Ode to Wild Flowers (day 1763)

As the sun kisses my face
Your blossoms shall kiss my nose –
Fill my eyes with butterflies
And leave me singing songs.
And when I walk up to my shins
Amongst your thriving throng,
My toes shall catch your hearty stems
My fingertips you’ll reach to kiss,
And leave me lost in harmony
Like I’ve once felt before
On a sunny day out at sea
Where my mind remains happy, forevermore.

Wild flowers of the Okanagan, BC

Lonely People (day 1435)

It makes me sad to think of lonely people,
Especially in a big city.
A city so big that for every lonely thought out there,
There’s an equally lonely thought going right back out.
That for every lonely person out there,
There is another lonely person
Thinking the same lonely things,
Wishing that other lonely people
Could be lonely with them, lonely together.
It’s sad thinking about
The rate of lonely people leaving the big city,
How if their lonely souls would have connected
With other lonely souls
– To make a collective happy soul –
How close that did actually come to be!
Imagine, two lonely souls passing each other on the street!
Perhaps just one more lonely thought
Would have been enough lonely thoughts
To summon all the lonely people.
How many lonely people must leave the city,
For other lonely people to take notice?
Is there a lonely person packing their tiny car up
With all their precious lonely memories stuffed inside
Leaving this lonely city right now?

Water-Wings (day 1352)

Flatness of my heart
Oscillates up and down,
Up and down.

Up and down.

And up it goes with happy hopes,
Then down it comes,
Weighted against odds.

I use my Phillips screwdriver
To manage the extent to which
My heart goes up,
And my heart goes down.

Like full stops
When I’m out beyond the breakers,
My heart has water-wings
And a soothing buoyancy.

Autumn (day 1262)

I’ve found a seat
Among the bees
That’s got me feeling happy.

Like waterfalls
On warm summer days,
It hit the spot just right.

There’re workers here
Minding their gardens,
Preparing for next season’s frost.

And all around
I see quite green,
A world of vegetation.

In it’s ripest hour,
My mind at ease
Amidst the Autumn breeze.

I, squinting from the sun,
And all around a gentle hum
For Autumn has finally come.

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.

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.

Graceful Gestures (day 735)

Without gratification
What is effort
Want not what’s inside thou?
That reaches up and loves
Out from wings
Across flexed shoulders
High fleeting arches

And swooping
In graceful gestures
A ballet in space
Through my mind
About this land
Carrying delight
Future’s happy ending

And if laughter
Hits upon our open ears
Crawling out
From behind buttercups
Hiding away beyond
Sharp morning frost
We shall also reach
Extension of vertex
Temples of power
Strength in mind

Then so it shall be
Shared, you and me
An old oak tree
Wings about thee
A picnic
Of thoughts
Of exceptions
Of projections
Of imaginations

Riga - 201209 (39 of 605)