Brown
Bent and folded
Dry
Tag: brown
Our Own (day 2745)
Like it was the day I whispered
Into your very brown eyes
I could not remain any more
Without your sweetest heart
That held a fire so tenderly
Rushing in a moment of
What made the world our own.
I Knew You (day 2697)
If only we would have found us before I left
This long journey that kept me rolling over
To see a deep brown eyed wish for an evening.
I recall each new passing moon rise
Where soft voices sing me aside
Left open to a wish I had you here
In a ever waltz around an empty room I grew
So fondly amidst unwritten spaces
For some of our un-lived memories
Carry each their new meaning home.
For I knew no other, I knew you.
Ode to Coming Autumn (day 2690)
Your heart surely has emerged
Red, brown, orange seeds and grass
Each tree within the meadow glows
Floating on so merrily
Out in front of me.
Just as I can float away
Happily upon a thought of day
Your vision emerges out of mind
A lofty plan ahead, awaits.
Each growing breath of air
Sent from a new direction – North
Blows with it’s reminder to
Tuck away scattered growth
Inevitability of coming Autumn
I’ll prepare for your impending store.
Shouting Galaxies (day 2612)
Running through a Galaxy
I thought I had left behind
I passed into a memory;
Two trees I had once climbed
With two turtles that each had a name
Who moved at a very slow pace
Two raspberry bushes that bloomed succulent
Sweet touch upon my tongue
Two small sheds that worked singular
One for gardening one for tools
Two stairs that led to a deck
Painted of a calm and subtle brown
Where two doors swung open
Greeting each and every guest
With two arms and a little more
Clambering all about the floor.
Here it was where I heard
A sound ahead of me
And to my dismay I had been away
Dreaming of a place I no longer stayed
Instead I sat, mid transition
From one Galaxy to another
And all about were angry faces
That each began to shout.
To The Birds (day 2518)
I spoke in whispers I thought only you’d know how to hear
A call upon the window ledge that browns a little more each year
Three mountains on the horizon but only one brings you near
How many times can I watch, each time I see what I’ve never seen
Each time, each year the vision is as dear to me again
And sends drawing down my face one happily yet unspoken tear.
Alone with a Neighbour (day 2151)
Alone I sat
Atop the ol’ cliff
Atop me wise mountain
Gathering reverie.
A hand touched my shoulder –
Sweet emotion I did feel –
A Saint in a brown robe.
With my emptiness
Leading me over deserts
Clouds and the sea,
I was a whisper
Lost in memory
And wind was my friend.
She, we was three,
We sat in our moments
Flying alone
Though neighbours we became.
Flowers (day 2094)
Don’t let me a Spanish sunrise
I’ve come a long way to sleep in the street
My memory waltzes around a
Lazy boardwalk by the sea
In two tones of brown
That leave an essence in the air
A heaven ladened Angel
With flowers in her hair
Shovels and Boots (day 1930)
When green leaves turn to brown
And fungus smells all around
There’s going to be a harvest soon
Shovels and two pairs of boots.
When gourds make farmer’s fields
Polka dots and ferris wheels
Big moon’s on the rise
Shovels and two pairs of boots.
When the deepest lake’s turning cold
And chairs are folding up
Cider’s laid to rest
Shovels and two pairs of boots.
Down Turned Reverberations (day 1912)
You know, it’s ok.
It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.
I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.
It’s ok.
It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.
You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.
It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.