This is my work that I’ve begun
Raspy hands and sore back
Set the tone for my inner heart
Mending this land as best I learn.
Wood’s been slung
Blocked and chopped
Stacked all up for winter’s dry
Cows are fed, so too the goats
That call out now to greet my cheer.
So then come the neighbours who
Have each their own spread
Landing as they do
Amidst the green atop the ground
Growing as the earth’s own.
This is my work that I’ve begun
Recollected by the stone hearth
Fired and warm, and dinner’s on
Longest night, shortest day.
Tag: dry
Last Years Grass (day 2770)
Brown
Bent and folded
Dry
My Black Diary (day 2748)
Your sadness is my message
For I have lost this control.
My diary has spilled black
Upon every written row.
Demon arise!
Demon show yourself!
You are yet a mystery
Each time it implodes,
And your matinee
Has left my evenings dry,
Lost into depths
Of a fire now spent;
Abyss uncharted.
Angry Thoughts Mantra (day 2477)
Let them pass over me and through me
Let them ooze away
Let the stars pick at them
And stardust figment them
Let my heart be calm
And thoughts pleasant
Laid upon a rock to dry
Happy and untroubled
Inside Thy Skin, Thy Ancient Eyes (day 2399)
Every time inside thy skin
I want to write your name
In black and white
Of an ancient script
Name that cannot end.
With every word in wright
Leaking through my pen
Letters never dare to dry
Strength that cannot cramp
My dreams return again, again,
Upon your ancient eyes.
Bled My Raindrops (day 2120)
Listen to raindrops fall
I thought I heard to let it go
Sadness in an old song
And my heart is letting go
To me, I’m still beating there
Go back, take the slower track
In a mind of losing me
I called out to a golden eagle
Take me to the sun
Today I ran today I run
Today I found a trail
Through a suffering forest
They call Ancient Wisdom
I led my heart
Through the roots
To place it at a base
Of Old Man Beard and his setting sun
That bled my raindrops dry.
No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)
It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.
Dry (day 1891)
Rain, an unending apathy
Soaking away my desire
Feeding my inward voice
To a soothing fire
Of warm socks and books
To take all thoughts
Bundled away by leather strap
Into a tent listlessly blowing,
Heaving and relenting
For a softer night dry.
Cleaning Without a Clothes Line (day 1846)
Linen everywhere
Lawn chairs patio chairs
Pretty much dry
Long Forgotten (day 749)
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
Love is sadness that carries golden rays of sun towards dusk
Did sounds of heartache keep you awake at night
Blood oozing from hands that toiled for your fortunate future
Will you still love me when my hands have wrung themselves dry
Sitting here dancing with eyes around the moon tonight
Our dreams dressing up in black and white shoes
Placing our love into lust into locks of curly golden brown hair
Twirling ourselves round and round to the tune of trumpets in summers night air
Will you still love me when my hands have curled against time
Sheltering our eyes against the hours of sunlight
Carefully pulling apart leaves that shelter the garden
Shaking away caterpillars nibbling on precious shards of life
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
When history remains and old friends have long forgotten
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
When the story ends will there still be a thought
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust