My water buffalo languishes,
He stumbles and wears lollipops
In his big ears.
Like fountains and mountains
And entropy in the wind,
Like envelopes and cantaloupes
On my mothers antique oak.
I droop with my succulent.
I hang out to dry
On an island in the sun
With passing blossoms
Scalloped to catch rain.
Tag: sun
Leftover Lovers (day 1110)
She was a woman who cared for her lovers
The same she cared for beggars and friends.
A little lone heart with a name stuffed with blues;
Hobo’s delight in a $10 Marlborough,
And my love never lasted in that smoke-house saloon.
Love in a little back door room.
My dreams and I was heartache by Tuesday.
Though I swam like a digger, I was surfaced and saved
In my own lonesome song.
She was a heart made up of elastics
And my twangy delivery
Was the Wednesday that I’d never start.
So don’t go treating your lovers
Like left over flipping page books.
It’s a forgotten stack, the dusty pile,
And we’re a never ending love song
With toes getting colder.
A common answer to sufferin we kept inflicting,
Two unspoken lovers on two lost Sundays.
Two out of tune guitars
Waiting to behold warmer mornings,
Just waiting on leftover tea.
She made me get up later
So we could talk of traveling gypsies
And listen to leftover records
We’d forgotten to play with brandy.
I collected your answers in tiny glass jars
For your leftover spells.
I wasn’t branded in passion;
Painted on that old saloon wall
With some unspoken love song
And leftover cigarettes sailing the sea
As I woke up to Wednesday
On a Tuesday afternoon.
Catalysts (day 1078)
I am a catalyst,
The sun and the moon.
Washing emptyness,
Calm voice of a loon.
Little buds bloom
Unfolding into day.
Flowering unconsciously
Lighting my path, my way.
Lagoon (day 1068)
I was escaping a tear drop I had left beside the bed:
Tears of mixed emotions, like a fleeting moonlit night.
Stuck there; family man and the rock and roll band.
Jesus and his long haired hippies that didn’t wash their hands.
I played a mouth organ as I whispered at swans
Floating by the dock of this lost lagoon
Where my nimbly toes wash cotton balls free like fresh sheets.
I didn’t even turn around to that old familiar sound,
Lost in a pool of choreographed love letters
I’d heard in a song driving fast and straight down Paradise Road.
The things we used to do, the life I used to live.
An old loon used to sing the sun to sleep here every night.
Gaia’s Birth (day 1066)
And you crawl out
To where we sing.
To which we carry high
Lofty goals,
Lifting our honour
With romantically inclined love,
Like sweet mother Gaia
Discarding Winter’s white cloak
To dawn
Spring’s rainbow.
I cannot follow my empty thoughts
Through the havens of a darkened loft.
I live forever better
With your heart upon my hearth,
Warming every thought
As darknesses cold, cold moon
Falls asleep to Gaia’s waking sun;
Sweet nectar caress.
Alive like our emotion
Captured in long walks
Through Spring’s blooming alleys.
A landscape ere enliven.
Like sweet hanging fruit
– Summer’s lush temptation –
This lover’s ever clutch.
Anxious for turning seasons
As the fresh air soaks my dewy brow.
Can you not also give to great excitement?
I laugh and run wild a while,
For what is satisfaction
Void a lover’s yearning heart?
What worth is Summer
Dry from Spring’s never drought.
Figurative Hand Memories (day 1061)
So the moon blinked and I saw what I had been waiting to see.
Like sweet flowers and long grass setting in the warm summer’s afternoon sun;
I saw that windows were figurative,
That Angels were literal,
That icons were forgotten memorizations,
And that caveats were the peaks and troughs of her supple skin
My hands caressed so.
My hands caressed so.
My hands caressed like wild winds flirting giant oaks
Drawing shadows as elixir cursed through my thoughts.
Here it danced amongst and on.
Where I thought I had begun, and knew I had rolled back to.
So I swam – figuratively – and saw what I had been waiting to see.
Hipsters Meatloaf (day 1044)
There’s sun here,
Beaming into my leftover sex eyes.
Wet ground pushing through
My grandmothers heirloom blanket
Floral – diamonds for my pleasure,
Tranquil.
A lover’s legs wrap beyond consciousness,
Creasing my hunger
And playing games with children
Learning how to catch Frisbees,
And hipsters bikes
– Bloody impracticable bikes –
Making criss-crossing lines
Across freshly sprouted spring.
I’m drinking a wild blend of red
Eying patrons eying me…
I’m not annoyed with screaming children,
Just wondering how fun their game really is;
How long fun lasts
Before someones mother has had enough,
Started worrying about what types of spices
To leave out of tonight’s meatloaf
Vegetarian meatloaf,
Hipsters meatloaf.
My Red-Red Blue (day 1015)
Indecisively I shifted your heart into my hand
I lingered here a while, debating the weight
Massaging veins that beat uncontrollably
Over and over I turned the red-red blue organ
I looked for a way in – an answer or a keyhole
That would somehow give me what I didn’t know
What did I know? But did I know?
A reflection in the mirror caught my eye
Self portraiture for another day
Here I beat; lifelessly solemn, sublime
Another memory for those who began to fade
Where spots of sun traversed endlessly
Into the Sun (day 1001)
Mischief lept into the hands of death,
Startling perched birds
Into instant explosions skyward.
It drew the sounds of wings
Squabbling on,
And following the commotion
Into the sun
Blindness crept in
And faith began to recoil
Sinking slowly into nevermore
Bare Hands (day 998)
When my sun rises over East
I sit at my bench and wait
And whisper to my gods in prayer
To bring me all their rain
So that I can find the strength
To hold my head high again
And if my bare hands I shake
That worked the earth for seven long days
Should hold in them a crying shame
Then it shall be for me, forever rain
To wipe away these falling tears
Before my sun sets again
From my bench I sit and wait