Tag: moon

My Dear Loon (day 1154)

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Upon the brook I sat a while
Whistling my long & lone tune,
I thought I heard a critter come
But it was just the moon.

It echoed off the water so clean
That my heart lept at the thought.
And soon my mind was back again
Amidst this lone lagoon.

In my tarry I carried a pack
Stuffed with my new booty.
Not filled with random this and that,
But of my especial boon.

I held it close to my lone heart
As I breathed in the vista,
And just as I approached depart
I was greeted by a loon

Who whispered my heart a calm.
I knew once more, with no regret
That as I sat and whistled along
It would be time to go home soon.

Floating Tragedy (day 1146)

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My heart floats into a tragedy
Like cats painted on my baby boys nursery wall.

Destined and predetermined
And midnight moon lonely.

Don’t scare me.
Don’t listen to those lonely secrets.

Don’t float the note, sealed in the
Hand-crafted sailing boat down the community stream.

Don’t cry the grass alive
From your lonely tower.

I’m a birthday balloon
From cheap dollar store blues.

My heart floats on into tragedy.
A single bill with no underlining.

I’m a water and chips
At the liquor store diner.

I’m on the lonely side of uncomfortable fabric.
And my heart floats into unrequited tragedy.

And your loose limits
Are crying my name.

Lout (day 1139)

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Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while

Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees

You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat

But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative

I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.

Windswept (day 1108)

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For I’ve become quite a drawl
As summer’s moon drags me
Through windswept memories
Drifting dangerously close
To my anchored points.
My shattered dreams
Left luminescent marks
Along my stoned chin;
Set deep within my jaw.
I climb on.
I set on.
I limber on
As unbent seamen
Stare headlong; fore
Unsuspecting winds.
Until my tan
Become so leather’d
That I should rise
And set together
With my windswept memories
Of the day’s bliss and breeze.

Forgotten (day 1103)

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I know that I didn’t lose my answers
When I stepped off late at night.
When I closed the door and shifted sheets.
When I spoke my prayer dance to the moon.
When I laughed heartily
Allowing my soul to saturate
Every breath you exude.
Because this is my intake
And answers don’t get lost here
Where answers don’t get forgotten.

Heartbeat (day 1086)

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What makes it easy?
Tied down like a northern sunset
Whispering softly at the moon.
Is it grass curls
That itch my yearning soul
Into an excited pit of
Frenzied loco-motion?
Or is the slow, unfurling
Heartbeat of Gaia’s necromancing
A long, sensual touch
From mine elbow to mine tips?
I whisper willows
As aging furrows
My easy, evermore.

Gaia’s Birth (day 1066)

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And you crawl out
To where we sing.
To which we carry high
Lofty goals,
Lifting our honour
With romantically inclined love,
Like sweet mother Gaia
Discarding Winter’s white cloak
To dawn
Spring’s rainbow.

I cannot follow my empty thoughts
Through the havens of a darkened loft.
I live forever better
With your heart upon my hearth,
Warming every thought
As darknesses cold, cold moon
Falls asleep to Gaia’s waking sun;
Sweet nectar caress.
Alive like our emotion
Captured in long walks
Through Spring’s blooming alleys.
A landscape ere enliven.

Like sweet hanging fruit
– Summer’s lush temptation –
This lover’s ever clutch.
Anxious for turning seasons
As the fresh air soaks my dewy brow.
Can you not also give to great excitement?
I laugh and run wild a while,
For what is satisfaction
Void a lover’s yearning heart?
What worth is Summer
Dry from Spring’s never drought.

Figurative Hand Memories (day 1061)

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So the moon blinked and I saw what I had been waiting to see.
Like sweet flowers and long grass setting in the warm summer’s afternoon sun;
I saw that windows were figurative,
That Angels were literal,
That icons were forgotten memorizations,
And that caveats were the peaks and troughs of her supple skin
My hands caressed so.
My hands caressed so.
My hands caressed like wild winds flirting giant oaks
Drawing shadows as elixir cursed through my thoughts.
Here it danced amongst and on.
Where I thought I had begun, and knew I had rolled back to.
So I swam – figuratively – and saw what I had been waiting to see.