Tag Archives: Seed

Friendly Girl (day 2105)

What have I become?
Rough rebellious edges
Carrying on in a dream I’ve surely built
Commonly misunderstood
In spite my lessons in patience
And I’m just looking for a friendly girl
Who enjoys the music I play every day.

No, not one to judge racially
Not one to define boundaries
Not one to mistreat, mistrust
I share in this mighty earth
Respecting green miracle of growth
And I’m just looking for a friendly girl
Who enjoys all the seeds that I sow.

What have I become?
Rough rebellious edges
Carrying on in a dream I’ve surely built
Commonly misunderstood
In spite my lessons in patience
And I’m just looking for a friendly girl
Who enjoys the music I play every day.

Looking back it’s not easy
Had my heart on the line
Had too many unwritten songs
Yet nothing’ll stop me
My drive is what makes me
And I’m just looking for a friendly girl
Who enjoys going for a ride.

What have I become?
Rough rebellious edges
Carrying on in a dream I’ve surely built
Commonly misunderstood
In spite my lessons in patience
And I’m just looking for a friendly girl
Who enjoys the music I play every day.

Candles (day 1936)

From my heart
I pull a seed
Lay it at the door.

Remember how
The water once
Ran across the floor.

I carry only
Two candles for
Our path, nevermore.

A Different Song (day 1848)

In my time of need
When I was growing strong
How could you say I was all wrong?
As I walked up to you
To ask a favor from
How could you sing a different song?

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

As I whispered to my friends
That we had stumbled upon truth
How could you yell upon your lungs
What we had already sent away
And claim it for your very own
Brought home as our one deluded messiah

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

I had two ounces in my pocket
You had traded me for my soul
Which I now carried forever more
Saying I was free in every deed
And on my lasting journey home,
So locked in your greedy empire I,
It was all unfaithful truth and a silenced song.

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

A Different Song by Ned Tobin

Two Minute Dummies (day 1837)

Dear George,

I’ve been plowing the sky lately,
Pushing out weeds and laughing
Into circular spires that tangle my heart
And blow my innocence
One seed at a time.

And this is just day one.

This isn’t like some kind of marigold round,
This is a lost mannequin
Rusting beside two mute dummies
In an old warehouse
Sprinkling fuel all around in
Distorted laughter and
Fixing generators with all night fuel parties.

And don’t piss off the bouncer.

So, things have been interesting,
You know?

How are things with you?

Love,

Lucy

Once Again, In Bloom (day 1806)

As seed took its flight
From the palm of my hand
I felt a cloud
Receding from my heart,
Deep as I remain.
I knew what had been
Had come again to us
Not to tarry as long
But definitely sent
To help us on our way.
If you dared close your eyes
And listen to early summer breeze
There was, singing sweetly,
An apparition to remain.

Can you call me one more time
Like so many times before?
Can you share your wisdom
To help my youthful pride?

If I should waste another breath
I shall not hold my stride
That you so valiantly kept,
Like gale force winds
And secret glimchens
Upon your heart so clear.
Like every day that’s come again
You brought your soul divine
To bask in changing season
That always stopped to overtake.
You recognized that as a robin comes
A sparrow and bluejay shall too,
You knew that purple pansies grew
As humming bird feeders drew.

Your wind called out where we all heard,
Your wind amidst our sails,
Your peach upon our fruit trees,
Forever once again, in bloom.

Ode to a Weeping Willow (day 1765)

Oh my heart if it could be strong
But weeping, and I’m going home.
With your cool breeze rustling
My cool knees in this early spring daze.
Are you really calling out my name?
Or have you decided to plant my seed
Into the horizon with a beautiful sunset
And calling out to the midnight bullfrogs
Who echo deeply off this thick bark peeling.

A Plan (day 1715)

I’ve crawled along
And pulsed my heart
To look into an eye,
And all I see
All around
Is bliss and zen,
I’m free.
Would you hold
My hand to be
A pedal in the wind?
Or would you seed
My plans into
A life
For you and me?

One Armed Row (day 1684)

Night’s fog had rolled on in
Long voyage to harbour – land ho!
Land at last for this ragged show.
Three fog horns led our fearless captain –
A man too honest for sailor’s gin,
All the way to One Armed Row.
Choicest of ales, where great seamen go,
And also toiled our captain’s sin.

She smiled at all who crossed the hearth:
Fodder for jealous types stuck out in open sea;
Mirth for all at One Armed Row.
Our captain, pure soil of the earth,
Led his men, each as anxious as he
To find what seeds they each could sow.

Memory (day 1596)

Your heart rings on the bars of my faint memory
Tingling windows that never seem to open right
While lights flicker from unknown sources
As if silent messengers in night’s sky.

I touch my lips and think about a sensation
Once so familiar to my heart that it left an ocre mark
And scalded the new moon twice since
Leaving rays of blood light shifting my reminiscence.

I cannot wait here long, for leaves follow my mind
Upon a downward spiral to freshly rooted dirt
Awaiting new seeds of our ancient memory
And lifting lines that varicose their way back to my heart.

Memory by Ned Tobin

Search O’Er Lain Land (day 1590)

Glen to glen
I’ve wandered brooks
Searching for my
Crag with a hook

Little, though
My hearts dismay
Could effort swing
Precipice lay

For o’er lain land
My hoof she ran
Like orphaned seeds
Autumn’s light breath

Dagger be given
To the laughing lady
High atop as a
Clever tight rock

For no path could be laid
No gorge to ford
No eye to twinkle
Amidst sun-lit wrinkle

Now guide thee home
Pulse in thine known
I hear the clean broom
And dear Mother’s boom

20150825 - Monashees Mushroom Picking - Ned Tobin - 19

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