Her Hands (day 835)

Her hands will die
Maker’s shoulder
Sifting clean sheets
Un-kept wicker

Lie not to her
Monotonous
Cold cold flower
Hold not wishes

Wind blows strong here
Lives hold on with
Tall tall top hats
Blurry shading

All I’ve covered
Dying grasses
Loudly told me
Surrender youth

Make me love her
Dying oak tree
Make me cry here
Falling dead leaves

Take me home my
Lonesome lover
Take me past all
Reverie then

And if this aye
Shall swerve this goat
To set me free
Shall make an end

Then ere warned
Five thousand shorn
A gooses neck
Death brings this end

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)

Goodmorning, Mother Nature (day 745)

Your delicate drops
That drip about my window
Waking my slumber
Shaking my cobwebs
Keep rhythm for me

My heart finds
Its speed again
While curious crawls
Across steaming
Bits of wooden jungle

Sun beckons
Warming exposed skin
Like uncurling leaves
Surviving off stray beams

Feathered fellows
Sing one another
Delightful passages
Freshly reciting
For days full of life

And you say to me
Goodmorning

Garden of Eden (day 742)

Float my soul into the Garden of Eden
Mingling with leaves and bountiful trees
Mocking birds perched upon low hanging branches
Romancing me, graceful as I go
Hovering about the top leaves, I
Choicest of fruits sit proud as I browse

Shifting my wind to float down to sin
Dangling my toes in the faces of maidens
Fair skinned maidens with light saris
Giggling at gurgling water flowing by
Lapping amongst their dangling limbs

They acknowledged me with eyes of fair maidens
Playful touching that aroused my desire
I put forth my thoughts to spellbound their minds
Crazy they gathered with worship and laughter
Sacrificed a lamb for love to come faster
Drums led the way into evenings warm prayer

I curled up my soul into a land finely woven
Light summer breeze blew hanging silk fabrics
Sweet Nag Champa floating through our essence
Turning us on our backs to gaze up in wonder
Moans and groans and giggling and laughter
Pillows upon pillows; pillows galore

Candles were lit as lips were nipped
Fruits from the garden, picked and dipped
Light finely wovens covering our perspiring bodies
Naked as the night stars shining upon us
In Garden of Eden and it’s ten thousand sins

Foreign but Traditional Airports (day 736)

It was cold as I stepped off the airplane in that small foreign airport, so many miles from home and not a plan, save for you.

You were an adventure, insight into a foreign world with a warm couch to sleep on. A world I had spent so many years learning about.. planning for.

An adventure with a heart wide open and arms firmly closed, cobblestone streets ancestors had walked upon and a quiet corner of a once booming shipping port.

There was a long bus ride with anxious questions as friends long been separated chatted, and the grand tour through old town with a heavy bag and just a little bit of complaining.

Awaiting at the airport pacing back and forth, I wondered where she was. My phone was expired, no money in my pockets, not even an address to go to.

Biezpiens is a traditional dish. It was necessary, so was the fresh selection of strawberries at the old farmers market. And a little slice of chocolate, traditional chocolate.

There was a dog; a big brown Lab/Sharpei mix with big ears and bigger paws. She was an anxious dog, the kind that pulls at the leash every step of the way. Leaves, sticks, strange smells, other dogs…

Twice a day I’d walk her through the retired graveyard, searching every gravestone for recognizable names. Never found any.

Ever step I felt like I could see horses pulling buggies, old top hats and pointed mustaches. The signs of old Baltic Ritterschaft nobility.

I’d find new paths every day I’d walk the city streets. New buildings that were old buildings, new corners of the city that were old corners of the city. I’d learned cobblestones made quite a racket when car tires roll over them.

I left there in love. In love with a city, in love with a way of life. In love with a style. In love with a woman who did not want to love me.

I left there with a hug from her and a lick from the dog for a long full bus ride. The whole way to the foreign airport early that morning I stood with my bags about my shoulders, fighting the woes of leaving my heart behind and the dizziness of hardly a breakfast in my belly.

Of course the only thing I could think of was the laughing while smiling.

Riga - 201209 (26 of 605)

The Seasons (day 605)

And fantasy breaks over the ice like award winning actors
Carefully floating its sadness into the cracks of the frost
Sculpting majestic kingdoms for antique traveling

Who walks away with the prize when all soldiers cry?
Dim spots of light fill the sadness over the meadow
While blood nourishes the fresh roots finding the new morning

For then, after one evening of bonfires and dancing
The heavens broke open and spilled out eternity
Laughing out loud as if pricked by cupid himself

As dances all came to a finale and bow
The feelings rustled down in orange and red leaves
With freshly cut pine keeping warmth in the fire

Southern States (day 508)

All too drearily I drag my heels across the torn leaves turning wooden colors
A light evenings sprinkling has left that wooooooshhhhh feeling in the air
Smells trying it’s best to pick my head up
But the wind is winning that battle as it charges through my vein
I’m thinking about the things I gotta do
Getting a sudden understanding that it’s been done before
I’m not walking original streets anymore
I’m a two bit pony at the stallion races
Diners and hip fashions line these streets with eager faces laughing out loud
It’s an optimistic buzz that I’ve missed sailing
It’s the flight south and I’ve been caught chilling

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see an oasis
A spot in the middle of this barren land that’s calling my name loud
Like the 4th of July in the Southern states: IT’S SCREAMING
So I check myself and take a tug on my cuffs
I know this is going to take a while

We All Die Old (day 503)

The water pushing past the secret doors of the needle riddled floor
Sing to the lonely leaves forgotten and rotting amongst the mushrooms
The trees that have spewn forth their dying seasons
Happily lap up the dotted dew resting a while in the sunlight
And spiders that haven’t eaten yet this morning
Share the same edges of bark with the sleeping moths
Burrowing into the nice alcoves of hidden mysteries
Stretching between the years written into the aging forest
With squirrels keeping track of all the scores
Hunting out that which shouldn’t be forgotten
But in this season of time that dances amongst the shoots
Where the fresh birds chirp happily to the echoes of the canopy
There is always the runner, he who ensures nobody gets comfortable
In the center of the trail he kills with rubber
The youngest of them all, the new growing sprout

But the earth is all life
The change is all good
The circle grows bigger
And we all die old

Fifty Thousand (day 453)

I can see the moon here
It glows beneath this clear blue sky
Yelling profanities at the bitter and twisted
Undergrowth of fifty thousand trees
With fifty thousand leaves

The moon has something to say today
It whispers to the lawn gnomes that listen
Quietly sitting on the sun fed lawns
They hear the secrets, they know
They’ve lived fifty thousand years ago

Today I heard the moon speak
I waited silently in the middle of the lawn
It held my hand and told me of the future
I shared a story with the moon today
We walked fifty thousand miles together

The moon passed by my way today
It was beyond which I could have imagined
It was silent yet spoke fifty thousand words
It smiled and wept fifty thousand tears with me
It came and left, fifty thousand lives ago