My water buffalo languishes,
He stumbles and wears lollipops
In his big ears.
Like fountains and mountains
And entropy in the wind,
Like envelopes and cantaloupes
On my mothers antique oak.
I droop with my succulent.
I hang out to dry
On an island in the sun
With passing blossoms
Scalloped to catch rain.
Category: fantasy
Little Spoon (day 1118)
I am the little spoon
That lives in the hill,
Scalloping hoodwinks
With masterful might.
An age old tradition
My father’s father told,
Forgiveness unheard to
Plant out my soul,
For I am the little spoon!
Happy lives fold.
Yet here I am
Amongst leftover pine,
A scraggly drain
In a dirty edged pond,
Mystery splashes
To my father’s better half,
Which I cannot explain anymore.
Which I ply with my little spoon.
Southern Texas (day 1111)
You don’t get to where you are
By building holes in attics.
There’re Devils grinning here
At these temptations crossroads.
Like my organic lover
Chastised in a bed of thorns,
I am too beaten into blood-let confessions,
Loosened until I am deliberated.
Happy because I have heaven.
Can you whistle to me magic?
Woop-de-woop.
A lovers forever magnetic
And I’ve left for Southern Texas, mom.
Fond of a Maiden (day 1101)
When wanderers showed me another decision,
A lane up ahead lifted options adieu.
Where once was a path littered with madness unforgiven,
Turned swiftly to a road which lost was a given.
Down, through, and past ghouls where I roamed
A length I did witness had I hardly been borne.
Beyond intents, beyond deliberation
I was lost in a path for forever ambition.
Launched into desires like a reflection upon me
I shared all I had with a widow of seven.
She laughed at my folly through havens and glens
That caused me much heartache of which I’m still shaken.
I was laughing at the tragedy I’d been witness,
In all of my givens I was never victim,
Save only of dreaming eternal desires.
Here was my folly; deeper than madness,
Here was the road I had swiftly been given.
To which [luckily] my stars had been lifted to heaven
Aloud as I lay beneath all these twilights.
Then at once – without warning –
As I kissed my last maiden goodbye
I witnessed what I had openly given.
Shared with my gallantry: a picnic in the glen,
A light long been forsaken.
Here I was dined like a royal brandy-wine
A Mister to a noblette, a guru to affect.
Like my littered path of madness unforgiven,
I was handed a chance of a rosy countenance.
Here I was left as if struck by forever,
Struck daft by the eyes of life’s fairer.
So out of my lands I had mended and mined,
Through wild abandon chalked plenty with lust.
I found I had seen what’s never forgotten.
Here I was. Here I decided. And here
I lept at the chance to grow fond of a maiden.
Smoking Gun Saloon (day 1098)
I was gambling at the Big Gun Saloon.
A lone mescalito biting the fat end,
Lookin’ for a chance.
I gambled often, too often.
A riverboat of floating luck
With legalized six shooters
Yelling my splashing soul goodbye.
I danced with happy Jacks
In a smoking gun saloon.
Ladies with rumpled tushes
Blowin’ kisses on good nights.
Everywhere: adultery in bedackled gems,
Fishnet in blackened stockings,
And a room awaiting cowboy’s boots.
I loved her like a riverman,
Steady and full of piss
Navigating curls running this stream long.
And then she whispered:
“If you ain’t out by noon,
I’ll be throwin’ in yer boots,
Or if you fancy another ride
I’ll be you’re shining star all night.
But either way, it’s been two days
And I ain’t seen you high stack all ride.
So if it’s all the same to you, Sir,
I’ll have mine paid: fair share.
So I can find myself a meal,
I’m hungry and loveless,
Waiting on this ordeal.
Now I trust you, and don’t be puttin on,
This was the deal we made, my trust.
Now do me kind and have it out,
And I’ll be on my way.”
Those were the words I heard sung again
As my splashing soul went out,
And the legalese was spitting up
Lead tipped water kisses into my eyes.
The Glen (day 1095)
In the glen; wild roving stallion,
I paused to stretch my limbs.
And when dismounting my hairy beast
A chorus of chick-a-dees sang to me.
To listen intently I spread my wings,
Laid myself low, enjoyed with the breeze
And over my head did fly all at once
One hundred black sparrows gathering their young.
Where butterflies fell over lazily my outstretched wings
And careless little flies found my warm skin.
And I on my back with my eyes to the sky
Watched clouds float on by; lazy summer breeze.
Long grass swayed as the warm sun spied between
Kentucky Blue, Fennel, and Orchard
Which my stallion munch on unceasingly,
“Chompity chompity chompity chomp.”
A soothing repetition with each grass pull; roots.
Up again, off again. Forward on was I!
A creek to be over! A fence to be had!
This glen of that glen, and fields in between
A small pond, a homestead, a row of red oaks.
Then after the huckelberries there’s a lane off ahead,
Then I’ll be home, my family’s ol’ stead.
With Dragons (day 1094)
I await
Not anxious
But limber
Excited
Loose in the attitude
A mixed cocktail
On John-John’s patio
And rain
Midsummer night
With dragons
Transition From Hurt to Love, and then Back Again (day 1092)
..And there were golden letters.
[Can I finally tell you?]
Like streams lapping mossy brooks,
To which my gloss rolled over.
In spite my anarchy,
My self propulsion…
Towards your grace.
I left slipping,
Jumping to and fro
Unto my broken jaw,
Lifelessly turning me over
Into airbrushed aluminum oxide.
