Old Entrance Door

What is wrong with crumbling ground
Dirt building up and softening corners
As messages to my former youth.

I met a truth I should have known
Though long ago I had forgotten then
Stolen by a bass kick drum.

Trim around my old entrance door
Has worn a little more since,
Stars still there to light my heart.

Don’t let me see it
Or I’ll run away with my low E chord
When this silence is unbearable.

Cracks again begin to open up
Time can test and I’ll whistle along
Nail and hammer I’ll carry on.

A Dance Too Good For Life (day 3038)

As if the earth could ever see
Darwinian modes of ease
To see a leaf upon a tree
Blowing about the stem
Back and forth with every grace
A dance I could never trace
Delicate as a flower in bloom
Tough as nails that close a tomb
To anchor a setting sun
Upon the branch that bursts the buds
Then grouping in a seasonal array
One of Summer’s finest delights
That change the landscape one dare not stop
For as the bud shifts to a stem
Stem to a new growth
New growth takes the sprint of life
To bursting red and orange and brown
Then in one last graceful dance
A leap too good for chance to take
Downward left to fall away
Death pose into finale.

Precious Life (day 3027)

What is the sadness we have in our life?
Work begun and living story;
A moment lost in peeling paint,
Lost as sand that blows.
When rhythm runs straight through thy soul,
Collapsing each fear in its spot.
Center my state around the pinnacle
Of rusting nail so beaten,
Cry again some sweet gold tears
Precious as rhododendron petals.

Stopping (day 2945)

My leaving held me to a candle
Where I swore but could not be heard
Callused, I learned a mannered derision
Falling slowly while walking
Heart worn and still spending
Danger amidst comfort
Finding I was working like a man
Field and the ploughs
Dark soil in each finger’s nail
And a candle to my brow
With no time for stopping.

Pieces (day 2932)

Do you care if my soul comes in pieces?
A string attached to spine
Rolling around in a messy wash
Of leftover nails and splinters
Gathered here in my left hand
From a botched carpentry project.
I shot straight,
I climbed high,
I read the books on ethics,
And there beyond my grasp was hidden
A melodramatic stretch of time
That scratched itself
Over dusty chalkboards
And caught again my web
String attached to spine.

Ancient Ilk (day 2200)

This is my primitive shit
My unconditional
Motivated by another force
Called a different name
Hung with different nails
Wood of an ancient ilk.

This is the voice ignored
The silenced, betrayed
A crashing of stillness
That left cracks
Spreading to remind me
I haven’t changed
Just remembered.