Shared (day 2927)

You have listened to my words
I have spoken now twice
Clearly, slowly, concisely, too
With hopes I can bring you
Closer to my open mind
Closer to our connection
That brings us growth in tune
To a respectful harmony.

I have listened to your words
Once spoke, twice shared
In the way you best can open
A way we’ve learned to communicate.
I’ve seen the glow amidst your eyes,
I’ve heard your heart beating,
I know your truth is openly
Shared upon your sleeve.

So as we move forward in harmony
To each other without relent,
Reaching out to reach within
Let me know my name
That glows inside your history
Marks you upon your path
And let our tunes be spoken at once
Shared, and shared again.

Goodmorning (day 2814)

Today the sun came out
It spoke in a chant
That told me the history
Of every breath of air I could breathe
Which I collected at the base of my toes
And exhaled through the tip of my tongue.
The sun came out today
And shared itself with me,
Uncontrollable
I sought laughter and joy
And freshness
Only evening’s rain could bring
And I smiled
And said “Goodmorning.”

Once Seed (day 2771)

Rage at the antics talking heads play
Forced to surrender, no other way
Lost is ancient, history’s gone
For a game of dollars, enemy’s way
Has taken our diversity
Plants natural genome
Genetically modified, organic no more
Infecting, irreversible turned our seed
Unrecognized, sterile, stale,
Yet to talking heads playing games
A patent awaits the honeybees bum
To take from the farmer lands that his hands
Have nurtured and worked,
Life giving no more.
/end lawsuit

My Last Innocent Breath (day 2315)

For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A welcoming insight
Of two parts become one.

I shall forget what has never been,
What has torn at me,
What has floated free,
What has carried our distance
Unbeknownst for so long,
I shall not be blinded
By our history.

For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A chance of starlight
Emerging upon me.

It is for this that I shall wake
From slumber and deluge
Sprouting of new life
Upon the trunk of ancient ilk
Upon these paths formed
Carrying my thoughts
On towards you.

For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A ceremony of mine
Just in time.

My Sweet Game (day 1950)

Remind me of the garden I’ve floated in
Tea you used to share
Your laugh to my sweet game

With history on our steppe
I could mark every book full of stars
And still your voice through halls of love

Let me lose years since it’s been
So much to wish and to share
Let us find two handsome garden chairs

As dead leaves fall Autumn around
My heart pulls home warm cups of tea
And family speaks free in your hair

My Sweet Game by Ned Tobin

Into a Hole, A-ho (day 1745)

I wonder, pacing back and forth in the middle of light,
Is there something that’s become thus turbulent undertow?
Have I designed such fit for feet of strangers?

Long walks alone in a forest captures my heart,
Where has thy sweet sun crept away to? I ask in earnest to nodding nuances,
But no answers come back, though I implore twice for free.

Meanwhile slow approaching whisps sling past in a haze of unkempt mystery
Shrouded in man-made asphalt that collects at its side big puddles
For jumping.

And yet my friends among the silence who stand motionlessly absorbent
Carry weight of history so thickly my stomach begins to grumble,
My breath begins to abate me, and a slow tear finds its way into a hole.

So my wandering takes me back to a place I’ve always been
A question that’s never left the tips of my heart-hole that resists coldness
Keeping my toes so at night but warming my soul into abundantly undone.

Vancouver Island Victoria Port Renfrew Trestle - Ned Tobin

Trip to the Park (day 1537)

My windows slidescape at a furious pace
As little sentinels wave from overlooked nooks.
I’m a road warrior when the times get hard
But this is summer now, and these long backs
And bikini tracks are keeping me easy
With two shades of cool running down the side of
A sweating growler called picnic in the park.
I’m laying naked in her presence,
She’s entangling my mind as her long legs
Reach straight up at mine.
We biked here because our history depends on it,
So tempered with that, we find it irresistible
To not heed the folly in pushing sweet Gaia away,
Which, to those of us who mind the traffic,
Becomes about as obsolete as this empty bottle of summer.

Anarchy and His Brothers (day 1387)

With Israel and his son Concordia,
The Conquistadors contemplated anarchy;
“No!” Yelled the city streets
Against windows of innocent glassy puddles.
And thus the lost voice: Arbritage.
So from inside the ancient gold plated doors
Swashbucklers leaned on their pole called history,
Singing songs that rolled off tongues
Like fran├žais of an unbroken heart.

The two shook their secret handshake,
Clasped each a moon of waxing gibbous
Deep within their full hearts of innocent desire,
Coughing on fumes leftover from the army
Who had rolled through these streets
To a machine named destruction.

So who was left crying?
Not the lost brothers, silently creeping along
Dead back streets, poorly lit.
No, not the dead brothers waving rebel flags.
Not the flowers, forever resilient
To tumult and it’s darkness.
No, it was the stone covered city
And it’s sister: splinters.