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: manly
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
Silent Darkness
Friggart bore
Into silent darkness
Death to all
Thy left behind
Pride and stripped
Tunneling
Voiceless throats
Remain forevermore
Gathered strength
Clenching teeth
Soot and grime
Machine will grind
Until each burr
Buries itself
Into dried blood
Of all that whore
Let it remain
Of Gods who speak
Leave it forever
Of who shall sink
Whithered and lonely
Threatened and scared
Silent darkness
Unmoving hands
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
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.
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.
Yesterday
I thought I remembered you yesterday
Then I woke and you weren’t on my mind
In my fury I swallowed hard
Thinking of all the time I spent
Without your sweet smell beside myself
I wasn’t hungry like I told you so
But my trigger was a lofty chance
So I left you and your sideways glance
To find peace amongst the trees.
So and so it was again
So it came and so it went
So I heard your voice nevermore
So cold winter sprung away
So a warm wind blew my way
So I loved the place I stay
So I left you yesterday.
Working and Frozen
Biting wind
Numbing feet
Hands slowing down
Two Five Three Six
Letters from my ancestors
Have each spelled out ten names
Two to be used in case of emergency
Five for female spawn
Three for patriarchal ties
And six as shadows of mine own heart.
I love each one as any man can
I’ve researched each story true,
Chosen from my memory
I’ve drawn each one out, too.
I hold my head up high for them;
Each they’ve passed to me their secrets.
In my hands I see their scars
So, too, I see their years.
Through their streets I have sure walked
I’ve also gone for a ride
Sitting in the back seat
Of a stuffed full 1965 Studebaker
Heading out on summer vacation.
I’ve opened the door on Union Street
To taste homemade crabcakes and beans,
I’ve rode the long trail home
Passed Devick Lake out on the range.
So each of the names I keep at the helm
Awaiting imminent deployment,
Like roses saved in a jar
A timeless memorial stored as fondness,
An old lined sheet of blank paper
Found in the desk of y’or.