Slave’s Still Fight

I am immense
And stuck
And broken in my battle;
Giants tearing trees
And Titans throwing boulders.

How do I convey my meanings
When I am unreasonable
Living inside a dream
Of everyone’s meaning well.

Does my habit become your habit?
Do I lose myself into you?
Does my soil sprout many plants?
Can I hope to grow with you?

For my beast of rage
Within my deep breaths
Is evermore, everclear,
And hoping for more tomorrow
For my heart fights back
My heart fights for freedom
In a change
That cannot grow faithfully
To the slave of a great wrong.

So It Came (part X) (day 3182)

(part IX)

A cloud lifted
And Spring was sprung
The children sang
And the dogs were frisky
With little bones
Their owners tossed them
Who they themselves
Had picked till dry.
But there was something different
Than usual
Something awry.
At first it was hard to notice
But then people began
To notice it more and more
Until it became
A normal cultural habit
Based on Fear in their hearts.

(part XI)

Colours (day 2603)

It is sadness as the day grows
We build walls between us
Habits that never meant to do wrong
But collided mid-space
Like an astronomical war.

I used to like your little ways,
The way you put on your socks
And lit candles
To burn them all the way down
What happened to my colours?

Colours by Ned Tobin

Sparks (day 2079)

Wait for the moment
Should ever it arise
Feeling of fire
Deep down inside

Each forever moment
Should any desire
Oh thy heart asunder
Deep down inside

Lace is your habit
My open skin
Protection is frivolous
Deep down inside

Darkness is silence
Blonde a habit
Sparks are our evening
Deep down inside

Just For You (day 1803)

I’m not following these cool habits,
Smooth trends and fine catchy style.
I’m letting those things be
Without any real help coming from me.

You see, what I’m lighting to be
Is the real me.
A me void of all this consumption,
Distraction and greed.

It’s a long line for the starving;
I’m holding a short stick to poke,
And what’s left here of me
Is all here just for you.

If I keep pretending again,
It’ll be the end of this straw I’m sure.
And if I’m not here with truth
Then I’m not here, in truth.

Young Fir tree copse in the Temperate forest on Vancouver Island

Mind Space (day 1278)

I want to fall into a little break in space
Like angels upon lazy-boys,
Smoking cigarettes with the nuns.
My open mind shifts constantly
Between a bad habit and good morning sun,
Where there’s no better maker,
No fuller shade of gray
To take care; once was into the future.
French rhymes upon my tongue,
Little tea cup stains around my working scribbler,
Two dollars for the road,
And my mind’s not made up yet.

image

Angels Without Matches and a Number For My Name (day 1088)

So undetermined angels
That hadn’t written down my name
Asked me for a light
Which I hadn’t one to share.
But you know, as they were Angels
It wasn’t smart to tell a lie.
But I had this itching habit
I couldn’t shake though I tried.

The angels looked at me strangely,
My eyes right back at them
With eyebrows quickly twitching
Like two forgotten nuns at prayer.
You could tell they weren’t impressed
By the color of my hair
For I had turned it over
Like my favorite forty five
That had recently been spinning
On my hi-fi stereo.

The one said, “Mister look here
Though we don’t look like much,
From battle we have come,
You can see we have our wings
Floating elegantly behind.”
I said: “yeh sure man, I see them there behind.
But I think that you’re confusin’
That I might be someone else,
For I’ve got some pretty faces
Expecting me to come back home.
I mean you both no harm,
You can understand my duress.
But I’m going to pay the cover
And say all my goodbyes.”

So they looked each other over
To decide just what to do.
I picked up my old envelope
With all I had to ever offer.
They handed me some matches
With a number snuck inside
One that I’ve never called
And I hope never see again.