I’m not singing for my lungs
Though they burn with desire,
No, the sweetness has left me hoarse
That burns like whipping dirt
Blowing about this barren desert.
It used to come in fits
Where I’d collapse in imagined euphoria
I had never before experienced.
My dreams lay me still here,
Though I cry out
With the neighbours howling hound,
As singing awaits
Within the embers of my soul
My fire remain unconvinced
That this landscape
Deserves such escape.
With a draft of my mind
A thought escaped in to
Window I sent amendment
Plans of the Horseman
Darkening landscape
Whisper deep in night
Holiday arise
A hand upon your shoulder
Step into forevermore
Daunting every move
Dry ice follows you
Remember what it takes
For apocalypse awaits
It was easy for us to get used to the freedom
Of Spring, going about the land as we wished,
Growth sprouted everywhere
And was brilliant to see
It nicely encouraged our walks
To become longer and longer
And we’d find ourselves
Re-familiarizing with the landscape
We had become intimate with the year before
It was fun recognizing a new tree had fallen here
Or the trail flooded there.
Willow continued to teach me the plants
Showing me where they liked to grow
And explaining to me how they were medicinal
Or just that they were good to eat
I could have asked for no better teacher
And pupils!
Almost always Lily was learning with me
Out walking with us
And sometimes we took Tall Pine along with us
He was quickly becoming a good friend of mine
As well as Lily’s
His bravery the Autumn before
Had proven him a worthy man among men,
Of course, Tall Pine and I would always have
Our bow & arrows with us
That would frequently find the necks
Of small game as we wandered.
I made a point to go and visit
Sara, Bill, and Johnny-boy
Two valleys to the North
To see how they had survived the winter
They were happy to have a visitor
And it was nice for me to be on the trail
By myself for a change
Satiating a little bit of my desire to walkabout
Johnny-boy was fascinated with the story I told them
About the miners who had raided our village
The Autumn before while the camp was out hunting
But Sara and Bill knew better then to get excited
About such savage tendencies.
Living on a homestead in the West
One had to be careful when somebody came onto your land
You could never really tell which ones
Wanted to have some tea
Or which ones wanted to shoot you
Cold blooded murder
And stay a while in your cabin
As they looted and ate all they could
And left your body for the worms.
Bill liked to tell stories
And told a few he had heard
From his mining buddies
Of: “Dem good ol’days, y’kno Joe?”
I’d nod, and he’d continue
With another unbelievable tale.
(part IV)
The waning gibbous that night
Had nothing impeding it’s projection
Into the palm of my hands
I sat for a long time watching
It’s shadows across the meadow
I recognized how colours, now dull
Made for an entirely different landscape
I understood new energies
That floated about in midnight glow.
I feared reaching out, touching tufts of grass
That set aside momentary worries
I feared moving should it startle
What slumbered in the vicinity
I feared making a sound
For it should surely echo for ages
Like smoke signals at daybreak
I feared breathing to vigorously
Should my heartbeat change the hour
To a warmer beat.
I sat cross-legged
With my blanket closely wrapped around me
Slowly hunching over into my sleepy legs
That wanted to sit aright, erect
But my slowing thoughts calmed by thy moon
Let me feel comfort in falling backwards
Into the fur covered ground mat
That awaited my simple slumber
Assurance guided me there
When I reached for my nearby pack
An unreasonable yet simple reassurance.
I awoke with the same comfort I had fallen asleep with
Yet yearned for more time with that powerful moon
Watching the fire curl around its victim
Provided some of this amazement
And as life slowly flooded back into my body
I accepted the passing evening’s mystery
With an abundance of life all around me
Eager for my wandering pathway
To lightly pass through, eager eye open to all
Eager heart open to adventure
The journey was in every moment,
Not to be held for singular moments.
With the familiar motion
I swung my pack comfortably upon my back
With momentary shifting
Aimed to soothe each grumbling bump
Night’s slumber had produced
That, once assembled,
Found me beyond
What I had previously called my home,
Once again upon this road
Through magnificent giants,
Expansive ferns, soft mosses,
Sprouting mushrooms, drooping lichen,
And countless birds singing me hither.
I don’t want to make my way in a barren landscape
The thought overwhelms me, loses my hope.
It loosens my grip and forces me
Into an unforgiving reality
That stops at every stop sign,
Red lights my deepest dreams,
And perpetuates my winter footsteps,
Fading to black.
It’s sunny today,
Just like the rainbows of my thoughts –
Misting and bright,
In and amidst
Refreshing showers of change
That have changed my landscape
Forever, the end.
Apocalyptic desires spread across the landscape into horizons of jubilant joy, needlessly wandering about the edges in a vignetted blur of reason and sacrifice.
All that was known then suddenly became lost, like the vision from the eyes when consciousness is shifted into the willing arms of a sideways glance, a flicker at the edges of a landscape.
Energy begins to build with anticipation and excitement; roaming birds know this feeling well, they make love to the feeling on sunny days when warm winds blow fresh scents of motherly creations of earth upon their nest.
Laying absentmindedness at the door, whipper-whisps swap the mind to the present, dust floats up from the awoken floorboards hitting sunlight that delights lovers, playing with time and space it’s exchange grows with anticipation into one final exultant gasp and releases such a tremor the rest fall into a deep dark sleep.
Deep within runs wild, from all except the grumpy gnome, the soldier of harbouring resentment, who scowls at all life and pushes away forthcoming joys to create for himself the place he never wished he had.
Alongside this dwelling of darkness runs a brook wild, over mossy rocks, through gnarled trees, past covered bridges, and out into the pussy willows and lily pads.
Taking away with it, from upstream down to the lowlands, all hate, love, magic, potions, desires, misspent emotions, and dying flowers into a new season of germination where new things shall sprout and grow with playful arches of sun that float onwards and away as the magical fruits of earth we know.
Passion filled the sunset that night
Bursting out of control in the sky
Rupturing from the heavens onto earth
And splashing the vista with brilliance
Glory that struck the landscape
With curls around every tree
Silhouetted every rock
And painted every glass walled tower
Before the flag was sent skyward
Hue shifted into darkness
The sun rode on into tomorrow
And night grew eternal long
We cross the landscape with skilled learning
Master artisans spend hours exemplifying
History teaches the little nuances of technicality
The subtle lines that weave in and out
Outlining [art] history books and large frescoes
That fill the minds of sleeping popes
And battling heroes that grace the walls
Of far off chapels and majestic temples
With sculptures that raise the hair
On the back of your neck as you gaze in wonder
Upward, towards the sky and beating sun
That pluralizes the definition of beauty
Nature, natural landscapes with perspective
And projections who Patrons can feel
They are deserved of glory within
The definition of beauty itself
Standing naked beside the patron saint
Who makes everything make sense.
A lust of dust
Sprinkled lightly
Alienates the landscape
With white neverland
Silence
Booms in the distance
Lost with the words of ancient tradition
Only compromising the cheap landscape
With footprints
In every direction
