In This Stance (day 2320)

Why are you settling into rhythm dance?
Columns of smoke off in the distance.
This isn’t the county fair,
Tickets are not up for sale.
Can I wield you more?
Master of a well tuned sword.
Can I stand up tall
Can I hold this stance?

I carry this rhythm down each dusty road
With my candle, ever bright
I am the carrier, strongest arm
Leader with my hand over heart
Standing tall and holding stance
Boldly believing, and that is tall.

Solitary Circle (day 2198)

How do I succeed at following rhythms?
Time passing while my heart beats
With unspoken visitors enabling
Each pitter-patter footstep leading
Into a little hole I don’t know how to close any more.

I watch bluejays easily get mad at
Unflinching sun poking through spaces in a wild canopy
And woodpeckers at ease as I whistle a hello,
Vigorously and meticulously rummaging through
Every year of hard protection.

Will I find answers in these rhythms?
I dance in firelight imagining all of my ancestors
Which brings comfort to my solitary circle
But never ceases evoking deep pangs;
My wild soul, accompanied.

Shawnigan Lake - Ned Tobin

Moon at Midnight – Part XXI (day 1995)

part XX

At first it was hard to communicate with Willow
But we were inseparable
And we learned each other’s words
That helped us communicate
And what we lacked in spoken word
We made up for in body language
I hadn’t known many women in my time,
More familiar with an axe and squirrels,
But I learned Willow every way I could.

I learned how she hummed almost inaudibly
Before she woke me up
Dancing her fingers lightly over my sleeping body
As if they were sunlight
Warming my mind to the day;
I learned how her eyes looked shocked and innocent
When she couldn’t understand the words
I would excitedly share with her;
I learned her various routines
That announced each changing rhythm of the day;
I learned how much of a teacher
She was to Lily
Taking every moment she could to share
Her wisdom to her only child
With just the right enough patience
Matched with enough urgency
To encourage the blossoming child
To remember the things she must to survive.

I learned how she played with me
And laughed at my seriousness
She would push me to delay
In spots I hadn’t noticed in my hurry
Instantly draining whatever burden
I had riding about my shoulders
I learned her mischievous smile
When she would want me as her lover
And how she would lose all control
As she leaned her head back to my caress
Eager to remain entwined
Lost in the clutches of love.

Lily’s eyes would always grow larger
When she observed moments of our love
I knew that her adolescent crush
Wouldn’t let her sleep at night,
When Willow and I would share our passion
She seemed happier
Clearly part of her mothers spirit
That always sought to see happiness
In those around her
She would help as we learned to communicate as a family
Each playing a guessing game
That we became very accurate at
The more we learned each others’ rhythms.

part XXII

Gypsy Slide (day 1907)

There are circles bouncing all around
Get out, get the animals calling loud
Running rhythm deep inside
Hallelujah ride my Gypsy slide

Soul rumbling to the left, begun
You are the guideline when rhythms on
Let loose all the fretting critters
Come and catch what’s rumbling loose

Calling all banana jacks
Plug electricity into the sky
Lord the fruit into sweet blossom
Hallelujah ride my Gypsy slide

Framed (day 1898)

Framed, I calculated an unnerving amount of resistance that spread like wildfire into Westward directions, of which of course I had no control over yet still tried to impart my wisdom and hence strength into the combined force of what I could not really understand.

So from A to B related my conceptualized compassion that hadn’t yet fully been realized, described as it may have been impartial as it was, was released into the atmosphere that concluded the segmented destruction I had begun at once, since I was always hanging around at the door.

Did you mean it?

I, for one, hadn’t lied since the conceptualized rhythm had taken hold of my toes and left me writhing aimlessly upon the cold, hard floor encircling my conceptualizing and leaving faint ellipses of my heated innards, heated imprints of smudging recollection slowly evaporating.

Yet you. You. You you you you you! You hadn’t had a word of truth since your mother siphoned ink drops from your stained fingers to extract what viciously romantic letters you had sent to the tightrope walker of your dreams. How could you remember such blithe moments of innocent lust, only scattered in pajama pants of a sleep-over with two bottles of soda pop rattling against nevermore.

So I thought my captain’s hat was an excellent choice to begin my journey with. I thought my heart had a marvelous lagoon illuminated by fireflicking effervescence – like lightening bolts for my neurons jitterbugging their way past each other in such a hurry A to B, A to B, A to B to one two three for I am lost in the conceptualized space of lighting bolts upon the cold tiles of this broken bathroom’s shore.

Framed, I left no remark, no emblem, no Saturday night band-aid to recollect seashells from the forest floor – blown. No deafening roar lifting up my coattails I had left begging at the door. No satin sheets too stained for use and frayed at the edges in bad need of delicate iron’s pour. No guilt nicely crumpled up inside a warm cocoon, marsupial, canonized, capitalized, heavenly guilt-free and framed, alone with torment.

Polo Shirts (day 1448)

Rhythm is a magic thing.
Ebb.
Flow.
It takes the heart
And encircles it with
Falling Autumn leaves
And afternoon window shoppers
Dressed in
Late-morning-sunshine-yellow polo shirts
And walked-a-mile shoes.

Rhythm is two steps
For every one breath
On a muggy evening
Along a windy, ocean view
Pedestrians only path
In a healthy city.

Rhythm is necessary,
Just as long steady gusts for big bubbles
And late afternoon naps are.

Because if the heart takes a leap
And forgets which beat
Is flip flopping around deep inside,
Then all mastery of any subject
Is floating lifelessly away
Amidst breadcrumbs scattered for ducks
In a sea of slugs on a hungry Tuesday.

Bright Workings (day 1299)

Rhythm and love shakes me.
Feeling and all of it makes me.
Haven’t been down lately.
Are you coming around, baby?

Can you feel me inside nighttime,
Like glitter in these light wines.
I’m a fountain of love baby,
You’re shaking all over tonight lines.

Feel me, as emotion entangles,
Setting fire to stage that surrounds me.
See this town as electric midnights
That strangle blackness from tonight.

Busy at the Crossroads (day 1173)

Before too much longer I had remembered what I had left home to find,
And it was at that exact moment my memory served me most correct.
I could only get there one step at a time
To a rhythm that was rolling like a Bob Dylan rhyme.

The scene wasn’t written in the papers, nor was it written down in time.
I was left with dried pens smashed up against my soul,
Where my concert was mid-encore;
Pinnacle of loudly unspoken madness.

Large Oak trees to my South side, Highlands to the North.
I’ve been busting these long clouds with my pointed perfection
Rattling off my unchained fancy-foot tongue.
And here I am all bustling around.

Tiny Jewel (day 1099)

I’m asleep in a tiny jewel;
Happy, and my mind’s eye.
To freedom I’ve never given up.
A rhythm which is rhyme
And castles made of sand
Float wind swept grasses.
So high, so long.
And I am asleep in a tiny jewel;
With windows into-out-of
I crawl and drain sand,
Sifting my widowed beetroot
And surfacing divine;
Flat root / straight cut.