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

North Thompson Field of Hay

Smokeless (day 339)

Peacefully I close my eyelids
Lay my sweet caress into the pits unknown
Put my legs upon the ground beyond
Perhaps too long to play the game
Perhaps too short to feel the rest

At the wheel the cool breeze stirs
Something inside that’s closed it’s mouth
Grip tight, lay waste the fight
Perhaps the gun’s been oiled tonight;
Leave smokeless, devour your plight

Onwards and upwards we float with the light
Little traces of emptiness flickering like firelight
And I with my pens, you with your swords
Scrounging up regret like it’s found in the back
Perhaps then, alone and bitter, I will…