Moon at Midnight – Part VII (day 1981)

(part VI)

When I started to see evidence of inhabitants
I kept myself at alert
But didn’t bring myself to alarm
For such an action could spook many a hermit
Approaching with hands showing and a smile
Is the smartest thing for a lone traveler to do
Perhaps even a little hop in ones gait
Would also go a long way.

No matter how far into a forest one is
It always seems like you’re trespassing
When you come upon another’s stacks of wood
Or a half empty can of something useful
Signs of a job half finished
My orderly mind always puts things in rows,
Stacks necessities where they should be,
And generally avoids losing tools to the seasons
So rather forgetful humans
Always give me confused thoughts
On the one hand they could be so clumsy
They have not a care in the world
But chances are out here
Such an action would lead a man to sure death
Starving a winter away
Without a care in the world
So my senses tell me to be wary
Of a man and his crooked smile

Much to my surprise
A woman was the first one to see me walking up
She stood from the porch and yelled:
“Hello there friend,
What brings you this way?”
No more kind words could a human expect
When they’ve seen nothing but squirrels
And bluejays for ten days
And just as I was about to answer
A man of about fourty two emerged
From the side of the house
Carrying a shovel in his hand
He stopped a few paces from the steps
And rested his arm on his shovel
As the two of them watched me walk up
“Amy, can you put a cup of tea on to boil?”

When I walked up to him
I could hear inside Amy talking to a child
Telling it to be kind to the stranger
“Frank,” he said, holding his hand out to me
“Joe McDunn,” I replied loud enough so Amy could hear
Getting shook so thoroughly
I was happy to get my hand back
Still connected to my arm
He slapped me on the back with a big smile
And invited me up to his balcony
Where he had a cluster of chairs
For watching the field I had just come through.

“I saw your smoke from the crest
On the far side of the valley
And just moments later I was face to face
With a moose twice the size of your house here!
Can you imagine that
I bet you’ve got a full salt barrel or two
Don’t you Frank?”

It surprised me how much Frank was smiling
I had clearly found some hospitable hosts for the night
The tea Amy brought out to us
Which she sat and drank, too
Was flavored much better then
Any cup I had found in any town I’d been
I noticed their garden
Which I could only guess was what
Frank had been minding when I walked up
And as I sat in one of their rocking chairs
Also smiling away to myself
I began to learn about Amy & Frank.

day VIII

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Tax Man (day 1051)

I’ve marched here across my anchored points
Delivering pain to sinister few.
The tax man has come,
And he’s collected from me.

Now I’m delivering antisocial notes
With expressed tones,
Lingering intonations,
Fingering about my fretting tongue.

Gathering my fees, I’m straddling.
Marching and lifting and leaving.
And condemning, loudly condemning
The unspoken children, gallantly smiling.

So leave me here if you’ve forgotten your manners.
I’m not ancient, I’m not sunken deep.
Present and lofty and collecting a fee,
The tax man has come, and he’s fixin’ for souls.

Forward [a Smile] (day 920)

I didn’t think I heard you right
Calling my name like a love bird
“Coo. Coo.”
My baited ear; bent.

But your eye, raised brow
Intrigued my senses,
Tingled my nerves, and
Shook my tailored cuff
Into a slow waltz,
A casual saunter.

Dimmed lights
And a smile that pulled
[Gravitational laws of attraction]
Which spit out the cork
And drank straight from the bottle

A blood red moon burned that night
As lovers made their way
Past steaming alleys.
Sleeping sidewalks glistening
In moonlit silence.
Clip-clop street talk with
Romance in a new nights air.

Forward to waking eyes,
Resting pants [still belted]
Carelessly draped over
A wooden powder-blue picket chair,
So tenderly close to that
Matching vanity with a mirror

Murmurs rustling through the sheets
[Down filled comforter]
And a familiar close to home
Written between
Those smiling lips,
But crying a hidden tear.
A soft memory.

Foreign but Traditional Airports (day 736)

It was cold as I stepped off the airplane in that small foreign airport, so many miles from home and not a plan, save for you.

You were an adventure, insight into a foreign world with a warm couch to sleep on. A world I had spent so many years learning about.. planning for.

An adventure with a heart wide open and arms firmly closed, cobblestone streets ancestors had walked upon and a quiet corner of a once booming shipping port.

There was a long bus ride with anxious questions as friends long been separated chatted, and the grand tour through old town with a heavy bag and just a little bit of complaining.

Awaiting at the airport pacing back and forth, I wondered where she was. My phone was expired, no money in my pockets, not even an address to go to.

Biezpiens is a traditional dish. It was necessary, so was the fresh selection of strawberries at the old farmers market. And a little slice of chocolate, traditional chocolate.

There was a dog; a big brown Lab/Sharpei mix with big ears and bigger paws. She was an anxious dog, the kind that pulls at the leash every step of the way. Leaves, sticks, strange smells, other dogs…

Twice a day I’d walk her through the retired graveyard, searching every gravestone for recognizable names. Never found any.

Ever step I felt like I could see horses pulling buggies, old top hats and pointed mustaches. The signs of old Baltic Ritterschaft nobility.

I’d find new paths every day I’d walk the city streets. New buildings that were old buildings, new corners of the city that were old corners of the city. I’d learned cobblestones made quite a racket when car tires roll over them.

I left there in love. In love with a city, in love with a way of life. In love with a style. In love with a woman who did not want to love me.

I left there with a hug from her and a lick from the dog for a long full bus ride. The whole way to the foreign airport early that morning I stood with my bags about my shoulders, fighting the woes of leaving my heart behind and the dizziness of hardly a breakfast in my belly.

Of course the only thing I could think of was the laughing while smiling.

Riga - 201209 (26 of 605)

All Night Diner (day 574)

I walk away with 10 lbs of guilt
Drying out at the side of an all night diner
Pissing in pots for immediate release
Burgers for the greedy
With fries

Where I once felt free
In the shady hours of the night
I no longer lurk with the victims of crime
Sitting cross legged at the altar
Single candle burning

I comfort my sentence with salt
Easing the napkin under the table
As I sandwich my regret between two sesame seed buns
Smelling redemption
Smiling in content