Hashmark (day 2452)

A passage of my minds disguise
I float the little waves
And carry on in nature’s ease,
I dare not look too far
For far shall be my last rebirth.
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 hashmark
Dear boldness I’ve become.

Marrow (day 2351)

I wrote a poem as depths of summer
Did I know it would collapse?
I followed the wind into sweet trees
And left my marrow to bleed.
I cried a last chance
Like winds over emptiness
I called and hung on to a word
Yet unspoken was my very reply.
Soon I had walked beyond
Escaped a southern wind
And opened my book to a lost page
Again, a cold and fleeting choice.

Howling (day 1888)

You’ve heard me calling upon your heart
My intentions are the spring:
Freshness of blossom, budding truth,
And warmth of the sweet sun.

I do not mean to make you shy,
My intrigue honest felt;
Throwing hazard to the wind
You hear my heart, my cry.

Like all painters of the world
I’ve swept my stroke upon your canvas,
Chance has left me restlessly
Dreaming of a midnight dance.

Your heart is grace to my wide eyes
I’ve felt it pushing, then giving slack,
I hear your wolf howl at my moon,
Hear mine, here, howling back.

Ode to Darkness (day 1910)

Your sweet cloak, my serenity;
My forever once again
Lasting into comfort zen.
My vision slowly blurring
Into fuzzy warmth of my sleepy hallow.
And the day flickers back
Upon swift coattails of your speed,
I – licking gently at scars
To perform my holistic lobotomy,
Wrap my strong arms around you,
Curl my long legs beside you,
And release my control,
For you are my omnipresent
Singing so sweetly.

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

Sweat Tea (day 1840)

Into my sweet tea
I felt there was an empty spoon
And you came along so soft
To help me with my sugar,
And here your golden laughter
Took a shining to my smile –
A power I was helpless to,
A Queen in a beggars hand.
And if my sorrow had a strength
It would be a sweetened song,
It would be so round it had no edge
And sugar would be my pun
For my sweet tea is clearly running low
And my spoon has turned to fun.

Sweet Tea by Ned Tobin