Tag: rest

Laborous Love (day 2220)

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I want to love you so laboriously
A weight ten thousand Sherpas
Could hardly carry.

Each step would be unforgiving
My knees would creak with each movement
My face constantly a sweat
Dust from my hard road clinging to my smile.

Your words to me
Would surely move mountains
And I, faithful laborer
Headband keeping my forehead dry
Would cease not for a moments rest.

With your company I would be speechless
Your presence would cause my stutter to grow
Delicately I would choose each word
Slowly spelled out in love.

Inside my stomach would be a maze of butterflies
Every time I would see your eyes,
My heart clocking in overtime
At a full time love affair.

I want to love you so laboriously
Your day would be like sunshine
Slowly rocking in a cool breeze
Of our garden orchard I would always tend.

Night’s Rest (day 1607)

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I’m along lines of horizon
Slowly sunk into surrounding hillsides
That luminously cast shadows
Into experiences;
Dock lined shorelines,
Visited all too infrequently
At this ripe hour and season
By speedboats that churn water
In an expedited process of
Annihilating all nature’s fuel
And polluting water masses.
So I’m happy here listening
As straggling Canadian geese
Call and return into formation,
And water gently laps at
Man made structures and flush
Rock lined shorelines
Like a mother gently settling
Her young ones down
For a calm night’s rest.

Lout (day 1139)

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Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while

Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees

You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat

But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative

I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.

Tired (day 560)

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I am tired
And these bags gathering
Under my eyes
Are growing their own
Attitude and regret
I’ve been sleeping little
In between dreams
Packing in time
I never could grasp
The days are slipping
On account of my drinking
Which erases the memories
Of days far gone now
Perhaps I could visit
Lost time again
With a flick of my wrist
A twist of my wit
A power to build me
My kingdom here yet
But then, would this cure me?
Would this let me rest?
Surely in madness
I’m loosing my faith
Sleep would be nice
As it touched my brow
Brought me forth
Delivered me with faith
I’d float through the scenes
Blissfully aware
Of the red roses here
Landing down lightly
On a little island of sand
Melting away desires
Melting away all plans
A sweet surrender
A happiness over me
A happiness is me

Smokeless (day 339)

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Peacefully I close my eyelids
Lay my sweet caress into the pits unknown
Put my legs upon the ground beyond
Perhaps too long to play the game
Perhaps too short to feel the rest

At the wheel the cool breeze stirs
Something inside that’s closed it’s mouth
Grip tight, lay waste the fight
Perhaps the gun’s been oiled tonight;
Leave smokeless, devour your plight

Onwards and upwards we float with the light
Little traces of emptiness flickering like firelight
And I with my pens, you with your swords
Scrounging up regret like it’s found in the back
Perhaps then, alone and bitter, I will…