Tag Archives: Traveler

Moon at Midnight – Part X (day 1984)

(part IX)

It was hard work
Very hard work for a traveler
Mostly used to walking for hours
I could see that Frank was used to this labour
But I could also see
How glad he was to have help
At such a labour intensive job
Both of us enjoyed a dip in the stream at noon

Frank was a silent man while working
Focused on the motion of the saw
Or the point his axe was to come down on the block
I could tell he was a precise man
By the way his axes were kept
A perfect bevel upon their edge
That split through wood
Like butter on Amy’s warm bread
I commented on this a few times
And he just kept saying
A real man must look after his tools.

Clarinet would come around
With the dogs once and a while
But Frank would tell her it was too dangerous
Around the chopping blocks so
And she would wander back to the house
Amy and her would bring sandwiches to us
Roasted beef with cucumber and
Amy’s secret sauce she wouldn’t give me the recipe for
Who was I kidding though,
I wouldn’t be making it any time soon
I think it had radishes in it.

During the evenings we would sit around the oven
I’d ask just enough questions
To keep Frank talking as he liked to,
Always with a story of childhood
Clearly fond memories for him with his brothers,
But always with his sweetheart close by
Smiling, just as I watched her these fond evenings
Clearly full of love,
I’d fall asleep smiling every night.

part XI

Stallion (day 1585)

Poised like a stallion
– Boy can you call out? –
Levels of a whisper
Took the couple by surprise.
– Have you paid off your tariff? –
And the doors swung fully open
Jammed with eager patrons
– Sing for me heady –
Galloping in bliss feeling
Take a moment, laughter
Lift a delicate feather
And if you find a guy
– a warm and ragged traveler –
Calling out your name
In gay and playful manner
– Pray, no need to shutter –
Dig in deeper spurring
Leave your stallion wilder.

Traveler (day 395)

Tomorrow I shall be in a whole new land
One with infinite possibilities
One that smells of freshly baked bread
That encourages red wine and cheese

I will pack some socks, for Ill be gone a while
And I plan not to return
I’ve arranged my things, said my good-byes
I shalln’t see them for some time

I’m flying there, on a little commute
One I’ve done a few times before
But this time’s different: something has changed
Perhaps it’s the air up here

I have no plans, no place to stay
Only one road that I must take
I’ve heard before, that the traveler who
Has no plans is he who is happiest

What Is (day 390)

I am not a wanderer
I am a traveler
I am a hand in the air
I am a stone in your path
I am a walking stick
I am a familiar scent
I am a highway song
I am a journey long
I am a worn shoe
I am a singletrack
I am a favorite song
I am a warm jacket

How does it feel?

Lonely Visitor (day 247)

The day was washed out like a long lost romantic getaway
Open doors and dust settling on all the watermarked wooden desks
Somewhere, deep inside the cave lurks a spider
Ready to catch it’s next unsuspecting victim within it’s web
But, the lonely traveler, spooked by the dampness
Slowly backs out and heads another way
The lonely visitor will come another day

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