In the great time of y’or
When my Grandfather Thick Neck
Roamed these wild lands
His deer were thousands strong
And each Autumn they’d collect
From all four corners of
His vast kingdom
He had roamed all Summer
And would gather near
The great Big River
To Winter in collective warmth
The power was in their numbers
It was impossible for predators
To attack such a strong group
And in the darkest days of Winter
They had fellow deer
To remind each other
Of the bountiful Summer days
Coming soon again.
In the great time of y’or
As if in the ransack of time a little mouse could foresee such a circumstance, little unbeknownst to him and his furry paws scuttling to and fro about the forest floor – roots for here and roots for there, but left in a random mess that danced like bliss – as the owl hooted loud the shakey graves below the folly could tell ten thousand stories of arching madness and screaming terror; look out look out look out my friend, I have not come to be thy penance, no, I am here to hold thy candle brighter, to make thy night much less weirder, to the side of willow river and make a dart into thy deepened hole of safety and say to thy family you love them better and listen to your little mice that complain of washing and complain of chores but lead your life as you best can for times will come and leave you better beside the river and your cavern and your pretty mice wife, hither.
Dancing through the Kingdom of Joy
Alone, the rupture had a sentence
A package of unexpected buoyancy
Laid about thy path.
Oh, shame shame the clouds have come
Accept thy fate and look back no more
Forgive each breath you once deplored
Let run deep thy river’s mane.
Stepping aside, a willow tree
Called thy name twice in vain
But on the third day, as time began
A shift in conscience pulled at thee.
Then with a rod of sixfold and reel
Twang at last, the pauper’s gold
Gifting all that had been told
Left alone in a field of wildflowers.
Tell me how time came
Took away my mind
Left me floating in a cloud
– So low –
Mississippi river’s got my soul
Floating down my day
Hanging from a big fir tree
Gone between its cracks
Watching for the moon to show
My river rambles on.
Loveless and love loss
The nature of a sulk’n heart
Band around my middle name
Forever leaving marks
River runs through every rock
Stepping off the dock
Eroding goes away my time
Raven watches mine
Truth displayed upon deep bark
Mountain high, valley low
Scratching at my back
Needles upon our heavy ground
I surprised myself at how passionate I became
And took Willow to bed
We lay there, forehead to forehead
Sharing our hearts and souls
Through our eyes, our breath
Our souls entwined like our very essences
A mixture of meaning and questions
Desire and passion
A giving and taking and listening and sharing
One that we spoke in ten thousand languages
When she kissed me I was at once a victim
Then an accomplice
Then I was the fever incomprehensible
And then just as quickly
Transformed back into the listener.
I experienced an epiphany that night
That I never really truly felt before
And that was the feeling of One
That my thoughts
Were just as relevant as Willow’s thoughts
That she had mine and I had hers
And that we were both at the same time
Quite on opposite sides of the same breath
Her ebb was my flow
But our build was the same
I felt it as I held her
And she moved with me and against me
We began glowing together
I experienced a union
Then stepped back and observed the separation
I learned the experience of true love
Which was both giving and taking
At the same time
Both nothing and everything
Both silence and screaming
Like I said, epiphany.
That night I bowed down to the deep connection
I felt and experienced so intimately with Willow
I thanked my fingers for finding me so
I thanked my breath for filling me so
I thanked my eyes for focusing me so
I thanked my heart for fueling me so
I thanked my knees for bending me so
I thanked Willow, deeply, powerfully
With words that meant ten thousand things
With embraces that held ten thousand meanings
With tears that sprung ten thousand rivers
With motion that turned ten thousand days
Past moons that shone at midnight.
Tangle me whole –
Fraying at edges,
Confused and scarred
Sacred and empty.
Yet water runs dry
And hallowed river banks
Leave tears running
Down my spine
Tangling me whole
Lifting me up and
Scraping my sides
With sandstone and thorns.
Let my ankles
Caress each meadow
And place my soul in the sky.
Take this blood and run it along an irregular line from here to there, for there is no longer a fountain of youth screaming for more sticks and balls; left for dead there is only a pulse of electricity surging away into a stream of monotony.
But where does each screaming echo fall?
Twisting it’s way through sandstone crevices along a dried river basin, footsteps led aimlessly uphill in search of a higher plateau that might offer a view of the future, or lead to a three feet wide round door of periscope and a three strands of hemp rope holding a dangling sign that read: “Welcome. Please come in.”
If all was lost, there would be no now, for now is not lost as a pinch can accost.
While large maple leaves unfurled to beckon in the Summer, a slow and sweet amulet of sweat rested nicely between the bosom of naked pixie, casually watching the dried river splash over dusty boulders.
From your wild edges I stand
Your mysterious torrent
Carries my heart back and forth
Up and down
Catching little glimpses of what
Dares to ride your furious wave
And my imagination takes me wildly
Over and around the sharp rocks
I know you pass by
For I, standing here,
In awe upon the jagged edges
Of my wildest imaginations
By your side
Perched upon the sharp ledge
With a vantage of your toil.