Biting wind
Numbing feet
Hands slowing down
Tag: hands
She’s Death (day 2529)
She’s got magic in her hands
And death between her lips
She sings every night a song
That makes me miss my ship
I don’t think I’ll ever send away
The blanket I had specially made
For every day as I sit here
I wish I’d found another lover
Who’d play to me sad sad songs
I could write down to remember
And out I’d go, apart from death
Reaching madly for sunlight.
Survivor (day 2289)
Take my survivor and hold it to the moon
Red in my hands and seeing double again
Mary and her shepherd man
Holding hands on the shore’s soft edge
The Chancellor and his Frankiphone
Perfect for you to see reflections again
Lost in to depths of softness
Splashing in moonlight
And my hands keep turning red
As I pull you into the moon
All I ever have and all I ever need
And this is everything I can give
Smoke veins to clear my edge
So will you follow me as my survivor
Though paths the moon discovers?
Cracking Ice (day 2078)
I awoke with two round moons
Holding my hands
Asking me to cherish
Each breath I was given to take
I slowly drew one in
And icicles formed on my beard
Tingling each lung
One quiver at a time
Until my thoughts all vanished
Like the sounds of cracking ice
And light arose
From tips of frozen fir
Grand Douglas firs
Silhouetted as snowy boughs
That stood watch
One more evening.
Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXVIII (day 2032)
I felt like I was getting pretty good at identifying plants
It was really enjoyable for me
To go out looking for medicine and herbs
With Willow
It was incredibly peaceful with her
Walking lightly through the forest
Listening to birds
And waiting for animals to do their things
Before we did ours
This was a beautiful life,
I kept thinking to myself
How I had been so lucky to have
Met Moon Cow so many moons ago now
As they stopped me while I was walking
East from Amy and Frank’s house
After leaving them for the first time,
One day while the two of us
Were stopped along a brook
I asked Willow if she wanted more children
She looked at me and smiled
And said that she had always dreamed
Of having four children
I guess I had kind of already known her answer
Before I had asked it
But was looking for some kind of affirmation
I felt at home with her
I knew that much for certain
I knew that my lonely heart
That had set me out on the road
So many moons ago
Was no longer lonely
That Willow and Lily and Moon Cow
Were the family I really never knew
I was missing.
I held her close
And kissed her deeply
I could feel the gentle squeeze
Her strong hands made
Upon the small of my back
As she let me know with her hands
How she felt about me
Her love was like the sun on my skin
Her touch burned me
With complete satisfaction
Right to my soul
In a way that I had never felt before
Every moment with her
She taught me how to be a more kind human.
We spent the remainder of the warm but late
Summer day tangled in each other
Rolling in each others ecstasy
Rising and flowing
As we taught each other
The flow of the river
With our hands and noses
With our gentle kisses
And passion.
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.
Yellow (day 1570)
Shake your hands little man
Rumble rumble rumble.
Shock proof and submerged
I’ve become a yellow alien
Lost in a foreign land.
Shake it in a glass pint of feel good yellow
Until it hurts so hard nutshell
There begins quite a rumble.
Put your guns outside now,
The blood is run down.
Bitter is the agent of change;
A sour heart upon edges of my spine.
My yellow in the midst of your confusion.
An iron, coyly, in a state of disconnect
And my flattening ceases, rumble rumble.
I hope you found the keys –
Open sitting etched wooden door.
Explanations come out
Flight from a thousand monarch butterflies
In a thousand shades of yellow.
My Poem for You (day 1552)
My poem for you:
I lay with my hands held tight, pretending the story hasn’t been written. I make flasks of mine own elixir that I spill onto your skin so I can lick it up, drop by drop. I run my eyes into a dizzy frenzy knowing the confines of your nape as I do, remembering the past moments as I do, holding the abound bits of magical love between my thighs so tight I know the feeling of urge so deep I gasp uncontrolled at last. Then, upon my calmed finger I begin to gently prowl the exposed portions of your skin so I can know again the feeling of indulge.
Blank Slate (day 1321)
I fall awake into the absence of your hands,
Shaking dust into stray beams of sunlight
As I whisper back and forth
With my memory, so strong.
I pull your innocence into my heart
In every deep pull of Chardonnay
Quietly fluttering my anxious wings,
Slowly settling into unheard of figures
Delicately drawn by grand gestures
On blank slates of dust.
My Illument Back (day 1158)
Should you have rolled me into that pixie white gown?
I laughed with the mariners first touch of ground.
Fire is a gentle nature and this is my bed,
Candles sing songs lingering on into eve.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
My delicate folding showed my illument back,
Stark in this darkness which I escaped into dreams.
Your seaman’s hoarseness upon my plumped, splayed curls,
Changing hands with a thousand dusting fairies.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
And this morning dew and fog brings adieu,
Seaman cold thunderstorm, restless I blow the wind.
Boots go away knocking: your only whispers I can hear.
Untying knots and a lover’s foreign spices.