Wash and cut
Sweet aroma floating
Crunch crunch crunch
Month: September 2016
With(out) You (day 1939)
Without your lock of indispensable
I have fallen into soul
Left my feet to float away
And taken in to self.
Like reason has no place in love
I, too, have set free
Each and every truth I see
For harmony and peace with you.
Sheets and Tables (day 1938)
So then it opened
And all blasphemies
And horrors
Were spilled out
Upon sheets and tables
That forevermore
Reeked of lost innocence
Crunched by time’s cloth
Autumn’s Wick (day 1937)
As Autumn’s candle blows clouds away
Sharpness enters into this day
At the cost of blue one cannot say
The geese should fly today.
But as Hermes doth say,
“Winter, come our way,”
So must we abide by nature’s law.
And here we are amidst the fray
Swirling leaves on an Autumn day,
And frost spreading it’s silver lining
Along the open grass
With little paw prints
Bustling here and there,
To prepare for Winter’s deep lair,
Shelter and warmth bites the air
Though Autumn’s wick doth get shorter.
Candles (day 1936)
From my heart
I pull a seed
Lay it at the door.
Remember how
The water once
Ran across the floor.
I carry only
Two candles for
Our path, nevermore.
Albatross In The Wind (day 1935)
Once again tides have never felt
So distant on my skin,
Vacant yet torrenting;
Clumsy I, within.
I watch the tide lift it’s mighty breath
And heave it all aloud,
So frequent left I to shutter;
My mind, as far away as
Albatross in the wind.
Alone Can Be (day 1934)
How alone can alone be
When tapping at my window comes
A shadow with two fingers saying
Come out with me to sing and play.
Alone these moments of my heart
Listen like an alert lark
Shaken with a little limb
That has one leaf still hanging on.
And ever in my mind, alone,
I find a whisper calmly saying
You’re ok now, you’re home with me,
Alone here as alone can be.
The Boxer (day 1933)
You were a boxer
Every Thursday night
After Big Jim’s Saloon
Took a bottle and you
Out to a cobblestone night.
A muffled mind with intention,
Fireworks covered in mud,
And a slow slur that wound up
Like Roadrunner
Walking a tightrope,
The top rope
Of a dark, four cornered ring.
You liked the big city
Because your slow down
Never coincided with a dead end.
Your betting days
Flashed jackpot on your bedroom wall:
Red, green, and yellow.
And your highschool sweetheart
Hung alone on peeling paper
That crackled back at you
As you walked naked
From your bedroom
To a comfortable routine
You knew so well.
Every Morning’s Breakfast (day 1932)
I don’t want to fall into what I’ve never believed,
I want to fall into just you and me.
Late night snacking upon our ruffled sheets,
And every morning’s breakfast
Made for two, that’s you and me.
I want to go for daily picnics
In amongst our wild and thriving garden
Like the love we feed each other
From the bottoms of our feet
That touch under covers
When we’re playing hide and seek,
I want to grow into our house
With your little things hanging everywhere
I want to journey long and far
With your laundry in my bag
Because forever I want to carry
What burdens you, nevermore.
I want it to be just you and me
With a candle makes three
Over dinner we made together
Bums touching as we danced and poured
Our love freely like wine.
And our love intoxicating!
With every breath we share together
Will be sweet wine hand in hand
From our bottomless bottle
Of our hearts we’ve tied together
When we plunged under the oceans spray,
When we first danced the night away.
Ode to Autumn (day 1931)
When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Bugs, beetles..
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Preparation everywhere,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.