I am not alone,
I am not abandoned
In my misery
To flush out
Battling conceptions
And wish well
In long nights
That remind me of
Good times that
Never last.
I am not a mourner,
Neither have I been left
To fight this battle
With all my wisdom
– Shining bright,
And reminding old visitors
That nostalgia
Bites even the strong at heart
Who leave traces of life
In the wake of their presence.
Tag: old
Bucket of Long Love (day 1237)
Roaming in my old soles,
Shifting with every eye.
Long horns and jet legs:
Spirit and the Darkness.
Long lasting in the dark night,
Some coming in the late sun.
Some forgetting to ever run.
In a bucket of madness
Spitting into all rocks.
Fast asleep on never gone.
Lagoon (day 1068)
I was escaping a tear drop I had left beside the bed:
Tears of mixed emotions, like a fleeting moonlit night.
Stuck there; family man and the rock and roll band.
Jesus and his long haired hippies that didn’t wash their hands.
I played a mouth organ as I whispered at swans
Floating by the dock of this lost lagoon
Where my nimbly toes wash cotton balls free like fresh sheets.
I didn’t even turn around to that old familiar sound,
Lost in a pool of choreographed love letters
I’d heard in a song driving fast and straight down Paradise Road.
The things we used to do, the life I used to live.
An old loon used to sing the sun to sleep here every night.
My Old Eyes (day 1033)
I want to stand with my old eyes
Facing the wind
Because I know distance
Shed after lonely nights,
Long long slow lines
From symphonies choir,
And my lovers second name
Echoing through my mind.
My old eyes decide.
My old eyes decide.
My old eyes decide
That I’m to have no shame,
And long night remains the same.
For how long?
For how long.
To which the choir stepped up
And out with my saving grace.
But all still remains,
And the wind blows my name.
To Harbor (day 909)
It is hard to be away,
To waltz down the street
Without your hand in my elbow.
To eat alone.
Your face my thoughts company.
With moments of clarity
Sparking the fire
Inside my soul.
It’s harder to slip
Into cold sheets at night
Without knowing
When next you shall be waiting,
Giving, expecting.
Warm breath tickling my nape.
Warm smile to curb my blues,
Warm kitchen to feed my soul.
And when last I find grace,
Will harbor – my old bones –
Be welcome to thine dear heart?
Don’t Walk: Run (day 875)
Deceive me without eyes beyond clicks of ancient truths that flow like feathers around the citadel, dancing nimbly about while systems shriek in glory-warrior-cries echoing through the midnight sky.
I will not be plundered, wallowed into sober thoughts while brightly colored patrons and ladies of shallow rooms get lost in their own smirking madness that filters ancient wisdom, solid grains of smoke filtering down silk sheets mesmerizing wild charletons with holy charms and glittered dancing.
Trees that flower madness can only hold back repeating chants that break shrouding silence echoing through walls plied thick with rice paper. Concubines shuttling in asynchronous chaos holding lanterns and ringlets and long slender blades through their hair pretending each step means a little more than the last.
How could I stop when I, half naked in the moonlight grasping at smouldering clouds passing through open spaces in the starlit sky. I curled up my toes and dipped my hips while pushing against the tops of my mouth. I’ll elope with whoever I please if it’s all the rage in Little Japan Town. Circling around the erect landscape staring back at me like some Hamilton at the top of the mountain.
Get back to business before light comes up over the left side of the highway. I’m on my way out and this ain’t lookin too happy with all my flowers wilting in darkness’ hour. Cry, with unbounded jubilee, cry those beautiful eyes till their bottom-of-the-shoe-black. Cry until neighbourhood dogs bark along to sorrow and malaise because they bloody well can, they can rip their lungs out and feed them down their throats while licking their lips and begging for more.
Don’t walk: run. Run until running speeds up to faster running and sprinting begins to bleed and basterds start to bleed and whispers start to bleed and candles begin to bleed and pencils begin to bleed and bleeding begins to bleed and all the screaming children yell at the top of their lungs and sit there and wallow in sorry they haven’t even begun to understand because THEY JUST AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH. THEY AREN’T OLD ENOUGH.
I’m just not happy enough.
Old English Accent (day 782)
It wasn’t too long ago that I
Wandering through fields waist high
Came upon one friendly blade of grass
That spoke to me in old English decree
Thus like:
Forsooth it is thy jolly Lombard
Erect in flight of recent folly
That doth not retire grand ambition
That doth not spare no damsel plight
Amongst thy gallows of conquered fate
Whence settling down amongst thou bromus
He contemplates his recent fight
And not one hour should pass thy penance
When thou stumblt upon a gift that gave
So lovely displayed be suit noble court
Of kindly and jolly King Edward the IV.
And in this gift so deep a sentiment
Earl Warwick, himself! ere be knelt
The gift to seekers shall be found
Not in man’s work but in mankind
Thou gift is also found upon
Thy brow of revelations crown
And to this joy that I’d now found
While wandering to and then to fro
Reciting, by name, the grass that grew
Here I would learn to love anew
Sounds From My Heart (day 752)
I fear you will grow old
Without sounds of my chest on your ear
I long for touch from your fingers
Pulling me back
I see your figure sway to the music
Fixing snacks to eat together, touching knees
I hear your voice as it carries
Around the house with Leonard Cohen
I fear you will grow old
Without sounds from my heart in your ear
Summer Fun (day 708)
Today’s a new day
Birds on my way
Around in the park
Amidst old fallen bark
I walk for my health
Native American stealth
Dipping and dashing
Jumping and splashing
Warm weather’s blowing
Gone is the snowing
Green shoots are showing
Life begins glowing
Where naked the trees
In cool winter’s breeze
Soon shall be covered
Green nature’s sheltered
Yellow shifts away
Natural aging and decay
Spring change has begun
Anticipate summer fun!
To Make This Ending Alright (day 540)
There is no age that is old enough
There are no journeys long enough
No steps that take you high enough
No song that lasts long enough
To make this ending alright
Your infinite smile that greeted guests
Lingers long after the visit rests
Lawnmower rides with a mile wide smile
Together, no memory strong enough
To make this ending alright
The time we’ve shared
Has taken me into a land
Far beyond dreams and into
The hands of strength and belief
To make this ending alright
So now is not the time to fret
Time to weep into our sorrow
It’s time to praise the lasting life
That fills our remaining breath
To make this ending alright
~this poem is to give strength to all of you out there, healthy or sick, to fight and enjoy every last breath you have~