Slow drawl of a morning
Crinkling paper
And ever building list
Of tasks I wanted to remember
Last night
Trickling in
As my coffee
Trickles down
Bamboo lined pour over
Where my awaiting mug,
Earth tones of pottery,
Catches the mud
My memory unearths.
Tag: mud
Working Hard in Anger (day 3053)
Thunderous roar
Lightening crash
Moment had finally begun
Inner madness
Screaming out
Rage set to thine foe
Callus in the hand of toil
Wrinkle in thy brow
Understanding mud as earth
Pounding under foot.
Gray Angel (day 3024)
I am not an angel.
My wings broke,
And the sky laughed
While sun spit pink
Upon both edges
Of the letting horizon,
And just as trees
Bagan to bend
Like wings of a crow
Moving again,
My two feet
So placed
Into thick layers
Of mud, unfolding,
Began to tremble
And quake
Further losing development
Of each gray spot of mind.
Bare and Strewn (day 2769)
Threaded so bare
A lonesome despair
Washed in the river
Of an unknown meaning
But torn from a branch
Left in the mud
Catching all grass
Upstream a flood
Carrying on
Carrying through
Stepping right over
Branches, all strewn.
Mud (day 2713)
When the mud
Boils up to the surface
Wear your good boots
It’s been raining
After a Rainstorm (day 2528)
Muddy Boots
Soggy roots
Dripping down my back
Patterns (day 2161)
When every part of patient patterns
Seem to fit inside the other
A symbiotic matrimony, of sorts,
Fills us up each day
Like sun that orbits around and around
And the moon, just biding its time
Mycelia strings together the dots
Connecting you to me
And sun to earth and rain to mud
And seed to harvest it too!
So down we go, deep inside
To sprout one million times amore.
The Boxer (day 1933)
You were a boxer
Every Thursday night
After Big Jim’s Saloon
Took a bottle and you
Out to a cobblestone night.
A muffled mind with intention,
Fireworks covered in mud,
And a slow slur that wound up
Like Roadrunner
Walking a tightrope,
The top rope
Of a dark, four cornered ring.
You liked the big city
Because your slow down
Never coincided with a dead end.
Your betting days
Flashed jackpot on your bedroom wall:
Red, green, and yellow.
And your highschool sweetheart
Hung alone on peeling paper
That crackled back at you
As you walked naked
From your bedroom
To a comfortable routine
You knew so well.
Asked to be An Angel Again (day 1813)
I was asked to become a guardian
Down low, down low, in a bottom of mud.
Too late, I said,
Coughing and excusing myself;
Toxicity had taken control
Of my asthma, uncontrollably
Letting my lungs flank
Sides of this yellow pole.
I smiled nicely
At the man who said something,
But to him, I wasn’t listening,
I was to busy snoring.
Excuse me, I said,
Under my breath
And a fly came and landed
Above my head,
So I moved on again, up high, up high.
A Horticulturalists Dream (day 1161)
Summer air and little drops
That puddle jump night to sleep.
From every lair come out great worms
Slithering through fresh mud.
Slugs depart on epic journeys
Across deep dark blacktop oceans.
And as all things growing
Most desire
Freshness from great rains,
Morning brings what can be called
A horticulturalists most desirable dream.