Who are you?
What is your sound/vision?
What guides your call?
Deep gulps of morning coffee
Flickering sounds
An empty wall
With little splash marks
Years of service gone by.
This pen fades
The more I write,
Like fallen leaves
Into enrichened soil
Rhythms have lost my voice
Telling me of better days.
I’m hijacking emotional waves
Leaving the strong winds
For cracked nuts
And a fire, unattended.
My teeth hurt
And my coffee’s gone cold
– Toxic lush
Even when hot.
A game, I’m gone
Struck me on the shoulder
But hoping for an open minded Lady
Who gave a wrinkled
Promiscuously acquired
Five dollar bill
To a tourist fear trap
Like a Merry Christmas card
Unsigned.
But I’m gone
With hotel room vibes
Blinking lethargically
Stuck in deeper thoughts
That have taken me
Deep inside
This unattended fire,
Waiting for a spark to arise
Within me
Like Cupid’s golden arrow.
Black night
Blackness
Darkened entreating
Bespoke and misleading
Howling
Danger
Sour
Altered vision
And missing time.
There’s a mountain of crows
Crawling about my mind.
Distant snowy peaks
Tall, looming firs
And the faint, eerie howl
Of the wind
Settling through furry boughs.
I dont want comfort anymore
I want slow, agonizing pain
Of cold feet and biting breath.
Let darkness fill my voids
With only the fire
Inside my eyes
Feeding the warmth.
Here, I will stack wood
Against stained boards
Of an ancient vision;
Architectures ancestor
Where notches have been worn
By our rattling wind
That kept the night
Hallowed at home.
What is the real reason for my inner voice?
Is this ego?
Have I whispered so loudly
To all Grandfather trees
That my echo and sensations
Are no longer my own?
Has my inner bird
Whistled alone
In surrounding scenes of chaos,
And called home
Mother Hen
Whom I sit under this great canopy with?;
Oaks and Elms and Maples.
Does my voice match my vision?
Do I see sky blues,
And earthy browns,
With forest greens all around?
Or have I become muddled
Lack of colour:
Grays, black, and cement.
What is the hardest thing?
A glowing orb at an unending tunnel
Flashing lights in otherwise darkness
Moments of stillness broken by reality
A whisper one still remembers
Sun so long ago
And a night that must end.
But how soft it can often hit
Like haze on a full moons glow
Orbs opening
And a bead of sweat upon thy lip.
Pain can remain
And lost within thy brow
A handful often mistaken rashly
Just as this lingering upper back kink.
My anger soaks me;
Leaflets floating to ground
With script precisely writ.
Daggars fly;
Pen dries and is again dipped
To lay out my pulsing veins
That have taken hold
Each cumbersome breath,
Each suffocating exhale,
And filled my hand with poison.
I dare not touch again.
Yet yearn I do so much
For even a deadly touch
So soaked in yearning’s pulse
That I feel
Faint throbbing at my neck
To gasp at last
A breath so soft
Anger’s taken leave
My life.
Transmission loss is inevitable
With such broad spectrum distortion
Carrying a candle through darkness
Is a miner for gold
Or coal
Or anything that matters
To the lords of the underground.
But when I yell
It echoes back to me
Around the field
From the trees
From the hill
Between the buildings and back,
Which gives me motivation
To try again
Though my understanding is faint
As I watch a blowing bag
Floating in the wind.
Today it is not dusty,
Though a slight breeze comes on,
It is muggy and heavy
An extra 30 pounds to a person
That sweats through a shirt
With the mere though of lifting
An arm in toil.
So where do I sit
In such heavy silence?
At the crossroads
With a miner on my shoulder
Torn down ligaments
Effortlessly gazing
But with sharp eyes watching
Everything being lost.
After a while the flies find you
Sinking into skin
Like love letters I’m waiting for.
I try my passive eye
With a lazy wind
Covering my imagination
While three ewes
Run circles,
Their heads down
Wishing for longer grass to hide in.
But my exhaustion
Just watches two blackflies
One on each wrist
Searching for that perfect place
To bite in
Just like the lover
I’m waiting to hear from.
My presence will outweight
My disregard here,
Just as the sun knows
It outweighs the wind
And there are no flies who care less.
I believed in you more as an Oracle
Tongue tied and misery
A vision of perfection
I could not attain alone.
What does it mean to be alone?
I have clouds that tell me history’s greatest moments,
And flowers that share with me great healing.
I have sheep that teach me what patience is,
And goats who are with my to play,
Dogs who speak as they are my best friends,
And cats who are my ancestors.
Alone is a construct
Just as freedom and atomic are.
Just as balance and beauty claim to be.
I am not alone if I keep my eyes open,
My heart open, my ears open.
I am not alone if I am welcoming
And I am not alone if I am one.
What does it mean to be alone
Within one’s self?
Did you find it in full Lotus,
Or Tadasana?
Don’t ask if you can sit with me
For you have sat down here long ago.
I believed in you more as an Oracle
Than a maiden who has lived clear through it all,
Answering all questions with wisdom
I’ve read in ancient books,
As if your born again Nirvana
Is leading me on your path to my own.
I’m unruly,
And this is my own.
I smear my own self along pages
Just long enough
To clear blot my way to
Unsensible un-reasoning,
So that all I need is an Oracle:
A busy sign post with one flashing light.
But all I’ve got is a schoolbus,
Flashing lights of warning,
Danger signals of distance,
Red signs to Stop,
And a safety seat with a seat belt
That doesnt bump too much
As wheels turn
And this bus driver
Takes me further within.