Tag: imagination

Slowly into Tea

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I wish I could cry on the good days
when my tea is softly spoken
and each of my windows
have snow lightly dancing,
exploring my imagination
in waxing crescent arising.

So it’s said my moon is slowly rising
a wind about my sail
to calm me as I build up to
a moment of my truth.
Where do I sing from?
No microphone or recorder
follows me around
making what shall soon become
lost in a myriad of webs.

Perhaps my days are all of good;
tea awaits my silent lips
even when the sun has risen cold
and my time spent entranced in forest
are met with caribou and grouse.

So maybe the I shall speak a little,
whistle a little to my tune
that whispers it’s short breath inside
each window I look out upon
and lays my ever waxing moon
into swirl of my tea leaves
where my moment comes just as the last
a fragment to be had and gone.

Reality (day 2862)

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Sky has turned on me
I awoke to a burning red
Dazzling my imagination
As fire so transfixes thoughts.
Then Rain began
Challenging my scales
Peaceful summer breeze
Turned torrential squeeze.
I closed the book of a window
To still my worried mind
Losing my touch
With Reality’s closest neighbour.

Dusting Ferns (day 2633)

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Walking hides my feelings,
Like a good turn on the wrong road.
I’ve shaven all my eyebrows clean
And recited fifteen lines of poetry
From Edgar Allen Poe;
So I don’t lie here alone
As dusk settles
I lie here with Gothic mansions
And morbid expressions
Upon cobblestone roads
And lampposts casting awkward glances.
Faint sounds infiltrate
My active imagination
Leaving goosebumps
Chanting spell bound rhythms
Into my sandy shoes
Lightly dusting the ferns
That play havoc
On the rose of my thought
Exploding into the diary of this pain
I have left behind again.

Forgotten (day 2284)

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How does one continue to live
In a place that’s forgotten your touch
In a world where unfamiliar hearts
Enslave a name that’s no longer known.
How does one let go
Of a T-shirt you used to wear
Of hair bands you’ve left behind
And a smell that used to be present.
At the grocer yesterday
An unknown woman walked by
With a forgotten fragrance
Who smiled as she picked up
A package of frozen peas.
Yet wounds are still swelling
Bruises still glow with a cold feeling
That a forgotten fabric
Has been set aside from imagination
And two long lines separate the distance
Of once was and what’s now.

You’re Perfect (day 1958)

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When I say you’re perfect
I mean it from the whole of my essence
From my tingling toes
To each breath I excitedly (and deeply) inhale,
From my deepest lost fantasy
To each lightly placed finger tip
That crawls every imagination I’ve got.
Your perfection seeds my stillness
That captures me in your grace.
Your wrong is not a wrong,
Your wrong is effort in my eyes
That nurtures your blossom,
Imagination takes your fancy
And lifts your spirit,
Infecting me like a perfect vision,
A serpent,
A sun rising from the horizon
Inch by inch warming my open eyes
To the miracle of a new day.
Your perfection isn’t in your perfect action,
Or your perfect features,
Or your perfect voice or perfect success,
Your perfection lies within your being.
Your perfection lies within your effort
That dances as you know how to dance
Over obstacles and through conversations,
That listens and speaks and shares and fights
And bruises and hurts and feels and bites.
Perfection is you, not the sum of your doings,
It stays with you as you go,
And returns again tomorrow,
It follows you into your messiest of days
And shadows you as you run.
When I say that you’re perfect,
It doesn’t hinge on how you treat me
Or what you bring me as a gift,
It doesn’t depend on your generosity
Or how close you hold my hand,
No, I mean it without you even knowing me
And I mean it as you walk upon your path,
I mean it as you say goodbye
And wave me our last kiss.

lisa-2

Just Maybe (day 1751)

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I don’t want a perfect you.
I don’t want an imagination
Resting on commercialized ideals
And mis-spent laments.
No.
I want your messiness and chaos
And moments that urk me,
And crazy eyes and silent times
And hugs that will never end
Because forever is a time
I will be left thinking of you.
And just maybe,
If I count my lucky stars enough,
I will be right there
Next to you,
Smiling,
Winding my clock backwards
Elongating time to expand
These moments that make up you.

Jamie Lee Mock - Ned Tobin - Urban Sunshine
model: Jamie Lee Mock of The Fresh Method and Moonbrew Tonic

Cobblestones & Family (day 1454)

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Laughing at imaginations that crisply punctuated my effortless circles of family, I crossed the path that led me to inevitability. It was here I sat down tired.
To my dismay, I was greeted by an understanding gesture that pickled my sentence with freshness beyond the cucumber, but all was not lost for I had a scapegoat.

Yet as I spoke my attention was caught, to which I followed down steps towards heavenly waterfalls to meet a pure maiden who took me by the hand and lightly led me across cobblestone walkways towards the utopia I had come to know and love.

So my imagination left me, and I was greeted by a hand of sincerity and kindness which knew my full name and hugged me as I came. I then carried on, for around me was family, and I was the same.

Remain Calm (day 1333)

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In the end of all of it I had a reason.
There were two dots crossed off a long list of imaginations
And the cowboy had everything left to lose should it fail.

But that wasn’t the event there that day, you see,
A long riflesman came staggering in as the town watched
Thinking to themselves about a memory they all-to-quickly refused to listen to.

I couldn’t help but think that I was an envelope,
A whisper sealed away awaiting some sort of lucky ticket holder.
My eyes remained calm as time’s length pushed on.

Crimson was the colour of noon’s high sun.
Picking pockets like a Bazaar thief in Catholic quarters;
The city clinched tighter.

There once was an island inside of my dreams,
Floating with unseen amounts of impossibilities.
I was homesick. I wasn’t allowed to be there anymore.

So for now they sang, in cool shade of a willow tree.
And a stable meant for their local butcher
Fed the gatherers, who all at once came.

Dust kicked up my hallow heart’s worms and sheered into the edge;
At once I was offered fine takings
And imagined I was an elder.

Squinting (day 1195)

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I lifted my eyes and squinted at the distance
Speculating on a mirage, intending to drift.

[Lost words have a tendency to echo
When moments find thee alone, lonely.]

I kick the dust. I follow an eagle trace a long line
About my imagination and wave at it motionless.

This is my breakout. This is my manhood.
I am the angel that washed out to Washington.

[I remember there was an arm that touched.
I looked and a few moments passed before I came to.]

Just like my whirlwind that had brought me to here
I sheltered the locals as I spread my arms and screamed like hell.

To arrows and sparks and roaring engines
Lifting an essence, an indescribable valor.

To sky that lifts my dream and spins my fear,
Pushing endless possibility into the cuff of my presence.

Into a distance that dances with a wavering expression,
Upon a transformation defined by these.

In Your Teeth (day 805)

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I’ve been watching you shift the ever blurring lines that hold society in check
Taking them in your teeth and letting the camera capture your raw moments of sex
I want to understand what it’s like to plan this desire like a premeditated killer
Drinking tea over strewn socks and dirty magazines in a black and white image

I never thought I’d hold your hand walking down this hall
Penis stuck between your legs and there isn’t even any kissing
I’m not sure I understand the lines being blurred here
For they exist singularly in figments of imaginations
Directed by lines of square adults and their best intentions for children

I’ve been watching you shift the ever blurring lines that hold society in check
As you walk away veiled in a cloak of mastermind and glitter
I’m not sure the intention towards my understanding and which end is right
But this is my effort to blur my own lines of this never ending puzzle