Early Morning Whispers (day 2295)

Whisper as we sit here free
Cold wind on my mind
You’re at my side
Horizon of the great lakes
About two days it takes
Mind buzzing
Early morning dew drops
Shaken wearily free
Trucks a roaring
And we’re forever free
Two eyes on the highway
Two eyes dangerously weaving bullets
Through clouds slowly gathering
Dancing at the starlight
Early morning fog lights
Wake me slowly
With whispers only for me
Wake me with whispers set me free.

This Howl (day 2269)

This howl awoke into a fog
A late winter hovering on summer’s brow
Shifting dreams into shivers
Shifting giants into trees
And stones walking in silence
To wind blowing softly
Upon the giant’s sail.
A lone small bird soared effortlessly
Into and then out of fog
Looking regularly at the ground cover
For the days feed of minions and minnows
Bobbing with the grace of an oil lamp
Stained the colour of desolation
Like a sea captain standing proud
Upon the hearth of a sinking ship
Smoking his last bowl from his foreign pipe
Blowing heavy clouds over the valley
Set deep inside his heart of a howl.

Dampness (day 2259)

Cold mornings with fog
Leaks into one’s bones
Exposing revealed skin
With deepness
That cannot be shaken away.
Wetness seems everywhere
As does dampness
Coldness mistaken for dampness
Modern fabrics mistaken for dampness
Raindrops shaken from treetops
By gusts of wind
Unmistakably dampness.
Each dry spot is coveted
Preciously protected by wetter things
Until dampness encroaches
Upon precious dryness
And another day begins.

Misty Boughs (day 2258)

You, a burning flame did grow
Dancing with the morning fog
Shake the dew that left birds in
A maze of ribbons and boughs.
A colour ran straight down from
Each gap of the misty morn
Tingled each dancing toe
O’er the wild grassy knoll.
Whence the house came peeking through
Ominous black set back in fog
Home at last to elm pews
Shaggy black goat on the road.

Riverbed (day 2229)

My heartbeat thunders through riverbed rocks
Smoothly echoing off canyon walls
Sounds of power, strength,
And my hand-to-chest roars
With each moment, each thought, each translucent vision
That scrolls out before me
Just as ancient oaks and black spruce and a needle strewn path
Leads me into an unending future
I sit gazing as fog enters
As the torrential river carries my thoughts
And a loon calls to me from the distance.

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

20160418-morel-hunting-port-renfrew-bc-canada-ned-tobin-19

Salt Water (day 1951)

Restless wrestling into oblivion
Spiders crossing midnight’s hearth
Locomotives blaring alarms
With an overused burden
Tucked deep inside a minor piano chord
Snapshot time frame over zoned
Freshly unground inside an attitude
Crawling blue veins starving
Window forever fogging
Death knocks at Love’s rusty gate
Salt water streaking pant cuffs
Boot prints trailing off

Sweet Nothings (day 1746)

I can’t take,
No. More.
I don’t want to take
Bitter trivialities
Into Madness
Cloaking an angelic voice
Like fog that rolls
About my brain
Before I’ve uncovered
Melancholy feelings
Resting just below
Its surface,
Reeling in abysmal horror
As toxins begin
To take to my veins
And surround my insight
With sweet nothings.

The Song I’ve Never Sung (day 1701)

This is the song I’ve never sung,
A lonely tree in the meadow
My faith watching it snow.
Because something isn’t clearing my fog,
And I’ve done up my boots too tight,
And the bridge is falling to it’s knees,
And some will cry as I’m walking on by.
But count out blessings in a well worn palm
With two bluejays resting a while,
Strange mountains silence is broken
And darkness slowly lifts as awareness shifts
Back into what I’ve never left.