Geometrically tracing
My bloodless sorrow
Into triangles
[Non-conducive triangles]
That weaved my sorrow
Into perfect pitches
[Acute pitches]
Hallowing my desire
Into five unspoken pledges,
Five needle point succulents
Layering my borders
Like foggy rolling alcoves
Set deep amongst
Cool summer’s afternoon
Wheeping willow rushes
– faint memories about this seascape –
But my layered angles sheltered me
From petty hearts that soothed me
To make my sleepless nights
Ever lonely, evermore.
A riddle I can’t play just so.
But lighting candles
That broke into my bedroom
And watched my brow quiver
As morning wretched it’s yawning
About the dusty trails,
I traced an even pathway
In triangles, forever faster
Until my morning had at last come
Filled with ancient rhythm.
Eyes so better clearer
Than one thousand lenses focused
On a heart so muddy [clearer].
I held onto my breath
Until anxious had subsided,
For I could not remember
What words had come before it.
And in such built excitement
A heart did flutter on,
Lost but not forgotten
Into books of golden letters
– Bound with broken arrows –
That felt so narrow holding
Pieces of leather’d sorrow
[Remember bloodless triangles]
That wept a stainless trail
From deep within desperation
Into worn hands of a savior
Who whittled out a triangle
To feed alotted perscriptions
With ever nimble fingers
Soaked in rosé water
And dried with ancient scrolls
Written in a forgotten language
That told of a lost soul
Who pledged a life to quill
Written in golden letters
And tied with broken arrows.
Words he’d lost to scrolls.
A heart he’d bled for food scraps
To feed his lifeless voodoo doll
Filled with needled pin holes
And scarred with a single triangle
Between worn out eye holes.
And written just below it
In tiny golden letters
Was ‘dia de la muerte’,
And the eyes all turned to sun
That grasped their holy language,
Blinding them to forgiveness
In smokeless trans-am tires
With a golden eagle flying.
This was not the end of stardust,
Not a burning pledge for Satan,
Not midnight’s showdown in dusty boots.
This was the last redemption hour,
A stained wedding gown and laughter.
And two boots made of leather
Tied tight with broken arrows,
Tracing triangles in the dirt
At gun points scary tremor.
Written neatly in a book
In perfect golden letters
Signed only with a triangle.
Angels Without Matches and a Number For My Name (day 1088)
So undetermined angels
That hadn’t written down my name
Asked me for a light
Which I hadn’t one to share.
But you know, as they were Angels
It wasn’t smart to tell a lie.
But I had this itching habit
I couldn’t shake though I tried.
The angels looked at me strangely,
My eyes right back at them
With eyebrows quickly twitching
Like two forgotten nuns at prayer.
You could tell they weren’t impressed
By the color of my hair
For I had turned it over
Like my favorite forty five
That had recently been spinning
On my hi-fi stereo.
The one said, “Mister look here
Though we don’t look like much,
From battle we have come,
You can see we have our wings
Floating elegantly behind.”
I said: “yeh sure man, I see them there behind.
But I think that you’re confusin’
That I might be someone else,
For I’ve got some pretty faces
Expecting me to come back home.
I mean you both no harm,
You can understand my duress.
But I’m going to pay the cover
And say all my goodbyes.”
So they looked each other over
To decide just what to do.
I picked up my old envelope
With all I had to ever offer.
They handed me some matches
With a number snuck inside
One that I’ve never called
And I hope never see again.
A Fair Maidens Sailor (day 1083)
I wouldn’t have been mad if you would have come to me, if you would have taken me with little regard for my impatience and discussions.
Alone was a word I never liked to admit. Like a figured dancer eying me up, I was always open for business and I knew – just like my salacious friend did – that business was good. I had markets that twisted and turned at mere sight of me, with anticipation gripping at their tongues for the ride.
It was merely a park bench, peacefully perched and calling my name. It wasn’t an alert beacon. It wasn’t a silent sentence. It was slightly weathered and modestly epitaphed like a sea faring ship that’s seen more ports than a pin-legged sailor.
From here – ahead – was a paved path, a hand railing painted green with two levels by design. Beyond was my view. A marvelous vista when the hour was right, when west was like glue to the sinking horizon’s glow. Out past the railing fell straight down to the harbour’s edge. Large placed stones from some time ago that showed signs of the high water level, green signs that turned to slime. Docks stuck out from the coastline like a fine tooth comb, each held about 15 ‘small yachts’ I liked to call them. From this view, I only saw the smaller boats. The bigger boats were at the high class end of the docks.
Beyond the docks: a jetty cut across my view. A small but meaningful light was perched about the tip of that jetty like a lonesome maiden waiting for her sunken sailor to return home. I had watched him as he went.
I watched the little sailors swing left and right as they traversed the open ocean beyond the jetty. Like clockwork they’d know it was time to get back to harbour, awaiting darkness.
I had always dreamed of being a sailor. Of learning to know winds like the mighty albatross so high. I dreamed I’d look out, squint eyed and wearing my navy blue pea coat, knowing and listening. I’d always wonder at what I’d be wondering. I knew the weather would be on my mind like a fair maidens stockings dangling ’bout her ankles.
I dreamed you’d be that fair maiden, wavy blonde curls about the edges of your shoulder. I watched your smile as you listened and responded. I watched you nervously bend your ankle sideways and think of a plan, unconsciously grabbing at a curl. I watched your footsteps, perhaps as you watched me, playing with little things to distract your mind.
I waved goodbye, but you didn’t see. I wasn’t mad. It was the way of the sea. I had learned this much in my years, and was already in deep conversation with myself about the speed of ol’ number 3 breaking waves heading out into the horizon.