Rain – part IV (day 2264)

(part III)

I told the hungry stranger
That he could spend the night
In the hay barn, where I pointed
He said he’d hoped as much
As I gave him the eggs
And a warm cup of tea.
He asked if I had a cigarette
But I hadn’t one to my name
“Thought I’d try,” he said
“You don’t look like much of a smoker.”
Living as a bachelor
I kept a pretty clean house
The dog kept me in order
If ever I let things slip too much
My father had made sure that I understood
What it meant to have gravitas
As a man, the responsibility
Of keeping my ethics strong
And my morals rich,
A keen sense of duty to myself
My community, and to do the right thing.

part V

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXXIX (day 2043)

(part XXXXXXVIII)

For three days we hunted
And for three days we found nothing
That would serve as any kind of sustenance
We of course found plenty of squirrels
And small birds to feed us
But deer, elk, buffalo, moose…
Nothing.

I woke up on the morning of the fourth day
Feeling like I had been charged with bolt of lightening
Awake from a dream that had left me silent all morning
As we packed up and prepared to break camp
Moon Cow came over and looked at my arrows
And asked if I was alright
I said yes, I’ve never felt better
And he asked about my dream
Moon Cow always had a sense about these kind of things
I think that’s part of the medicine man in him.

“When I was young
My mother used to come into my room
In the early hours of the day
And tell me that my father had just left again
She would cry to me
And I was..
Hardly able to understand what that meant
But her crying
Would alert me, and wake me up
And I would feel like I had to protect her
I was responsible for her
An assumed set of duties
That charged me with purpose
You should have seen me
Walking down the street
With two cents in my pocket
Going to buy the daily bread and a paper for mom
I’d say hi to all the folks I knew
And they’d smile back at me
Knowing and seeing the determination in my eyes
The responsibility I had in my shoes
They knew my father
Some would even stuff a nickle
Into my well worn pockets
I’d smile and say: ‘thank you m’am’
And charge off on my way
When I’d return home
Mother would be waiting with a broom
For the paper to devour
With the hopes she would find something better
For herself and me, I guess
In my dream I remembered my determination
For a better tomorrow
The perseverance that was required of me
I feel it now
And it makes me think about the future.

part XXXXXXX

Foreign Tongue on the Rise (day 1949)

My horse is a stallion
That I ride into fields afar
Sasanian teas on my tongue,
And a giant sun in the sky
Leans in to tell me secrets
Of land my mind runs to
Where family awaits
No word of my pursuits.
I am their father
Fierce as a tiger
Our manes running free
And my horse is a stallion
Decorated with all I am able,
A powerful warrior and me
And a foreign tongue on the rise
With a sword at my side
Thundering ten thousand hooves riding
In dust through the sky
And my mind runs wild
Like silk floating
Through this twilight, afar.

Ferry Loads (day 1515)

I was caught between a Ford F150 and an overloaded Subaru station wagon,
A family of 6 had stuffed her so tight their hands were all hanging out the windows,
Each with a cigarette loosely dangling there. 
I had packed modestly, as usual. 
My father had taught me years ago the beauty of a single pair of undies. 
My copilot was fanning herself with a rolled up magazine the terminal operator had casually offered her,
Nobody could think straight with such heat. 
The huge doberman hanging out in the back of the Ford had it’s tongue rolled out so far it seemed rather comedic to us, 
Poor dog was probably suffering back there. 
Waiting there was a bustle of excitement to and fro,
Like watching an ant hive;
Some things we just never understand,
Seemingly busyness of humans and ants for no particular reason identifiable. 
We waited thirty five minutes there and watched,
Every single one of us in that oversized parking lot,
As the ferry slowly pulled into its parking spot and unloaded a few hundred passengers,
Eagerly anticipating our own turn to single file our way into a large metal box, freshly whitewashed.

Torrents of a Storm (day 1198)

Today I dove into the earth
Straight to my father, Hades.
He spoke of worry, and other sorts
Of malady and ill-practice.
I lamented these points
In great detail, until my eyes filled up
With great regret,
The sorts that has no name.

Persephone, the great King’s wife,
Delighted me with wine,
And as we sat in the great hall
My eyes grew heavier still.
Until the calm of so much storm
Threw me into: unearthed,
I was no longer man, no longer breathed
All I ever was did mourn.

But just as soon as hell did pass,
Just as the ghost had called my name,
I woke at once, with a great start,
And Nothing welcomed me home.
So there was I, burnt inside and out,
Left to be held close by Nothing.
There were no words, but all was said,
Until calm rolled over my mind.

Lost is always a mystery,
A lance driven in by force.
But so is joy and unbound glory,
To the victor go the spoils!
‘Till at last the weeds come out
All laid out for thy viewing,
Where sparks become the ignition
To infinity forever after.

Upon my pony I did gallop,
Into up out and off to my home.
I crawled around and foraged a while
To scavenge for my dinner’s meal.
And there I saw, in haste to my father
I had missed what now spoke to me,
A field of love, in golden ripe
Which at last meant I was at home.

Little Spoon (day 1118)

I am the little spoon
That lives in the hill,
Scalloping hoodwinks
With masterful might.
An age old tradition
My father’s father told,
Forgiveness unheard to
Plant out my soul,
For I am the little spoon!
Happy lives fold.
Yet here I am
Amongst leftover pine,
A scraggly drain
In a dirty edged pond,
Mystery splashes
To my father’s better half,
Which I cannot explain anymore.
Which I ply with my little spoon.

Lords Divine (day 1081)

For goodness – not –
Shall Lords divine.
Sweet melon nectar
Explicit: intertwine.

An eagle soars
With lengthy hearth
An eagle burns
As Pharaoh’s earth.

River’s dry
– A cracking grain –
To whither: dead,
Our fathers bane.

Of golden green
‘Twixt slender pains
Yell “Willow’s mixture”
Betrayal’s feign.

Yet heard – unspoke –
Gripped the sword
– A childless yoke –
Divine hoard.

Crowd Sourcing (day 1004)

An eager atmosphere pushed the Devil to yell
He barked at the moon like he was rattling hell!
And out from the works came scuttling all
To exercise weeping; watch the blood fall

Leveraging our fathers (our mothers) with time
In a forceful toil-workers rhyme
Which consumed a brackishly concocted design
Of feathers and chicken bones and half frozen lime

We beat reason into apathetic institutions
Who spoiled magical innocence and intuitions.
We followed the Devil with dazzling premonitions
And were left alone; a severe lack of solutions

But whispers died slowly as the fog rolled away
Laughter could be heard above those who’d been slay
All in a night which reeked of delay
And the Devil returned home carrying his lay

Please Me So (day 767)

Fair maiden there with eyes so clear
Tell a lost soul what bringeth thee near
Is it wild wars off over yonder
Beyond wild seas, a long lasting wander
Or has this land been the land of your fathers
This same land we walk on here a bit farther
For before my own eyes, a twinkling star
In all of mine travelling, yonder afar
I’ve come upon no fairer
I’ve met none more pretty
Then you, my fair lady of the fine woven silks
Your hair of such golden
As would make the Jews bolden
Your eyes of such clarity
Like a fine northern summer sky
Your features so pleasant
I’ve come to the present;
My fair lady before me,
Please me so with thy name