Beyond (day 1190)

The long lines on my calendar
Tell me there’s trouble on the rise,
A big storm from heaven to hell
Brewing, rumbling, shaking these windows.

Eyes in the darkness blink.
Hades and Cerberus
Between my thoughts and time
Scatter the answers to unknown questions.

Aggrieve, my letters of sound reasoning.
All suspicious thoughts and delicate fantasies
Shall surface uncontrollably
Rearing like the plunging thunderbird.

Yet here time’s lines keep stretching on,
In spite my tariff for illustrious Charon
Clutched deep to my hearth,
I, simple and meager, shoulder my armor.

A Calmer Pursuit (day 1189)

My rusticated bones have a hard time returning to
Honking cars and attitude
And hipsters looking the other way.
I’m not used to it and I don’t like it.
I want needles of every kind of bough
Littering my path ahead of me
While squirrels and chipmunks and
Birds sing at me with unending stories.
I want spider webs tricking me
Into little games of cat and mouse
While Helios slowly arches
Along the edges of my mind
Preparing for Selene’s calm pursuit
Around and around again.
I want fallen giant cedars to block my path
And to offer a brief respite
With ferns so tender my mind shall wander
To the clear lake I’m heading to.

My Land | Chapter VII (day 1175)

At night we would all have our tents and sleeping places set and sit around a small campfire. Making too much smoke and light would mean alerting the people we didn’t want to alert. A smart choice.

The coyotes would howl every night. Coyotes and wolves. I hoped they were coyotes at any rate. They never came close though, they were always off in the woods in the distance corralling some innocent prey.

It’s funny thinking about the way nature works without human intervention – naturally this is part of the reason why I chose to head west. In New York ground was ruined most likely forever (or at least scarred) from human’s intervention. There is always a scramble, an urgent scramble to the top, for the most, to accumulate all the wealth, riches, property, land, gold, clothing, food… It’s different understanding the true necessities of life.

The coyotes don’t live with luxuries like leather boots or cutlery or fat bank accounts and they get along just fine. Us humans though, we feel it our duty to posses planet earth and declare it a free for all.

The waste, the abuse, to be entirely honest is there even much beauty to go along with it? I find it hard to believe such transformation of the land is healthy for mother earth.

One thing I enjoy on the trial is the amount of time I have to sit in the saddle and watch the wilderness float on by.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

Enemy Guns (day 1096)

Over and over and over again,
Whispers so shallow
Cover me: a grin.
To which my reply
– Steadfast [I tried],
Tested, and true –
Climbing above
With a flag stretching high,
Hollering through open windows and sky.
Whispers in wind
Upon layers of feathers,
An angel lay me;
Scatter hopes
Like mine enemy’s gun.

Anachrome (day 1087)

Anachrome brought me here:
Leveled the forest floor
And dug the deep holes
That left me homeless.

I wrestled with fate.
I angled my history towards
Chemical baths and
Burning blow torches.

Then I left in distance.
With mud huts and ivory
And skinny dipping clear-cuts.
Like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.

There was no death.
No marked spot for execution,
Hanging noose or bullet hole.
Anachrome lived in smoke.

Lords Divine (day 1081)

For goodness – not –
Shall Lords divine.
Sweet melon nectar
Explicit: intertwine.

An eagle soars
With lengthy hearth
An eagle burns
As Pharaoh’s earth.

River’s dry
– A cracking grain –
To whither: dead,
Our fathers bane.

Of golden green
‘Twixt slender pains
Yell “Willow’s mixture”
Betrayal’s feign.

Yet heard – unspoke –
Gripped the sword
– A childless yoke –
Divine hoard.

Gaia’s Birth (day 1066)

And you crawl out
To where we sing.
To which we carry high
Lofty goals,
Lifting our honour
With romantically inclined love,
Like sweet mother Gaia
Discarding Winter’s white cloak
To dawn
Spring’s rainbow.

I cannot follow my empty thoughts
Through the havens of a darkened loft.
I live forever better
With your heart upon my hearth,
Warming every thought
As darknesses cold, cold moon
Falls asleep to Gaia’s waking sun;
Sweet nectar caress.
Alive like our emotion
Captured in long walks
Through Spring’s blooming alleys.
A landscape ere enliven.

Like sweet hanging fruit
– Summer’s lush temptation –
This lover’s ever clutch.
Anxious for turning seasons
As the fresh air soaks my dewy brow.
Can you not also give to great excitement?
I laugh and run wild a while,
For what is satisfaction
Void a lover’s yearning heart?
What worth is Summer
Dry from Spring’s never drought.

They Have Got Me (day 1013)

I have got angels.
They dance around naked with long blonde locks
And sing amongst each other banging a drum.
Whenever I stand up to join the chorus
They stop and they wonder and stare at me lost;
It’s not a ‘what the hell is he doing’ stare,
But a ‘caught in the crossfire of beauty’ look.
They tell me my voice is why they stay
Dancing around here, naked as they play.
I have no reason to not believe my angels
For when I am lonely, they are my commitment.
They are what brushes past my face after tears flow,
They are what flickers in my early morning eyes,
They are the cinnamon spicing my sauce,
They are what smooths my sleepy brow out.
My angels cannot do me wrong.
No matter what song perches about their supple lips,
Their fingers dance nimbly through the air.
When they dream of things I cannot yet see,
Their drum echoes through my heart
And I imagine that I can indeed see their spells,
– Woven upon me so tight –
And I hear even in daylight they’re not far away.
When I begin dancing, when I share their dream,
I know I have got angels, and they have got me.

Guiding Archangels (day 1003)

We each remember our stories just a little bit harder
– A little bit longer in tooth –
With vinegar to keep infection afar.
And in our judgement, our fantasy act
We search for crime, and it’s partner punishment
To soothe our broken bones that lay
About the floor in disarray.
But as lost is all that has begun
If for whatever reason we hold onto none
Then let our hearts beat madness
Pitter-pattering our footsteps forth
Into cold days of snowy forgiveness
That crawl away as we push back the tears
Singing sweet songs to our guiding Archangels

Photo by: Ludovic Florent
Photo: Innocence by Ludovic Florent