyes to guard against.
This isn’t a memory,
This is pure unabashed and secret dreaming…
A love that screams to come out,
And I’m walking through the madness
With a hope to one day find my way out.

Sunshine by Ned Tobin

Grime (day 1918)

I’m growing into the grime I knew I was
Swamp land so thick in slime
Dizzy as, I cannot swim
Neither try nor do I float
Down down down I go
To leave all grassy slopes behind
My head is dripping as I cry
Dropping into necromance
I spread across my eyes
What I have come to know as grime.

Spare Quarters (day 1917)

She was nothing but a distant beggar
Dancing wildly on thin ice,
Rickety chainsaw boots scraping sidewalks
Of spare quarters lodged between pebbles
And ‘Hey Mister.’
But who was watching?
Who counted every slow swagger
That climaxed with her sweet promises
And loud exclamations,
That brought wide eyes school boys
Glaring wildly out big window doors.
Who paid attention to her exploits,
Lude and brazen as she was
With a fanny pack packed with fanny.
She held meaning in some cheapskates heart,
Some rumbling bumbler
Who intoxicated himself with used needles
And flattened cigarette butts.
He was two strings for his six string guitar
And knew better then the wide eyed schoolboys.

Silent Lines (day 1916)

I like the silence of closed eyes
In spite roaring flickering lights
And devilish heavy breathing
That’s slowly circling around my ankles
Encrusting scars that stretch towards
Silent darkness I dare not tread on.
No, my silence is juxtaposed with illusions:
Of dancing lovers who call themselves friends,
Of scowling friends who want nothing more
Then to make love all night to my soul.
My silence kisses me softly
When all around roars deafening
In giant gulps of thunder and lightening,
And my eyes they burn with midnight candles
And leave forever lines across my forgotten soul.