I awoke with steam
Overtaking my barely opened eye
Stretched cobwebs holding
My eyelids
In a foggy embrace
That reminded me of fishnets
In tunnel vision
Locked in sweaty fantasies
Of a late night low light
Where forbidden
And forgotten
Are both flickers of imagination
And soft light
Of a golden new day
Controlled my reaching hands
To stretch across
Open areas of cobwebs
To feel around inside.
Month: September 2020
Early Morning Hour
In the early morning hour
Wind seems to lay down
Rising sun sets out to warm
Every frosty blade of grass
And when my horse is saddled up
I mount my trusty steed to roam
Every bit of our home range
To find my cows and learn the land
For my life I’m setting out
Warm coffee in the morning
Another day to go about
In this early morning hour.
Take
Take what you want
Need nothing more
For remembering
For singing song
There was no audience
No standing pride
Call of the monkey
Song of coyote
When the willow
Grows over your head
Look to the weather
Summer’s soon over
Find me in
The falling weather
Temperature dropping
Frost is coming
Always remember
Take what you want
Nothing worth calling
This singing song
Fighting For A Softer Edge
If you give me a softer edge
I will believe in your touch
For in the grasp
Of a summer day
I remember all these dreams
And I can hear the buzz
Of the honey bee
Singing in my ear.
But if the edge continues to hone
I’ll find my sharpness cutting knots
Deep within my root stricken back
Holding me to gnarly strength.
I am the fire
Should I be struck
For I awake within my heart,
I am the dirt
That crumbles with
A slipping fist no longer clenched
No longer fighting back.
Breathing Grand
It has been hard to admit
That my words have lost meaning.
Even the breath
That inhales to explain
Where my full self has departed to
Has lost its strength;
Faintly attached
With two softly drawn cords
Like a spider web
In early morning dew
(Too delicate and lost
To be trecherous and hard),
Whispers inside myself
Have fallen down.
This weakness has touched my message
– Ice crumbling at the brink of water –
So much so that my eyes
Are no longer opening
With meaning and fury
For they have bid me adieu
While rainwater is expected
To stain this grand scheme.