Tag Archives: Holy

Tobacco Pipe Dreams (day 2141)

I carried your tobacco pipe
Like a diamond on my mind,
Two puffs and a closed grip
Ricochet all security
Through the back door:
Creak creak.

And we pass it on
As night songs
From a holy tent with a view
That lisps night skies
Through dreams of a far off land
Whispering endlessly.

But hold me, hold on
Hold the flowers
Growing here so wild
In the palm of your hand
Until it stains your closed grip
The colour of my dream.

Tobacco Pipe Dreams by Ned Tobin

Holy Boats (day 1956)

Blame not the recharge
Left slowly puddling into a dark corner
Of this uneven hardwood floor,
Nor should holy boats
Hold these oars tightly so.
Thee witness’ callused palm
Scrapes dry a soiled seat,
And a martyr hangs listlessly
As townsfolk carry on.
Mild wind blows a crooked sign
Making rust set within,
Harder then an open wound
Stronger then the sun.

Free (day 1686)

I’m a bad accident,
You were never meant
To lean into me.
You laid out your blueish veins
And fed everything into me.

Holy, make me free.
Holy, make me free.

You’ll never guess my heart alive,
A system slowly diving
And leaving trails as
Little fetters heave
And break away.

Holy, come and make me free.
Holy, make me free again.

At Nothing Rest (day 1670)

I’ve left my full moon walking the shoreline, skirting the tides that flush out madness awake and away.

Can your heart feel the holy trinity at rest?

Rocks I picked up and felt cursing through my palm left light stains upon my fingerprints I had washed thoroughly before opening my eyes. I laid down and felt the uncomfortable massage upon my twisted back and hoped the pain would soon ease its way back toward the crashing ocean cooling my pride.

Here, from my breasts, a light slowly eroded my choice.

Lightly brushing my consciousness were scattering rocks and squawking seagulls rummaging the midday sun like a busy squirrel exercising it’s memory.

I was gone, and this is what was left.

Bishop (day 1649)

The holy roads of checkmate
Lay my English sober
Leaving lions at the gate
Screaming at misshapen strangers
Spitting on this cigarette ridden sidewalk
With stutters and sideways mysteries
That, to my careful eyes 
Jogging left and to the right,
I feel empathetically complacent
And take my bishop onward: strong. 

Jenevive (day 1522)

Jenevive, I am your lover.
I am sod beneath your toes,
Life beneath your chest.

Jenevive, I am your lover.
As songs spill into night,
My word is you again.

Jenevive, I am your lover.
A star upon my sky;
This light shall never die.

Jenevive, I am your lover.
I am as ever a holy man
Who whispers deep into my hand.

Eight Legged Creatures (day 1442)

I cannot shake cobwebs of memories woven
Like the nest of an eight legged creature
Singing along to its tiny violin.
For whether I am last or first becomes
A brown bottle of almost never cared,
Sitting lifelessly on a stained cedar windowsill
Collecting dust and losing its eyes to tears,
Losing its words to years.

Somehow daughters never returned,
Sisters forgot the street number
Even though the sign sat twisted like a unicorn
Whose mane flowed so thickly in powerful gusts of wind
A rooster turned right around watching.

One cobweb strand reminds me of twin fawns
Who would wander by searching for blackberries,
Rich and prime and staining my fingers
Like thick lines trailing after a slug
Crossing a cement pathway.

I’ve grown used to the cobwebs,
Adjusted to being wrapped so delicately
Subtle changes in atmosphere
Cause reverberating sensations to flicker around
Along a one way street on the holy train.
It’s reached a point where I no longer feel
The sweet perspiration of an ice cold Coke bottle;
Instead, the roar of a monotonous dial-tone
Eager to tell me it’s all right,
And I’ve been here before.

Your Back So Bare (day 1292)

I climbed upon your back so bare
To breathe, inhale, a purer air.
Here I gasped with jubilent glee
Worshiping in holy ceremony.
You were not as you’ve been before,
Coming to me as if from yore,
We met and clasped and built upon;
Here we made our own love song.

Fall (day 812)

I lost that feeling deep within the cavernous region of my lonely heart
When the holy sun set upon the western banks of euphoria
My fingers crawled with memories over burning sand shifting away time
Like Mother Nature’s wiles as summer turns to fall
Leaves challenging gravity to a duo, a fate well known to man
Fruits come to spoil and nights come to close amongst sober flight
Silently and diligently animals march their way with instincts
Into warmer climes and distant hills, far off ponds of migration
Flocks and herds and pods and groups and hibernation
With the great cycle of life: life and death and birth and age
And here I sit: legs crossed with my third eye alert
Searching amongst the birch trees and clovers for only that which comes
Without forced determination, without abrupt distraction
As the harvest moon breaches the young evenings virginity
And the lone coyote sings a song of love into the cool night air

Riga - 201209 (400 of 605)

Nobbin (day 360)

Parables
Floating through the air
Fishing out the last
Remains of indiscriminate bastards
Fuck the loose mentality
That we’re all ok
Fuck the smart girl
She has never worn dignity
Like the whore walking Main

Swim the mighty canal
Float the gnarly seas
Figure the angels wings
As they cloud your sober mind
Unlike the hairy bastard
Who prances around like the fool
Fuck the merry longfellow
When he turns around to glance a blow

Then the tulips that have been stolen
From the figured lands of the holy
They’ve been tainted like a bastards tongue
Of the King’s royal litter
But the holy men that haven’t kissed me
Shall linger by their pole
The wine toting maidens
Shall throw eyes my way once more

It’s business as usual
Down at the Hawley; torn and blown
I’m not here to pull on your
Thunder you’ve bloated with
I’m not going to steal what matters
To your lambs and whithered tongues
I’ve left your silly buggers
To dance your awkward dance

So hug your merry bastards
Lay your fingers down
I’ve left your countenance long
I’ve let you pull your fingers as you may
Don’t whip your hair
Your greasy hair
I’ve worn your stripes
I’ve calmed your mare

Nobbin, bloody nobbin

Post Navigation