Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXXXI (day 2045)

(part XXXXXXX)

Sara and Bill were happy to see me
They said they hadn’t had any visitors yet this summer
And had none to expect
They confessed they had been watching a while for me now
Thinking it was about that time
That I’d be showing up,
If I were to be showing up at all
They had news of a few U.S. Army parties
Heading through these parts
Looking for some rogue bandits of some sort
Miners, they said, that had caused quite a stir
In a town about five days ride South East
Early in the Spring
We said we hadn’t seen or heard either of them
It wasn’t the group that Tall Pine and I
Had tracked the year prior that ransacked our home,
It is always a bit unsettling
Knowing that people like that are out there
Maybe watching us as we go about our day
Who knows what they’d do if they stumbled upon our home
Most likely they’d stay right clear
If they know what was best for them
We have a good number of scouts
Always roaming the valley who wouldn’t be
Too friendly to them, also.

We showed Sara the gift of our deer
And she was very happy to accept it
She immediately went to work preparing it
And Moon Cow asked her if she’d like us to set up
A smoke house for them to smoke it with
She said that she had heard of such things
But never seen one set up
And she’d be much obliged if we could show her
That was, of course, if we could put one together
With the little pieces
Of leftover wood that we could find around
We told her that wouldn’t be an issue
That all we needed was a few axes
And we’d be able to make it from a few fresh logs.

We spent the night listening to Bill’s stories
Moon Cow fit in just fine
Being a man of words, too
I think Johnny-Boy enjoyed hearing the stories
Moon Cow shared,
A culture I don’t think he has yet had
Much exposure to,
His life mostly living off the land
As they were now
And in mining towns
Like the one he was born in.

Moon Cow and I slept outside
We made a small fire
To keep ourselves warm through the night
I liked sleeping under the stars most of the time
It’s something that you get used to
And if you have just a few small luxuries
It really can become quite liberating
Traveling so lightly and freely
Especially when you’re carrying
Everything on your back.

part XXXXXXXII

Guiding Archangels (day 1003)

We each remember our stories just a little bit harder
– A little bit longer in tooth –
With vinegar to keep infection afar.
And in our judgement, our fantasy act
We search for crime, and it’s partner punishment
To soothe our broken bones that lay
About the floor in disarray.
But as lost is all that has begun
If for whatever reason we hold onto none
Then let our hearts beat madness
Pitter-pattering our footsteps forth
Into cold days of snowy forgiveness
That crawl away as we push back the tears
Singing sweet songs to our guiding Archangels

Photo by: Ludovic Florent
Photo: Innocence by Ludovic Florent

Girls Dig Them (day 956)

I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat

It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges

I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up

But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out

Shifting Recollections (day 651)

Guess my gold and what all that I am worth
With these eyes that tell old stories
Through wordless reminders of the past

Desire nothing, save for future
And present fades away to blackened stars
I couldn’t have forgot the tired distance
Though my heart loudly telling me it’s flat

And from there my angels come crawling out
Into the gold seats I lay out in front
Of the words I spread with blood so thick
While today’s past, present, and future
Shifts hues and recollects artifacts

Say Them Straight (day 485)

You do not understand the things that I say
Because I simply don’t just say them straight
I give stories that, in my mind make
All questions fade away

Perhaps I should know better than to head this way
From the path you’ve chosen and molded
But from this route, we’ve had some fun
We’ve fooled ourselves by some

That’s ok because the trees still shake
They weave and bend in the wind
So then will the chance we’ve had
As all things will come and go again

This still does not make the wrong been done
Any easier on my mind
It doesn’t let me walk straight home
It keeps me tarrying along the gallows end
Not just yet at any rate, anyhow

Borders (day 455)

These foreign cities that circle the boundaries of my belief
Let me understand how modern we are
How even across the world we can share some stories
And come out connected like two siblings by birth
It’s beautiful how a language can break down these ancient city walls
Berlin wasn’t separated long, just a small pox

Still, people have their borders strong in their mind
They transcend all lands with mental images
They live in thunder and lightening storms
Brewed for something that is just different
Boundless with their arrogance as they strut some more
Limited in their beauty as they walk home alone

Cars that whistle as they pass on by
Cats screeching as they flip up their tail
Prayer echoing in the late hours of the night
Bells that call to you in harmony
And all for the death of a poet
A man who never cried out in vain

Bloody Knuckles (day 372)

Fully loaded with iron fists of chance
Looking for a way into the new world
Looking for a breath of romance
Knuckles bloody with beating
Hands taught with the rings of chains
Guilty with the pressures of intoxication
Hacked by the curses of Mordor
Beaten by the eyes of the remedy
And soaking in the sin of the distance
Stepping over stones
Looking at hands full of soot

Hands, full of lines
Left over memories
Stories that need wise eyes to tell
Cards that stare back at the sin
Groove talking, sinister dealing
Mad man making, life(less) wielding
And here I sit, working with endless gaps
Pressed between my teeth
Like the random stones of time
Breaking beneath the uneven ground
Ground like flesh in the night

Foolish sinners who mask their pride
Lust will not await the banked remorse
Love will be lost in the ground up strength
Perhaps then the beautiful wisps of dust
Will float their way north
In an never ending spiral towards the sun
Gravity not taking it’s toll on this lone son
Green grass sinking in beneath the toes
Making the glow feel less awkward
Hiding the turmoil like a warm glove
Today will fill up the soul

A Weary Traveler (day 209)

A weary traveler
Asleep on the bench
Tells stories not in his breath
But in his hunching
Like the slow arc
Laid about by the dropping sun
The rhythmic tide
Thrusting is weight
In an effortless fashion

A weary traveler
Tells more stories of destinations
Relates roads walked
And styles of architecture used
Within his own steady eyes
Like the flame that sits: ignite
A weary traveler
Knows in all due time
The stories worth telling
Do tell themselves out