Each word only spoke to who I used to be
Hitting me with sadness I hadn’t felt in so long
Memory, an idle passtime we cannot live without
Like each deep line slowly growing across my body
And each sun setting beyond the upper field
Pink and golden and blue as it be
A feather of mine that once flew me
In wind I now see as ghosts
Of who I used to be.
Category: agape
Winds
Winds so softly blow against
Open breath of my morning
Definitely Arctic air
Lingering in it’s breadth
Curling around me as if to say
You are home, welcome,
And good morning to you Sir.
For me, it is as an alarm
Awake before I’m called
A sign I am still early
For a fresh day to my face.
Greeting, Sun
Greetings, Rooster
Greetings, fresh grass
Greetings, Wind
I am ready for today.
Silence Sail
I silenced my mind
To no prevail
A hope
That did unrail
And awoke myself
To orchard grass
Slowly loosening my veil
Then all at once
A rhythm began
Slowly filling my sail.
Locus on my Mind
A locus on my mind;
Two dollars and fifty cents
While driving slowly in the right hand lane
Looking for a parking spot
And Grimes on the radio
Flapping wings of technicolour
Written cleanly upon the sidewalk
I am not walking upon.
Heaven yoked my thoughts;
A golden beam of sunshine
Misdirected through bubbling clouds
That cannot share my thoughts
For they speak only in winds
I cannot hear or see
Only feel upon my frowning brow
Searching for and watching
Fleeting moments of sun.
An opening emerges;
Calling with my well-let whistle
I walk alone through a quiet wooded path
Unsure but hoping
For a path to emerge
Amidst low hanging spruce branches
But weakness in my knees
Tell me that I’ve missed my chance
So I must forget the way home
And keep my eyes open wide.
Last Year’s
Birds have returned
Little ones that come and go
Just as last year’s leaves blow.
Little ones with long legs
Wandering through puddles
Picking at worms I can only guess.
Birds swimming as schools of fish would
Landing amidst unmarked field
Seeds from last year’s crop to eat.
Big black crows and ravens
Messengers flying hither and tither
Eggs to find from last year’s abandoned nest.
By Heart
A note of credible
Creative credible
Caught in a crossfire
Rapid fire with no cease fire.
And there she sat
For light poured down
Upon the holy place she did sit
And Gods spoke loudly
For light was blinding.
All around smoke poured down
Glittering against pale memories
A scene too fresh to look back upon
Ringing still tangible.
Then there was movement
Realization of a crescent
Ricochette and limbo
Like cats recently perched
In a window watching prey.
For she ruptured
Directly beneath,
From inside, outwards, upwards
Raging in brilliance
Into a new score
Unwritten by heart.
Incoherently Surrender
Whispering incoherently into my ear
I lost myself into reverie
A world I’d always dreamed of
Soaked in sweat of our lust
We were alone in our madness
Lazy summer breeze through
The teepee opening
Was this ever our together?
Calmness so saturated
In lazy sun streams forgetting
Each worry on our minds
Like watching honey drip
And the taste that’s next
To souls forever twixt
Wake me if I ever go there
I wouldn’t mind your soft nudges
Urging my response
A smile always for you, my amora
In twilight hours of our embrace
Along river banks and gurgling streams
Lost in a deep green forest
Of your old mans beard surrender
Twilight Hours
Blackness about
Silence within
Sunrise soon
Winter’s Soul
Your winter cold
Holds me in an escape
A reverie of distant
Guiding stars
So easily visible
About this cloudless
Waxing gibbous;
Cassiopeia now
Directly beneath Polaris.
A soft hand reaches
For the twines of mine chest,
Slowly breathing
To hold onto each
Breaking moment of day
And soft light
Emenates from the portal
That will soon be
Taking me away.
But this is the calm disguise
Of a growing winter day
As icicles clutch at
My deepening breath
Fusing the crisp daylight
With essences of my soul
A relaxing moment
Amidst my growing motivation
Toiling in my way
As soon, in all hope,
It shall all pass my way again.
It Hurt
Today’s coffee reminds me of the day
I ripped a six inch long
one inch deep hole into
the back of my leg.
Thirteen years old,
maybe I was fourteen
at my best friends father’s shop
he worked a lot with cement
and had a big yard
with mounds of gravel
we’d go up and down and around
on our new single track bikes.
It hurt
it hurts
and memories are always there
to bring me away
and back
to where some memories hurt
but ripping the hole
didn’t really hurt
flesh wounds are like that.