Tag: pocket

Toiling Shuffle, Softer (day 1967)

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Each shoulder I shift, shuffle,
Creaks with passion left un-stoked.
A winding splinter soaking
In the full moon’s setting sun,
A twisted root dancing
With leaves of another season.
Little whispers call out my name,
And it’s feeling a lot like rain.

So this path goes on,
Leaves fall to the tune of a breeze
And guesses punctuate each heave
With uneven ground, frolicking madly
Amidst pebbles and sticks
That grow wilder, fonder,
Of screw-top frameworks
Settling into the pocket
Of our toiling shuffle, softer.

A Different Song (day 1848)

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In my time of need
When I was growing strong
How could you say I was all wrong?
As I walked up to you
To ask a favor from
How could you sing a different song?

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

As I whispered to my friends
That we had stumbled upon truth
How could you yell upon your lungs
What we had already sent away
And claim it for your very own
Brought home as our one deluded messiah

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

I had two ounces in my pocket
You had traded me for my soul
Which I now carried forever more
Saying I was free in every deed
And on my lasting journey home,
So locked in your greedy empire I,
It was all unfaithful truth and a silenced song.

Like a feather that lives so long
Along the beak of a strong song
You were wisdom that we all needed
This last song to gather seed.

A Different Song by Ned Tobin

Letters with Hearts (day 1735)

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I remember the golden letter
I signed my last goodbye with,
A script I was particular proud of
With a rusty ol’ dipping pen
Tied up with lies and eternity
And how many times have I chosen to
Wave goodbye to you.
So I stuffed mixed emotions
Into a ball into my pocket
Sat on it for two days
And mailed it with no address.

Letters With Hearts by Ned Tobin

Unnecessary Badges (day 1699)

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I have begun to soften unnecessary badges of my heart,
Little lines that string my thoughts together
And bury desires and dreams into unnecessary angles.
World keeps turning and I’m crouching down,
Closing my eyes and embracing an uncertainty, insanity,
That’s lost sense in my sturdy hands.
My unnecessary badges and I have lost you –
Which isn’t going to change the moon or sun,
Which isn’t going to flutter my heart any more.
So I carried this unnecessary badge in my pocket,
Two white squares and one measured and cast circle.
Pulling upon corners of a my little lines,
And tangling my dreams because I love you.

Unnecessary Badges by Ned Tobin

No One on My Mind (day 1645)

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I am a lonely gambler
I’ve got chips in every pocket
Two cards up my sleeves
But with all my kings and aces
I’ve got no one on my mind

I visit all the dark rooms
All known enemies of state
Keep me company into the night
But with all my kings and aces
I’ve got no one on my mind

The rounds at half past midnight
Two cigarettes in my hand
I’ve been the gambler, I’ve been the loser
But with all my kings and aces
I’ve got no one on my mind

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Americana Red, White and Blue (day 1166)

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Star fucked the highway,
Americana is my name;
Revolution is a pocket
Carries forever remains.
You with your big chalk talk
Playing taxi in cris-crossed musings
Like an off duty ticket master;
An expired joke
With an obscene ending
That dates your sense of amusement
To about nineteen fifty but-fuck no-where.
And this skull tattoo’d late night stalker
Has a skid mark diagonal to your
Latest amusement,
Which lights up the night life
Red, white and blue.

Floorboards (day 1105)

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Pearls fell out my pocket today
As I shook from head to toe.
No, it was not a dance of
Twenty-some toes,
But a fury so deep
It saturated my own regret.
I laid there as they rolled about
Uneven floorboards.
Face to floor;
Face to roof.
I was uncomfortable
And still aloof.

Walking Tall (day 1028)

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He walked away and he wasn’t walking tall
He shrouded and hunkered;
Fixed and determined and leaving.
Under one arm was clutched a notebook
Used regularly for scribblings and incidentals,
The other held nothing:
Bare, sober, exposed.
Not waving or weighing, but tucked neatly inside
A warm and worn pocket
Reserved for the odd receipt.
But mostly for his hand, unconsciously scrunched
Into a ball that hardly swayed
As his slouch carried him away.

 

London - 052012 (79 of 302)

Old Favorite Sweater (day 930)

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I’ve unconditionally surrendered my old favorite sweater
It’s ok, I like her
But… there’s something about it
There’s a beat-up-rusty-truck memory
With worn seats – yellow foam surprises
You know, a once-was-navy-blue bench seat
Shift-knob-black that knows my sentimental touch
Caressing like I’ve driven her well
Like I’ve taken care not to drip gas-o-line
Checked the oil twice a month
And kept the tires at an even thirty five p-s-i

Perhaps the memories are shared with
These in-animate things
These pieces of fabric and steel-workers toil
That warm those chilling days
That don’t quite sit flush the whole way down
Letting familiar drafts rush up the back
Hands in my pocket

Perhaps this is why I smile when she’s wearing it
After all, it’s alright to let these things
Live a life of their own
To sit me down and coo in my ear
Hot chocolate and unconditional
Kind of love