Here I call out your name
Into our empty guest bedroom;
We’ll never be the same
In the ol’plantation tree.
Listen to these windows
Into each others arms,
Passing through blue sunsets
Mistaken for innocent faith;
Unsuspecting memories
And I’ve drawn out your name.
Tag: window
Cold Sky (day 1396)
I’ve handwritten hate notes
From left to right,
Memorized verbiage
And recited it (in vain).
But every time your
Sorceress’s purple slash
Glowing culdron green hair
Circles around my mind
And escapes in little
Involuntary gasps,
I remember your name
And speak kindly of love
We never shared,
Of memories we never bothered
To sculp. For time,
Like lost memories,
Has slipped between our footsteps,
Taking our visages
Out from in front of
Ten foot windows
To Leave our strange encounters
Reflecting like
Clouds in this cold sky.
Anarchy and His Brothers (day 1387)
With Israel and his son Concordia,
The Conquistadors contemplated anarchy;
“No!” Yelled the city streets
Against windows of innocent glassy puddles.
And thus the lost voice: Arbritage.
So from inside the ancient gold plated doors
Swashbucklers leaned on their pole called history,
Singing songs that rolled off tongues
Like français of an unbroken heart.
The two shook their secret handshake,
Clasped each a moon of waxing gibbous
Deep within their full hearts of innocent desire,
Coughing on fumes leftover from the army
Who had rolled through these streets
To a machine named destruction.
So who was left crying?
Not the lost brothers, silently creeping along
Dead back streets, poorly lit.
No, not the dead brothers waving rebel flags.
Not the flowers, forever resilient
To tumult and it’s darkness.
No, it was the stone covered city
And it’s sister: splinters.
A Proper Man’s Time (day 1381)
Darker abstracts of our life
Face open windows
When calms begun once again.
In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.
Could the full moon retreat life,
Could it catch hold of time?
When the blinds keep a blowin’.
In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.
Old dog’s been here resting
Against the old wooden door.
Got his head in the sunlight,
Open window no more.
Breakfast in a Window (day 1372)
This is my state of missing,
My left right left
Shuffling to a lone beat
Far off in the distance
With tightly bound vacationers
In a cold and windy coastal retreat.
I’m a window shopper
With four empty pockets.
I’m a full stomach
And nowhere I call home.
Days of the Week Poem (day 1332)
Butter me on Sunday
Split my hands upon the door,
Call the lady Monday
At a quarter after four.
Lunnegan Lunnegan Lunnegan Sat,
Place your bets here and I’ll make you a stack.
Gone is my friend, night after Tuesday.
Biscuits and rawhide are left in the mud.
Every missed Friday
Is a Wednesday fallen flat.
For opening the windows
Comes Thursday tru-ra-loo lore.
Lemonade (day 1307)
Being able to take over the heart of an ancient soul was creating pressure within the young boys heart.
He saw wisdom, he saw truth, but he also saw the windows of time shift from opportunity to rest, from an ounce of hope to pains that lifted one awake shortly after midnight.
A silent lake was a window.
Like glass, a heart is precious; always suspended at the edges of tomorrow picturing faint smiles and implied intentions.
Here the young boy clutched tightly to his grandmothers pointer finger, understanding conscious kindness in her forever eyes that always found his quietly.
They were together often for this reason, but also her lemonade tasted like sweet nectar.
He would remember this as time would slowly reduce rations of nectar but still filled full with every bit of love.
Only mid-summer’s sun and a lazy bumblebee were present as Grandma smiled and laid her head against the sun chair, closing her eyes.
The young boy drew a shape of a heart on the dusty table top before he walked down the steps and out into the yard where he found his foot soldier, Rusty, the valiant family golden retriever that kept watch over the young boy while Grandma rested her smiling heart – shaded, but in the sun.
A Hazy Memory (day 1304)
Whispering as the highway rolled on
Curling around giant pillars
To big to divert.
Azur shades reflected memories
That hazed along waves of transilluminescence.
Small shapes far off in the distance
Brought imagination to present
That click-clocked believable thought.
Dusty blankets draped loosely
Over tall shoulders held proud,
Warm tea wafting around the room.
And an old dusty broom
Leaned lifelessly up against the
Wire mesh make-shift windows.
Rays (day 1221)
Billowing out from beyond my belief,
Strangling the storm windows
Which turns me blank with divert.
I cross out
Little errors that shape my tomorrow
Without missing a beat.
Yet here I am,
Following little sounds
Towards curious places
And letting my soul speak and be heard.
How curious these rays become.
Unsurfaced (day 1203)
Search for me in unanswered ponies.
Call and listen to wind floating.
For I have never let it out yet,
Unsurfaced.
Wasted highways of uncharted lands
Lasting like lost favors in a long line
Cause I’m a favor;
Restless
It exists to thyself
And the game’s been answered.
A rule you’re a part of.
Tremble on.
South of the river
Highway stoned look
In a sea of open windows
Jubilation.