I am not a ghost
I am a sentinel
Standing tall, proud
Weathered as I squint
Strong as I brave
Even the strongest gales
That pass before my flock.
My vision is far beyond
As stars, far above
Twinkle in clear moonlight
And I, weathered sentinel
Humbly remind mine ever quest.
Category: inward
Little Strawberry
Little Button
Little Strawberry
So squeely and happy
This joy you do bring
To my every day.
When you’re crawling away
So mischievously
Your panting excitement
All dirty of knees.
And when our sweet day
Starts waning away
Noises of such softness
I wish I could keep
Remind me gentle
Asleep there you lay.
Just Fine My Mind
If I forever lost my mind
I’d be grateful for sweet rest
End day’s long toil
To carry forth my merry
Silver dollar within my pocket
Jingles, jangles along
Through warming morning sun.
In the morrow then
I’d be a different man
A loose spoke in my wheel
A dirt road I hate to say
I’ve been out walking
In my old boots
Roses in my hand
Endlessly grateful
In my mind I’d be just fine.
Wind Swept Growl
Loud depth of wind
Sending a sliver of the moon
Into long blades of grass
Bellowing Autumn’s warm choice of a day
How dare minutes of this season
Fall away so effortlessly
Like the glimpse of a red lit night sky
Following in Sun’s same footsteps
Test not growing darkness’s patience
For caught you shall be if thy tarry lasts
Any longer than a deep breath of sorrow
For soon, that lone Mars shall break the starless trance
Last evening desires fade
As Coyote wakes to prowl
And guarding this fleece lined flock
A great Pyrenees longs his stretch and growls
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.
Shelter
I guess I’ve been building
– Don’t call it by name –
A shelter to put my hat up
And a bed to lay down
Though I’ve never been a gambler
S’been too many bad cuts
And my pencil’s getting short
Like a tape stuck on 2
I hear music when I close my eyes
A slow drawl like I’m shaking coins
And waiting on time to bring me
Out of a late December
What makes a man stay home?
Tired too deep that keeps him in bed
Motioning slowly for a cold glass of milk
To cut out invisible pain
Don’t be running along today
Brown eyed Susan
It’s not a good day for a race
To go along for some fun
I guess some music
– Though not too loud –
Would be where I could go
To shelter me as I close my eyes down
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
Dungeon Boulders
Surely this is a swolen gland of memory
Cursing through my body
Pinching where I’ve been hurt before.
Should I starve you out?
Let you waste away like autumn flowers
Suffocating upon the bed you’ve made?
A cry from depths of my unconscious being
Let out like lightning bolts
Surging through my veins in callous blood clotting.
I hold the reigns, but I do not have this beast tamed,
Wild and friggart he still is
An uncouth I have yet to name.
I shall sweat you out
Heat driving mad, boiling away impurities
With a flame I have stoked ever higher
Designed to inhibit boulders
That this dungeon was built upon.
Patching
So maybe instead of you
I seek a me.
I fuss about my collar
And chop at my hair,
Wax off my new boots
And make sure
I’m not seen
With those patched pants on
Anymore.
Maybe I resist
By rewiring.
Maybe I divert
By running away.
Maybe I control
My impulses
By sending absolutes
To my nerve endings
So my digits
And elbows
Don’t move towards
My patch jobs.
Maybe I don’t remind myself anymore
About the things I never had,
Maybe I just lie in bed a little longer
Instead of reaching for dreams that aren’t mine.
Maybe I stop smoothing out the rough patches
For I think with better light
They might be my mountain tops,
Or maybe they’re the friction
That helps me down the road.
Messages of Life
My vision has been blotched,
My insides have been influenced
By an algorythm I didn’t want..
But accepted,
Like inflating gas prices
At the pump,
Along a journey
I didn’t plan.
The algorythm told me
What I should have known
I had to do,
It showed me beautiful photos
That directly appealed to my soul
Because I had trained it to know
What my soul was drawn to
In such a sly way
That my soul is starting to think
It has been tricked into being this way.
How do you step away?
Physically, mentally,
Spiritually.
Healthily.
How does one begin to see dots
So that a woven thread
Can be drawn between them
A threaded vine, hops,
Nestled between two calm growth lines
Of muscle and soul,
Callus and depth.
It feels like turning off the light
Walking alone in darkness
Reminding myself I live here
And can visualize the corners
To avoid bumping into.
It feels like losing a friend
Not the excitement of starting a journey
But the reverse
No more serendipitous friends
Going out for coffee at the coolest spot in town
No more hitting the peak at sunrise
No more rich street foods from India
Or Wat visits in Thailand.
It feels like a Doctors visit
Where reality cannot be escaped
Truth must be told to those who seek to help
And I must admit to myself the most
Where I wake up each morning
And what I have ahead of me to do.
I’m not a movie
No Hollywood plot,
I’ve got cuts on my hands
That didn’t get publicized
My boots didn’t get worn so
By a team of set designers
I didn’t seek funding
I am funding, myself.
So, perhaps this is my starting,
My turning away slowly at the inside
Where I re-write my reasons
And my daily check-ins
Come with meaning and fortitude.
What meaning I do give
Needs to come with a warning
That these messages of life
Are forever important.