Pocket Knife (day 2272)

A handy man should always have
A pocket knife by his side
No better friend in times of need
Could come to be at the ready
Rope was made for just the tool
So was whittling by the fire
And opening each bag of tools
Was fit just for that knife’s service.
Eager was the folding knife
Tucked away discreetly in thy pocket
So, then, was the fixed blade
Attached at a leather belt secure
To become of such valiant service.
For each man holds on to their tools
In which way feels right to them,
So no man shall defame a man
Who holds a knife at the ready
A handyman recognizes a good man
Who keeps a pocket knife ready for service.
But just as important for the handyman
A sharp blade makes one smile
A stone that keeps a blade able
For any task that rests at hand
No handyman should relax as if
Their blade be forever sharp
It is forever right that a handyman keep
Beside every dressing table to thy name
A handyman should keep right there
A handyman’s sharpening stone.

Fire Making (day 2251)

There’s nothing quite like starting a fire
From the very kindling you’ve gathered
Shaved flakes of fresh wood
Because woodsmen don’t use paper
To start their fires.
Each piece of wood weighed and measured
To match each flames intensity
For in its time that fire shall get
A new piece as its fuel.
Handling an axe isn’t a light days work
It’s sharp, and heavy,
And you’ve really got to swing it hard
I you want any work done at all,
For your fire to get nice and tall.
Then as night sets in, darkness itself,
Warmth from your toil and support
Comes bellowing out
In calculated intensity
From within the fire you’ve set
And worked as a good night beacon.

The Ancient Sword That Stole Away With You (day 2195)

If I could be the ancient sword
That stole away with you
One waltz that takes us merrily
To the sea so free.
Each bond you felt that held you back
I’m your liberating sharp
Whimsically eager at your call
Lightly laying aside ageing leaves
Floating our minds upon the breeze.
For your sup I’d fix your cut
Sliced so fine, no toil to chide
A glass of wine to ease your mind
Relax upon my sturdy spine
Your head upon my shoulder.

Hash Marks (day 1908)

In a passage of my minds disguise
I float little waves
And carry on in nature’s ease,
I don’t dare look too far.
But as sweet whispers carry over
Tender ruffles of my mind
I hold a little longer to
Pencils I’ve had perfectly sharp
That count with each hash mark
Dear boldness I’ve become.

Hash Marks by Ned Tobin

Edge (day 1643)

We all shake our gates to the sound of riddled irons
Ricocheting off midnight streets in lonely battle cries.
We dress formal, we provide answers,
We lose sight of retail for a better lease on life.
We do this. We pound our own hammer
With all our might, until fatal the blow
Or sharp the edge.

Edge by Ned Tobin

Black (day 1599)

I remember your hair when it turned black. 
It reminded me of reflection off the lake
As night rolled in from daylight. 
I saw ravens circling around
And the nightlife lights shining neon
In a jet set latex of thrills.
It was 70s underground 
That had no part in funk. 
I remember how tight the black looked,
How sharp it felt and cleanly it cut. 
I could see space ships taking off
Into an outer limit that redefined blackness
With foreign substances like black holes and galaxies. 
But most of all, I remember how much life
Existed within those black walls,
How friends moored for comfort 
And looked for desire and found life
And how even your stare 
Was pure blackness through my eyes of sight. 
I remember your trance,
And how looking into it intrigued me so much,
That I knew of nothing else but the 
Strange affliction it had on my pulse. 
Today black is all I wear.
I cloth myself because I have become itself,
Lost in an experiment of dance,
Too foolish and too free yet
To back down and bow
Before the queen I know
The blackness you are. 
And I will rest here at your feet 
Awaiting the smoke to clear and 
Lift the sharpness licking my brain.

Heart and Death (day 1040)

Today I go into beyond,
Parting heavy gates.
Closed last season.

Battling;
Clear.
Never understanding
This strong grip.

What lifted my spirits
Above swords so sharp,
To plunge back down
Into death so brown.

Here I grow
Beyond my heart.
Alert and
Lost to earth.

Bound with opal strings
I gaze into my holder.
Eyes so strong.
Until I smooth clean off
Like rolling fog,
Smothering my choice.

Shadows (day 275)

Cool nights like these are the ones that seek my own sanity
Deep within the pipe whistle that blares out these two toned ears
Like the sharp edges that cut this time so

Perhaps the shadows will be a bit more forgiving
With their loss of dimensions
All willy nilly changing to the motion of light
Sometimes here, sometimes there
Sometimes falling in a steady glow about your gaze
Transfixed into the lost souls that speak forgotten tongues
Yet work the windows like Jack Frost in the waking hour

Don’t mind that scratching sound now
Don’t mind those omnipresent shadows
Don’t mind the strange noises crawling down your spine
Don’t forget to say your prayers tonight