Spirit of the nuanced
The Guardian
Captures me
Subtle breath whisps escaping
Amid mornings fresh slumber,
Retreating darkness
Holding whiskers proud
Beyond horizon’s line;
An unfurling, curling
One here, one there
Among different sized lobes
Each a maze of geometry
So uniquely theirs
It’s a geneological foodbank
Each year in passing.
Calmness of inanimate objects
Sitting patiently waiting use
Though no forseen future demands
Their attention.
Sweet parent-birds
Fly hither and tither
Dusting tops of every perch
Fighting for their moment
To build their grass nest more home like.
It is within this deep being
That the Guardians arrive
No trumpeting, no blooming,
Just tingling sensations
Arising from an inner cleft
Of my seeking heart
Wedged between a desire to think
And a greed to be done thought;
An unknown state
Of neither solid nor liquid
A gelatin, oozing down my spine
And into my belly
Dancing to a tribal rhythm section
Continually beating
And beating
And uplifting my observations
Like a lost feather
Caught in a spiral.
Is this seek or search?
Are eyes wide open
Even during sleep time dreaming?
Does water still run
When my hand doth not provide
Ripples for its current to take?
For in this lost world
A game that hath not unfolded
Shall our minds be awake
To feel and hear each luminensce
A shining depth for soul language
Hidden within our own Glorian?
Shall we know so deeply
Without language or reason
To guide our knowing
Or maybe we call it
More appropriately
Guiding our understanding
Or better yet
Shall we call this quest
Simply a Glorian.
Category: peaceful
Humbling
Farming is forever humbling
Awake into a day that never ends
Time forever reminding you
That it stops for no one.
Death surrounds us
That ceaseless burden of seasons
At once begun and thus ending
Bringing with her death, decay, rot,
As well as growth, shoots, greenery
Catching and holding on to
Each ember of light
Allowing it to stay alive
And if, for some unseen reason
Light decides to shift away
Blocked out by some larger tree
Or shifting season
It is the humbling reminder
That our time is as once fresh
And mingled so tightly with death
That in the event our labour slows
A creeping natural chaos shall ensue
Taking hold of every dream
We ever dared to live towards.
And when you think that the day is done
When the sun has gone down
And invisible snipes roam the skies
Processing, dishes, last checks,
Predators, water,
The day is never done
To give you one last breath
Before you close your eyes
And say goodnight to no one
Since all have already found rest.
Nobody
I’ve become aware I am nobody
If I had any fame, it is lost
If I was milk, I’d be spilt
If I were a rose, I’d be dried.
I am not who I’ve thought I am;
A lone wolf howls in moon’s light,
A whisper shadows unseeing,
A blueprint is missing pages.
I do not walk alone
For I am followed and met by wind,
My heart beats beside me and within,
And my eyes fall on friends I don’t know.
Winds
Winds so softly blow against
Open breath of my morning
Definitely Arctic air
Lingering in it’s breadth
Curling around me as if to say
You are home, welcome,
And good morning to you Sir.
For me, it is as an alarm
Awake before I’m called
A sign I am still early
For a fresh day to my face.
Greeting, Sun
Greetings, Rooster
Greetings, fresh grass
Greetings, Wind
I am ready for today.
Silence Sail
I silenced my mind
To no prevail
A hope
That did unrail
And awoke myself
To orchard grass
Slowly loosening my veil
Then all at once
A rhythm began
Slowly filling my sail.
The Way You Used To
You don’t look at me the way you used to
Soft eyes, like you were a bit mystified
By my approach to life
Or maybe it was my life itself
That intrigued you.
You don’t look to me the way you used to
Photographs I remember you in
A bikini I haven’t seen in a long time
And a smile that could drive a mad-man wild
I remember that as we lay.
You don’t need to look the way you used to
We’re milder, softer, settled,
Together comfortably with a purpose
A vision of family and future
That holds us tight as we say goodnight.
You don’t know me the way you used to
Now you hold my hand with intention
Setting rituals of togetherness, wholeness
And connectedness that those photographs
Never held.
You don’t look at me the way you used to
And I love the way you look to me,
Though I don’t remember much about
The young man I used to be,
I know the meaning and purpose of
The man I am to you.
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.
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
Twilight Hours
Blackness about
Silence within
Sunrise soon
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.