There’s a funny bone in my heart
That keeps twitching when I wake
When I’m alone at the start of days
Trying to understand
What took you from my open hands
To the rocks outside my door
And every one I see out there
Says the same thing back to me
A blankness that hadn’t yet been made
Close spirits in the sky
That rumble back and forth aloud
Language I cannot translate
That takes me back to my awake
So silent here I cry.
Tag: spirit
Conjuring The Elixir of Life (day 2211)
Grass upon the meadow carries
Potency abound
Saint Johns Wort, plantain,
Red clover, daisy and self heal
Mix around until it’s brown
In the purest of distills
Grant me the Elixir of Life
One drop for me and one for you
And one to free the spirits
A day well spent upon the path
Of natures wise ol’ ways.
Memories Walk (day 1867)
I think a stranger walks away
Knowing from all a little more
Every time he steps outside
And leaves behind his mopped floor.
I think a parent walks towards
The object of themselves
To feel attachment in everything,
Mind, body, spirit, and soul.
I think a lover pulls towards
Sweet nectar of every fruit
To behold grace, to sweetly ignite,
Set fire to burn the loot.
I think a friend never knows
What brings them back again,
And if they do, they’re surely reckless
For nothing stays as memory remains.
Rowboat (day 1658)
A sadness which has my heart is the deepest joy I have ever known. A snaking coil in my veins that surges with pressure of an ancient gale, fierce in spirit, surfacing upon it’s vista. I have come to realize I am the coloration, the reminiscent artifact of ashes smearing an impossible black sand beach at the head of the trust waters. My song is what trees sway to, sitting about the shoreline untouched by humanity’s destructive progress and filled with such contrast, from lightness to a darkness deep within the bosom of her mossy embrace. My song reaches to the toenails while standing barefoot upon this cold black sand, embracing wind as it blows every last hair drawn fabric about thy heart. My heart is forever in liberty, just as these black pebbles cackle at retreating waves. My heart is a mariner with a squint of foggy shorelines, and my sadness is forever the rope mooring our rowboat beached upon this black sand beach.
Ask Embla (day 1551)
Buri, Buri, Bor’s three sons
– Odin, Vili, Ve of Bestla –
Take pain from frost ogre’s Bos
Who suckled life
To Ginnungagap’s gain:
Fire to ice,
Melt to freeze,
Blood to water,
Flesh to land,
Bones to mountains.
But pass great peaks
Will come to be,
Ask and Embla
Be flesh to climb,
Ask and Embla
Shall mind land too.
From our Odin: spirit;
From our Vili: will;
From our Ve: wisdom.
Together a triad,
True Aesir indeed.
Fears on Ice (day 1265)
A timeline isn’t a memory
Unless you’re walking there with me.
Soar like an eagle baby,
Ride high above the sea.
Answers to all these questions
Is you and me growing free.
Lay fears on ice baby,
Command your spirit carry me.
Music isn’t loud enough
Until it’s got you in the knees.
Throw your head back with me baby,
Ignite fires and set souls free.
Bucket of Long Love (day 1237)
Roaming in my old soles,
Shifting with every eye.
Long horns and jet legs:
Spirit and the Darkness.
Long lasting in the dark night,
Some coming in the late sun.
Some forgetting to ever run.
In a bucket of madness
Spitting into all rocks.
Fast asleep on never gone.
From this Ledge (day 1000)
From this ledge I looked out beyond,
I surveyed the stillness.
Waiting,
Expecting,
Un-avoiding brief glimpses
Of society’s marks;
Transport trucks rumbling
In and out of earshot.
From this ledge I held onto a hand,
I held on so tight to remind me
That in spite surmountable distances,
In spite out-of-control conveniences
I wasn’t alone here;
Alone in my thoughts.
This wasn’t my diary,
This was my acceptance refusal.
From this ledge I plotted.
I took every hemlock and spruce
Inside my heart and nurtured their spirit
To grow with me as I carved my initials
Into their supple skin, raw so real;
Nature entwined my soul and became me
And I became it.
And I lept from this ledge with eyes wide open.
Waiting for the Spirit (day 529)
I grow patient as I roam across the tundra
Waiting for the spirit to knock me over
An instance I know will never occur
Lest I be fruitful in my efforts spoils
Take on the wayward glances
Ye mighty soldier of futures designs
Put down your walking stick
And pull through the open doors
Do not lay down yer tired shoulders
Keep the noble dresser in his tight pants