There’s something here
Deep beneath heavy cigar smoke
And calming chatter of birds
Scattered amidst surrounding forest,
Fields ahead.
A woodpecker finds a hidden beetle
And mosquitoes my soft spots
Along this horizon vista
Of melding clouds
Half lift sunset brown
Leaning on golden white,
Half darkening blue
Of midsummer showers
Layered above the strait.
Couples lazily walk soft beach sands
Hand in hand
Creating memories I still have
That I douse in smoke,
Picnic benches of an earlier gaiety
Sit empty like grazing sheep
Full from a full productive day.
Elm trees, tall and proud
Find last bits of gold
Sun, cooling, has to share.
My lungs find air of a new found density
Promising foliage a cool drink
Bringing an air of calm
Beckoning me: surrender
Depth of heavy breath
As I rock my comfort back and forth
To a tune I’ve not yet written
In cigar dust of sunset field.
Tag: field
A Lazy Flower (day 2193)
I came upon a flower that I heard sing a sweet song
It lasted a whole day as I sat there upon a stone
Did you hear me coming?
Did I startle you?
I woke into a soft laid field buzzing of a wild abandon
My mind watched as it bobbed and hummed
A tune I came to love.
I hope my tear of joy didn’t startle you today
Though I tapped your tune onto my knee and whispered my goodbye
As day came on to call my hand
Home I sent away.
Abandon (day 2091)
This is our violence
Shatter brackets ripping through
Cleanly pressed materialism
A bomb drops
And two children cry
One for mother sky
Two for dust around
Tie a rock to the bottom of our soul
While tulips begin to grow
Above rusting piles
Of violent ricochet
Splinters of what should have done
But left walking alone
Through feral fields
An effort spent
Into misuse and abandon
Which we voted for
And raised flags proudly.
Moon at Midnight – Part IV (day 1978)
(part III)
As I sat crosslegged in the little clearing
Hidden as I was, deep within the forest
Heading East to the land of the Old People
I wondered about the faces I might see,
Faces of the men and women who would greet me,
Faces of the children playing in fields
And fields growing with the vigor
Only well cared for fields of tender hands can grow
I knew I would find
In the land of the Old People.
Beside me was a little patch of buttercups
That skirted the edge of deeper forest
Fallen logs and fir needles of this land
I could still hear the brook I had crossed
Calmly gurgling in the distance
My canteen still cold from its fill
My belly still churning from its fill
My fingers still wet and a cold
Only fresh mountain water can give,
A cleaning happily taken
Where I had let my bare feet soak gently a while.
My eyes scanned into the forest
Of an age I guessed ageless
Not a stump to be seen
Finding geometry in naturally fallen trees
Trees standing so tall my guess couldn’t reach
Moss covering so gently
I envisioned the industry nestled
Deep within the safety net of moss
That lay about thickly covered forest floor
Fungus’ mycelia layer hidden well
In healthy circles around the Ancient Giants
Old Man’s Beard hanging low
And spider webs zig-zagging
With its delicate fibers of care.
My pouch was always on me
No matter how far from camp I wandered
So as I moved away from my opening
I felt instinctively for my tools
Stepping over former soldiers
Rotting as life continued its circle
Through the efforts of decay
My soft crunch avoided the mounds
Finding edible mushrooms was easy
This early season of harvest
Upon edges of clearings I’d find strawberries
And blueberries and salmonberry brambles
So thick I’d get high
Feeding so heartily on such sugar
I knew it wouldn’t stay forever.
Fire starting was an economy no man could do without
No sane man that is,
For plenty of nights I’d been cold
In pure darkness of deep night,
But this night I had supple moss
And accessible wood dry enough to start
A warming dance in my blood
Soon the coals were hotter then the wood
That burned inside their whispers
My bed was simply a roll
The hard ground was something I was used to
I carried soft fur of a bear
On the top of my bag
Which I’d lay under my roll
To soften each night’s cold
My dream of a sheepskin
I had read about in books
Of old foreign herdsmen roaming
Highlands of Scotland
But I with my simple roll
Laid out on the ground.
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.
Autumn Coat (day 1920)
Black Horse, my name
Far off in the field
Springtime has gone
To caress an Autumn leaf
That has written
Ten thousand words of praise
For each wild step
Taken, into cool breeze
That refreshes each giddy neigh
Echoing in the smell
Of my warm Winter coat
Along a Canal (day 1647)
This is my middle finger.
I take the softest wind drift
To an older enemy,
Who sighed inside a bottle
That floated down a river
And sweeped into the delta
Of rice fields and manure.
Care ye’to thee ol’letters?
As I recited memories
On twenty pound letterhead.
Till I turned around forever.
Ever Field (day 1516)
To be in a field of yellows here,
Set aside and lightly dusted.
Times we open hearts,
And times we take our shelter,
There are times we can wish for more,
Green it grows it grows it grows.
A dusty footstep leaves a story here,
Wild weeds share ancient scent
That blows and blows and blows
And blows about our ever field.
Echo War Call (day 1289)
The moments begun to surrender
Time is but nigh, let’s begin.
Found all tools for plunder,
All that’s heard echoes war call.
Infinite darkness upon us,
Army’s madness carries fury.
Screeching, hollering and bloodshed,
Nobody ever remains the same.
Sadness looms like darkness,
Shame is every man’s eternal sin.
Nothing heals in these fields,
Where once grew such forgiveness.
Primrose (day 1097)
I met a man of wit and prose
Who spoke to me of a rare primrose.
He said he loved the way it held
It’s neck above all fields wild.
I said I had only seen it in three perfect rows.