Dark Gates (day 2337)

In that moment the suitor realized
He had made a dire mistake
Misjudged an ear for kindness
A soul for humanness
Misunderstood dark gates
And silent patience
As partner to his own heart.
He lay there spent, exhausted
Given as if fire: burnt
Yet still she craved for more,
Yearned for more,
Asked for more, yelled for more,
Of which he had none left.
She reared her head like a wild stallion
Naked at the breast
Flushed with rage and rapid coldness
She grabbed her icy dagger
No choice but to accept the sentence;
Suitor was no more.

North Sea Queen VII by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen VII by Doreen Broers (ig)

Winter Hearth (day 2309)

I’m growing tired of seeing your reflection
The gates are locked
And my side
Looks like it’s full of open pastures
And wild forest jungles.

There was a time that I knew nothing,
Blinded by skulls and candy
That barked at growing starlight
Strangling each reason
With desperate acts of non-violence
Non-conformance,
Non-sense that rooted blasphemy
In a solid stone foundation,
Un-able, un-desired, un-restricted
By a garden of eden dream space
Too conditioned and nostalgic
To grow wings of a new spring
And follow what has been set in your path.

My clock’s big bold numbers have flipped
Into a new season
A colder season of inner reflection
Observation, closeness with tranquil harbours
That cannot be exhausted in one evening,
One spell cast fool-heartedly,
One lonesome wolf that shall not howl tonight
Though this moon she grows
Swollen and sombre,
And embers within this hearth
Yet to forget this fire that burns within them.

My Hearth (day 2301)

I will sweep the floors of my hearth
And I will stand up against the wind
I will call out in response
To endless tests of Zeus
I will raise my voice at oppressors
Fighting for the oppressed
I will look into the eyes
Of ten thousand hungry demons
And breathe my fire back
Into visions of my birth
So I can continue my journey
Into the heart of my vision
And build the fire within my hearth.

Pocket Knife (day 2272)

A handy man should always have
A pocket knife by his side
No better friend in times of need
Could come to be at the ready
Rope was made for just the tool
So was whittling by the fire
And opening each bag of tools
Was fit just for that knife’s service.
Eager was the folding knife
Tucked away discreetly in thy pocket
So, then, was the fixed blade
Attached at a leather belt secure
To become of such valiant service.
For each man holds on to their tools
In which way feels right to them,
So no man shall defame a man
Who holds a knife at the ready
A handyman recognizes a good man
Who keeps a pocket knife ready for service.
But just as important for the handyman
A sharp blade makes one smile
A stone that keeps a blade able
For any task that rests at hand
No handyman should relax as if
Their blade be forever sharp
It is forever right that a handyman keep
Beside every dressing table to thy name
A handyman should keep right there
A handyman’s sharpening stone.

Midnight Fire (day 2267)

As a fire I torch the way
Alight into this night
Burning each timber
Aflame, aglow
Amber lays my path behind.
I take apart
Each sliver of wood
Placed into my path
Charring black
Exposing bark
I bite and lick each crack.
But as wind doth die down
As kindling wanes at the hearth
Gentle doth my folly go
Slowing each flicker
Embers glow
And midnight’s roe fares well.

This Moon (day 2266)

This moon is alive
It howls with coyotes
And burns with fire
It sings through maples
Blowing softly in night air
And it dances beside stars
That wink as they move.
This moon has brilliance
That squeaks through cracks
Carefully laid to catch
Spiders and light.
But this moon speaks not a word
Lays not a sound to an ear
Because it is alive in night’s embrace
Way up high beyond reach
As a symbol to charge
What hasn’t been remembered.

Fire Making (day 2251)

There’s nothing quite like starting a fire
From the very kindling you’ve gathered
Shaved flakes of fresh wood
Because woodsmen don’t use paper
To start their fires.
Each piece of wood weighed and measured
To match each flames intensity
For in its time that fire shall get
A new piece as its fuel.
Handling an axe isn’t a light days work
It’s sharp, and heavy,
And you’ve really got to swing it hard
I you want any work done at all,
For your fire to get nice and tall.
Then as night sets in, darkness itself,
Warmth from your toil and support
Comes bellowing out
In calculated intensity
From within the fire you’ve set
And worked as a good night beacon.

Coyote Song (day 2242)

Like a warrior’s window
I have taken my bold chance
Sent my spear forward, spinning
To make my impression
In your days ahead,
Gypsy on a river boat.

Set idle by your fire
In an old wooden rocking chair
Watching tomorrow set away,
My spear slows down to rest;
River dances away.

In earnest I ask
Which old coyote song
Begets a lone call from you tonight?
For fear makes me
A sentimental man
As lines running through
An old hickory handled spear,
Rocks in a river bed.

My Tomorrow (day 2227)

Till you dance upon firelight
Of our burning fire so bright
I will sing my longing song
By dancing flames I watch all night.

Till you walk through the meadow
Of our waving grass so shallow
I will hold my breath for birds
Singing songs of my tomorrow.

Till you hold on to the memory
Of our days we’ve watched the sea
I will comfort in the setting sun
Knowing tomorrow is another story.

Allowed To Fly (day 2225)

Where are we allowed to fly?
Crimson dreams that set fire to galactic ghosts
Swinging too slow and forgetting
Each signpost leading us there.

And if words shant be strong enough
Let them capture the North Wind’s fury
Secret wiles of Mudjekeewis
Belt wearing naked bear slayer.

But let not the words of fear
Let our hearts float listless forward
Set wicks to our roaring fires
So we track each evening star.

Who then does this whisper come from
This easy touch of heart I hear
Say it slower so I can embrace
Evening’s wind through cottonwoods.

Is it not enough to lay here?
My opening is widening
I am not forgotten dandelion
I am resting with lilies.