Ode to Coming Spring (day 2749)

Oh deepest temptation
How you flirt with my soil
A thought of thaw, a hint of melt,
A sense of return to summers belt
But then a day so far away
Seems the Spring that once did hint
Now a freeze, frosty fence
Covering the land, so white.
Yet in my eager gait
I sense all soon to blossom
And maybe, too, I spy
A bird been gone a while.

Fallen / Left (day 2553)

I could be falling over you,
Knocked down by time
Left here to wind my way
About books and seeds
And burnt candles
Handled by delicate hands
To the tune of Chopin
Rustling pages of a score
Over aged ivory keys
On a wooden floor
Showing signs of nostalgia
In gray and white carvings,
Had I known any better.

Tracing Blurry Lines (day 1844)

My eyes have become the blurry vision
Of what they once used to see,
Fading sunlight in a white-washed
Washing machine.
The deck has become stained
With forgotten footsteps,
Leaving only smears
As marks on my mind.
And I delicately touch rough bark
Encircling our plum tree,
Tracing lines from hither to tither
Like the vision I once used to see.

Tracing Blurry Lines by Ned Tobin

Sheets in Pages (day 1747)

I could write your pages onto sheets of my unkempt bed
Slowly cycling the in-seam with the hem,
And rolling each corner up like a cigarette to smoke slowly
Because love here is so thick it’s impassable;
Between eyes of surrender and a heart of
I’m never letting go.
So I blot my pen into deep white sensories
Circumnavigating each prior night’s creases – expertly –
Until my final stroke has been felt and embraced
As if it were written upon thy own lined back.

Dionysians (day 1740)

I’ve written about an ancient earth
Left to crawl alone, alone.
Shaken and blurred with ghastly turd
To wrastle for each their top.
All in time a second chance
To few artistic Dionysians,
Who left their mark in deep white sand,
Unintelligible and very discreet.

Dionysions by Ned Tobin