Month: July 2013

Röbert Mönchkin (day 778)

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It isn’t that the seasons take away my pleasures I bask in in the summer; running carelessly about the fences and jumping from branch to branch. No.

It isn’t the shade from the sun, nor the darkest of clouds that hover over horizons I see from the top of these branches in this place I call home. No.

It isn’t the infestation of caterpillars that slither their way into every single crevice I’ve ever held dear to me and my family, eating away the lush green leaves that paint the exterior of my home. No.

It isn’t the bears the rummage in my little piles of stores I’ve secured away for winter lengths, nor the beavers that take my home for theirs. No.

It’s that blasted dog that jumps every single time he sees me, barreling away at the highest speeds to bark me all the way up the tree.

But, I suppose that I do provoke him with my constant chattering and taunting…

aSquirrelII

Röbert can be purchased here.

Ruckus, and Other Saintly Practices (day 776)

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Touch me as I lose control of my breath
Lower my eyes into the depths of fire
Invite my courage to span this low lit mood
Rumble over my curves like the moon
Encourage my glow to seek thy skin
With an eruption of goosebumps
Curl around my exposed knees
Bend until you’re wrapped so dearly close
Loosely drape sheets about your naked breast
Skirt my attention with tangles of your hair
Blow upon my fingers as you read about their days
Measure out the distance to the embers of my heart
Icy cold hands make your heart flutter flutter
Sip upon the brow of this thickly layered elixir
Put between your lips the essence from a kiss

Tree of Life (day 775)

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I like the words tree of life
It weaves its way around my mind
Like a healthy vine
Working its way eagerly
Around any healthy hosts

I always picture it standing
In the middle of a field,
A marvelous spectacle out there
Silhouetted in the morning sun
Full plumage, healthy bird culture

I always feel at home
Under the tree of life
The grass is always greenest
Roots are always thickest
Qi is always fullest

A Poem For the Pretty Girl to Fly By (day 773)

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It’s not long now before you go; wings spread open wide
Lifted from your feet and swept through blue skies aside
Over hills and deep ravines shall you soar a graceful glide
For all the while, as love and life be with you by your side
Gremlins and their evil minions will run away and hide
Leaving gone, far be gone, like retreating oceans tide
Oppressions game, an evil name, laid down to end it’s ride
And off and off, up, away, beyond, gone away it slide
Peace become up high so far, to life that’s open up so wide

As the Dagger Begins to Sink (day 772)

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Don’t throw away my misery as if I’ve been kindly handling your manner for years
Respect it and covet it like a well worn lawn mower, hardly spewing black smoke
And dance around it with spears and face paint while chanting god-speek
Because if you, for one single moment, think the moon will set before the deed is done
Then you’re sadly mistaken, sadly believing in mystics and chimera
Barking at the moon fully loaded for bear with a hand down your trousers
While the children of the night roll around at your feet, stretching for answers
Into the pale night skies pockmark’d rivers of darkness
Don’t let me be, standing here against the cold wall of ancient growth alone and heavily breathing
Listening for forgotten sounds to ring alert, echoing in the night
A calming sensation growing up through my spine as anxious boils over into my thoughts
When the dagger begins to sink into it’s last goodbye

Without (day 771)

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Without words no man can swallow
Without ideas no man can think
Without legs no man can follow
Without heart no man can provide
Without hands no man can support
Without eyes no man can sympathize
Without toes no man can wade
Without fences no man can defend
Without green no man can spring
Without skin no man can feel
Without hair no man can mind
Without voice no man can speak
Without you no man can be free

Thee Traitors Guilt (day 770)

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If I should sing to let it out,
Let mine heart come before my throat.
Should I to throw it all away,
My guard so closely held to me,
So tight thy clutches keep it by,
That even I can scarcely cry.
It fills the rivers, flowing high,
With demands; spent at last.
Where should I take to plan again?
If never again to hold thy hand.
But my sorrow does not weigh thy down,
It chases thy mind, late at night.
Curling it’s distant cries tightly
Around mine enemies to bring them near.
For you have neigh been gently to
The brow of which is mine to frow.
Like dandelions reach’d a state decay’d,
A tiny orb of gone with the wind,
Gently swaying to and fro
In the cool mornings dewy glow.
For now thy knoweth why
I sigh into the songs I sing,
Why I shall carry upon my back
This choice of burden, this gunny sack.
It holds the damage done afore,
It bleeds the blood that once before
Bled about my conscious’s sleeve.
But swept away like wind that’s come,
It’s found it’s way: burden upon my back.
For when I speak to hear mine words,
What beckons my mane to question thus,
Are simple words, beseeching thy:
If not for I, whatever for, dear?
For if not for I then what is left?
Surely there must be something abreast.
If not for me, what good is thee?
Have I becometh thee traitor’s guilt?
Have I been loved by an unformidable cloak?
Damaged doth my thoughts become,
Left to stew about in gloom.
So out! Be gone with it then!
Let love be gone, at once have truth,
Make speed to return here once more again.
For I shall find in my path tomorrow,
A heart that fills my heart still more.
So let it end, this ghastly sorrow.
Be off with it then, gone in the wind.

Slumbers Edge (day 769)

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And I the wild wonderer
In peace’s embrace
Sharing splendid solitude
With sunset’s hues
Tickling my toes
With warm lapping water
Pants then be rolled up
To half mast thy knee
And off in the distance
Summer night noises ring out
Young men of mischief
Swamp frogs lament
Bat fluttering hither
Mosquitoes racing thither
And across the calm lake
In desperate moments of light
The last mooring boat
Settles in for the night
Campfire left smouldering
In the wake of many (hot)dogs
And I, toes now dripping
Make my way to slumbers edge