Devour Exacts (day 1895)

Does heart devour time?
Does race my worried mind?
Does a crane out in the wind
Lean against what drives within?
And so I seek to look into
A window I’ve left unlocked
I’ve whispered secrets,
I’ve held soft hands
I’ve lost my heart to time.
But calling out my windy mane
Like a horse lost in run
I’ve become what cannot be tamed
My life exacts and spun.

Early or Late (day 1772)

I am not secret letters
Or a piece of written word
I am not Spring’s blossoms
Or twigs left to the wind
I am not warmth in a hug
Or laughter of memory
I am not sweet sun so high
Nor pale moon tonight
I am not bed to rest thy head
Or coffee to rouse morning dread
I am not sound from croaking frogs
Or serenade from happy birds
I am not late
Or early
I am
Or I am

Early or Late by Ned Tobin

Pandora’s Equinox (day 1488)

On the ni’ of equinox
A solstice be thy summer’s name
Flood my gates with sacred hearts
Soul be in thine orchestra.

And dancers of Pandora’s secrets
Lay thee interests – deeply furrowed,
Upon thy stage for moonlight glow
Which pierces hearts and spares no souls.

A love shall lift thee like a sun!
A love shall unite life into one!
To where all sounds soon taper off
Into night’s celebration: dancing decadence.

Forget Deceit (day 1291)

Weather change upon my chains.
Warning bell remains the same.
I know it’s there; illuminate.
Can’t forget animosity,
Can’t forget building tide.
Undecided sayer’s name,
Unto the end, within our midst,
Lot of whispers and deceit.

Calling me, your name.
Secret here cannot remain.
Where does once begineth from?
Is it all just amend, amen?

Wind (day 1217)

I alter the states of my mind
To allow the gusts of thought pass
As if they had just become mingled
In a thousand cobwebs
That had secrets and truths
And memories long ago
Been buried in my parents back yard
Along side Angus, the family dog,
And Winne, our brown and white guinea pig.
This is where the present comes from,
Shifting from side to side
Hardened pieces of driftwood
And last years decaying perennials.
Wind may bend and curve my states of emotional madness,
My shifting moods and sands and magical feathers
That answer all of my questions,
But time roots all of these gusts
Into solid memories of the old arbutus
Clinging to mind when I close my eyes
And let the wind run through
These states of my mind.

Flower’s Heart (day 1090)

I’ve got memories stored deep inside a flower’s heart.
It’s named sunshine and a memory
For your hidden broken secret.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.
Dancing with the street lights,
Unmarked walls of silent hallways.
Which have me singing out loudly
With angry pixies and upset fairies.
Lightly dancing strings of laughter
About my hidden secrets name,
Knowing I’m forever dreaming
Deep inside this heart’s remains.
This flower never after.
Nobody knows, and it’s
Nobody knows.

Harmonizing (day 1027)

For all that I could remember, for all I could ever remember, for all the times that I dusted off my aching knees to build up my power of love that thrust my gold into the clear blue skies; it was all I was, all I cared to be, all I had dreamed of being, all that was allowed to rest – to be the remnants of some hard played game digging into worn parts of my gloves.

For without these delightful glories (curdling my cream and harmonizing my deep south Presbyterian choir) I was merely a soldier. A hard edged, fine tuned, stainless steel blade of America’s finest earth (plus of course the blood, sweat, and rock hard fists heft my direction). Hardly left a consequence upon my check-marked debriefing.

Here I stood in future’s year, inhaling deep to remember what it felt like laying on the freshly mowed grass in the heat of summer, slow moving cars rolling along manicured gravel. An itch, creeping in and lingering a while as momma’s freshly squeezed – and heavily iced – lemonade tinkled around inside a transparent and sweating summer repair.

But now I wasn’t heading here or there. I wasn’t coming or going. I wasn’t even known amongst the squirrels and bluejays and Chester, the neighbor’s dog, had wilting flowers.

You cannot crush what once lived inside a boy. A man can not fall flat and lie upon his back and let these thoughts turn and turn and turn without the understanding of what has come to pass. Much like Tchaikovsky’s flurrying madness, torrent thoughts arrest my secret moments until the uneven dice with blank looking stares roll the number five five times in a row. To end a second chapter but never ending. Never an end. Never to be ended.

Without knowing then, I was knocking at a door I had left without looking back. A door that still had a mesh pane to keep out the flies. A door that creaked and banged shut no matter how slow it was released. A door that acted as the liaison between country folk and their well meaning manner. A door that punctuated my knocking and brought old – as in aging – footsteps squinted hard to recognize the stranger the stood just on the other side.