Unceremoniously (day 2696)

It is not a fair game for you
Hearts bleed unceremoniously
Destruction forever forcing you
Oppression unannounced
While you are wondering why you?
“Why must our people feel this?”
“Why has this been for me?”
“Why can the others not see?”
“Who is here for me?”
Though many know what life is for you
Though your people value you
The world forgets you
Telling you silently
No place is safe for you
For your bloodline spills unceremoniously
Though fires flood each embankment
Left, blowing over you
Calling out your named ancestors
Forever running after you
Filling your chest with empowerment
With a fair game for you with you.

~ written for the oppressed peoples of the world

Moon at Midnight – Part IV (day 1978)

(part III)

As I sat crosslegged in the little clearing
Hidden as I was, deep within the forest
Heading East to the land of the Old People
I wondered about the faces I might see,
Faces of the men and women who would greet me,
Faces of the children playing in fields
And fields growing with the vigor
Only well cared for fields of tender hands can grow
I knew I would find
In the land of the Old People.

Beside me was a little patch of buttercups
That skirted the edge of deeper forest
Fallen logs and fir needles of this land
I could still hear the brook I had crossed
Calmly gurgling in the distance
My canteen still cold from its fill
My belly still churning from its fill
My fingers still wet and a cold
Only fresh mountain water can give,
A cleaning happily taken
Where I had let my bare feet soak gently a while.

My eyes scanned into the forest
Of an age I guessed ageless
Not a stump to be seen
Finding geometry in naturally fallen trees
Trees standing so tall my guess couldn’t reach
Moss covering so gently
I envisioned the industry nestled
Deep within the safety net of moss
That lay about thickly covered forest floor
Fungus’ mycelia layer hidden well
In healthy circles around the Ancient Giants
Old Man’s Beard hanging low
And spider webs zig-zagging
With its delicate fibers of care.

My pouch was always on me
No matter how far from camp I wandered
So as I moved away from my opening
I felt instinctively for my tools
Stepping over former soldiers
Rotting as life continued its circle
Through the efforts of decay
My soft crunch avoided the mounds
Finding edible mushrooms was easy
This early season of harvest
Upon edges of clearings I’d find strawberries
And blueberries and salmonberry brambles
So thick I’d get high
Feeding so heartily on such sugar
I knew it wouldn’t stay forever.

Fire starting was an economy no man could do without
No sane man that is,
For plenty of nights I’d been cold
In pure darkness of deep night,
But this night I had supple moss
And accessible wood dry enough to start
A warming dance in my blood
Soon the coals were hotter then the wood
That burned inside their whispers

My bed was simply a roll
The hard ground was something I was used to
I carried soft fur of a bear
On the top of my bag
Which I’d lay under my roll
To soften each night’s cold
My dream of a sheepskin
I had read about in books
Of old foreign herdsmen roaming
Highlands of Scotland
But I with my simple roll
Laid out on the ground.

part V

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Beautiful People (day 1824)

Why are people so beautiful?
Some days the ruin of my heart
Lingers upon my tongue
And touches my nose with the faintest scent
Of midsummer’s rain.
I cannot handle this pain
In the easiest of ways,
Waiting for my touch to return
And senses to die down.
For I am only a man,
Saddened by a never ending toil of life
To which I patch holes
With beautiful people in my heart.

Beautiful People by Ned Tobin

Lonely People (day 1435)

It makes me sad to think of lonely people,
Especially in a big city.
A city so big that for every lonely thought out there,
There’s an equally lonely thought going right back out.
That for every lonely person out there,
There is another lonely person
Thinking the same lonely things,
Wishing that other lonely people
Could be lonely with them, lonely together.
It’s sad thinking about
The rate of lonely people leaving the big city,
How if their lonely souls would have connected
With other lonely souls
– To make a collective happy soul –
How close that did actually come to be!
Imagine, two lonely souls passing each other on the street!
Perhaps just one more lonely thought
Would have been enough lonely thoughts
To summon all the lonely people.
How many lonely people must leave the city,
For other lonely people to take notice?
Is there a lonely person packing their tiny car up
With all their precious lonely memories stuffed inside
Leaving this lonely city right now?