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.

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXIX (day 2013)

(part XXXVIII)

When the hunting party returned
They knew something was wrong immediately
And came right to me
I told what had happened
And also what I had learned from some of the family
I had been talking to in the village
Who were there when it happened
When Mountain Chief heard
What Tall Pine and I had done
He pulled from his headpiece
Two eagle feathers
And honoured each of us with one.

Most of the damage had already been fixed
Prior to the men returning
So we all kept ourselves busy with
Smoking and curing the meat
A very necessary task for the upcoming winter
They had returned with sufficient supply
That we were all fairly confident
There would be no shortage of food this winter.

For two days we had a grieving ceremony
And it was very sad to watch those who were very close
To those who had been killed, mourn
But as a community, as a family
We were all there to help them, to support them
To give our own offerings.

I took Tall Pine along with Moon Cow and I
As we went on a hunt of our own
With our bows across our backs
We set off to the East
To see if we could find some grazing animals
Still exposed, unprepared for the coming months
We had a rough idea to head towards
Amy and Frank, as Moon Cow also knew them
And was wondering how they were doing.

By the end of the first day
We hadn’t found anything,
But had fresh tracks of many smaller animals
Mostly rabbits and pheasants
So we were able to feed ourselves
But nothing to bring home
We woke early the second morning
And were off at daylight.

part XXXX

Moon at Midnight – Part I (day 1975)

There was no moon at midnight
And my road was clambering on
I saw what appeared to be shadows
But from what direction I could not see the source
Nor could I understand their movement
For my breath was beating strongly
Inside my mind that couldn’t sit still.

They say whenever you’re lonely
To hug a tree in the woods,
That everything will be better
Once you listen to the wind through leaves.
But my footsteps weren’t taking me there
My trees were full of eyes
That growled when I got too close
My fire had died down to a whisper
Which danced away upon every breath
That beat so wildly inside.

I tried turning my back to the fire
So I could let my eyes adjust to darkness
Cold dampness swept into my chest
That left my fingers clinching at the dirt
I sat cross-legged on ash
That was surely trying to make it’s way
Up the inside of my leg
Like slowly crawling worms
With no direction home.
My fingers felt like dust
Long gone into a night with no end.

Slowly my eyes began to make out a hue of indigo
Through the trees that crept ever closer
With a faint scent of a silhouette
That began to sing me a song
Reminding me of Joan Baez singing acapella
Which always led me to Bob Dylan
And one of his nearly alarming harmonica solos.
Stars began to blink at me
Through gusting fog that sped
As fast as the dying harmonica sounds.

I could begin to see markings
Upon the bark of the nearest Douglas Fir trees
Bark so thick that my hands impulsively
Rubbed each other
Acutely feeling dusty skin on the back of my hands
As life began to seep back into them,
Shocked one too many times
From the dark night that lay behind.

I pulled my wool blanket closer
Remembering I am a warrior
I am made of two hard feet
That carry me on through a winding
Needle covered path
Weaving past lagoons and over boulders
Over roots and upon grass
Sometimes lost and always home
And rusty feathers settled beside me
Wishing me goodnight, so I fell asleep.

part II

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Stallion (day 1585)

Poised like a stallion
– Boy can you call out? –
Levels of a whisper
Took the couple by surprise.
– Have you paid off your tariff? –
And the doors swung fully open
Jammed with eager patrons
– Sing for me heady –
Galloping in bliss feeling
Take a moment, laughter
Lift a delicate feather
And if you find a guy
– a warm and ragged traveler –
Calling out your name
In gay and playful manner
– Pray, no need to shutter –
Dig in deeper spurring
Leave your stallion wilder.

Enemy Guns (day 1096)

Over and over and over again,
Whispers so shallow
Cover me: a grin.
To which my reply
– Steadfast [I tried],
Tested, and true –
Climbing above
With a flag stretching high,
Hollering through open windows and sky.
Whispers in wind
Upon layers of feathers,
An angel lay me;
Scatter hopes
Like mine enemy’s gun.

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

Don’t Walk: Run (day 875)

Deceive me without eyes beyond clicks of ancient truths that flow like feathers around the citadel, dancing nimbly about while systems shriek in glory-warrior-cries echoing through the midnight sky.

I will not be plundered, wallowed into sober thoughts while brightly colored patrons and ladies of shallow rooms get lost in their own smirking madness that filters ancient wisdom, solid grains of smoke filtering down silk sheets mesmerizing wild charletons with holy charms and glittered dancing.

Trees that flower madness can only hold back repeating chants that break shrouding silence echoing through walls plied thick with rice paper. Concubines shuttling in asynchronous chaos holding lanterns and ringlets and long slender blades through their hair pretending each step means a little more than the last.

How could I stop when I, half naked in the moonlight grasping at smouldering clouds passing through open spaces in the starlit sky. I curled up my toes and dipped my hips while pushing against the tops of my mouth. I’ll elope with whoever I please if it’s all the rage in Little Japan Town. Circling around the erect landscape staring back at me like some Hamilton at the top of the mountain.

Get back to business before light comes up over the left side of the highway. I’m on my way out and this ain’t lookin too happy with all my flowers wilting in darkness’ hour. Cry, with unbounded jubilee, cry those beautiful eyes till their bottom-of-the-shoe-black. Cry until neighbourhood dogs bark along to sorrow and malaise because they bloody well can, they can rip their lungs out and feed them down their throats while licking their lips and begging for more.

Don’t walk: run. Run until running speeds up to faster running and sprinting begins to bleed and basterds start to bleed and whispers start to bleed and candles begin to bleed and pencils begin to bleed and bleeding begins to bleed and all the screaming children yell at the top of their lungs and sit there and wallow in sorry they haven’t even begun to understand because THEY JUST AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH.

I’m just not happy enough.