It Hurt

Today’s coffee reminds me of the day
I ripped a six inch long
one inch deep hole into
the back of my leg.
Thirteen years old,
maybe I was fourteen
at my best friends father’s shop
he worked a lot with cement
and had a big yard
with mounds of gravel
we’d go up and down and around
on our new single track bikes.
It hurt
it hurts
and memories are always there
to bring me away
and back
to where some memories hurt
but ripping the hole
didn’t really hurt
flesh wounds are like that.

Slowly into Tea

I wish I could cry on the good days
when my tea is softly spoken
and each of my windows
have snow lightly dancing,
exploring my imagination
in waxing crescent arising.

So it’s said my moon is slowly rising
a wind about my sail
to calm me as I build up to
a moment of my truth.
Where do I sing from?
No microphone or recorder
follows me around
making what shall soon become
lost in a myriad of webs.

Perhaps my days are all of good;
tea awaits my silent lips
even when the sun has risen cold
and my time spent entranced in forest
are met with caribou and grouse.

So maybe the I shall speak a little,
whistle a little to my tune
that whispers it’s short breath inside
each window I look out upon
and lays my ever waxing moon
into swirl of my tea leaves
where my moment comes just as the last
a fragment to be had and gone.

Deserveth

For if I got to sail’s end
Upon the glee of life
Should shake the dust
From each thy sword
To battle, ho! Thy fun!
Not of angry blood spilled
In trod battlefield,
Nor in a race of men,
But in thy quest of spiriting
Each bone amidst my quest.
Shake me, again!
For should I not arise
To meet each day with grit,
I should sooner be trampled afoot
Each horse drawing mighty Hades
Crumpled into an unfit mess
Deserveth of lack spent.
So gracefully, then,
I grab thy sword
Clean ‘er pommel to point
Place her not to rest at bay
Amidst cocooning leather bound,
Place her strong within thy grasp
Of ambition and desire for life!

Inside Cobwebs

I awoke with steam
Overtaking my barely opened eye
Stretched cobwebs holding
My eyelids
In a foggy embrace
That reminded me of fishnets
In tunnel vision
Locked in sweaty fantasies
Of a late night low light
Where forbidden
And forgotten
Are both flickers of imagination
And soft light
Of a golden new day
Controlled my reaching hands
To stretch across
Open areas of cobwebs
To feel around inside.

Fighting For A Softer Edge

If you give me a softer edge
I will believe in your touch
For in the grasp
Of a summer day
I remember all these dreams
And I can hear the buzz
Of the honey bee
Singing in my ear.

But if the edge continues to hone
I’ll find my sharpness cutting knots
Deep within my root stricken back
Holding me to gnarly strength.

I am the fire
Should I be struck
For I awake within my heart,

I am the dirt
That crumbles with
A slipping fist no longer clenched
No longer fighting back.

Tracks On The Road (day 3221)

The laneway smells of sweet clover
Overrun by long timothy
That soaks toes in morning’s walk
Back and forth we go.

Dampness holds its structure
Amidst low hanging overcast clouds
That have lifted only slightly
Since twilight broke them off.

Calmness awaits
Imagination creeps in
Day’s plans unfold
Tracks on the road.

Palms (day 3204)

What brings the soul of a man
Deep within the palm of his hand?
For I have seen two men astray
Neither I tried to save.
In the grace of our Gods
We stand before each war we fought
Did we strike the hammer strong
Or lose out before our lungs
Belted loud our souls devout.
Have I faced the pain inside?
Did I let my body cry?
Was it I who charged ahead
Though each wind spoke up in dread?
Tell me sweetly in my good ear
Was I faithful to each your dream
Can I be the trusted man
Of your every step?
For I hold my palms open
To feel the warmth of every day
I have spoken out your name
In hopes it leads my heart so true
And if it shall bring my life astray
May I be the man to say
My palms are wet.