I am the grass.
I am the moon at night
As the dew soaks my soul.
I am the tree:
Deep roots.
So close my eyes,
Let the music carry me
Past the littlest leaf
Upon me, the tree.
Let the clouds roll on
As I wish them well.
Let the moon and me
Be the grass and sea.
Tag: soul
A Wander (day 1131)
Lost in my lagoon I wander warily.
I think of night’s last spoken words
Echoing deep within my soul;
Resonating lifeline which
I reach out to
And lay them at my idle feet
Asking what shall then be done:
“What maketh thou of thine?”
For all the steps into thy forth
I reach out to my moon,
I reach out and ask myself
Upon the soil I walk:
“For with my gaze
That I spend forth
Away, into thy soul,
Where have I lost my only choice,
Where have I lost my voice?”
With wisdom I have become
A speaking voice for my tribe,
That let alone, that with my own
Shall spread throughout the valley.
And in this valley
Of my own soul
I spread out up to the peaks
And let my voice
Echo deep, and find the lasting grace.
Little Spoon (day 1118)
I am the little spoon
That lives in the hill,
Scalloping hoodwinks
With masterful might.
An age old tradition
My father’s father told,
Forgiveness unheard to
Plant out my soul,
For I am the little spoon!
Happy lives fold.
Yet here I am
Amongst leftover pine,
A scraggly drain
In a dirty edged pond,
Mystery splashes
To my father’s better half,
Which I cannot explain anymore.
Which I ply with my little spoon.
Forgotten (day 1103)
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.
Smoking Gun Saloon (day 1098)
I was gambling at the Big Gun Saloon.
A lone mescalito biting the fat end,
Lookin’ for a chance.
I gambled often, too often.
A riverboat of floating luck
With legalized six shooters
Yelling my splashing soul goodbye.
I danced with happy Jacks
In a smoking gun saloon.
Ladies with rumpled tushes
Blowin’ kisses on good nights.
Everywhere: adultery in bedackled gems,
Fishnet in blackened stockings,
And a room awaiting cowboy’s boots.
I loved her like a riverman,
Steady and full of piss
Navigating curls running this stream long.
And then she whispered:
“If you ain’t out by noon,
I’ll be throwin’ in yer boots,
Or if you fancy another ride
I’ll be you’re shining star all night.
But either way, it’s been two days
And I ain’t seen you high stack all ride.
So if it’s all the same to you, Sir,
I’ll have mine paid: fair share.
So I can find myself a meal,
I’m hungry and loveless,
Waiting on this ordeal.
Now I trust you, and don’t be puttin on,
This was the deal we made, my trust.
Now do me kind and have it out,
And I’ll be on my way.”
Those were the words I heard sung again
As my splashing soul went out,
And the legalese was spitting up
Lead tipped water kisses into my eyes.
Heartbeat (day 1086)
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.
Sister Curiosity (day 1085)
I missed your hand, we reached to touch;
A blossom in spring and my soul’s a window.
And we don’t need sound responses
To beckon our eyes awake now,
We don’t need a perfect sentence
To shine on down in spring’s lasting blossom.
I am aware you painful memories,
Took filtered glimpses at running water.
To be the liver of animosity,
A grand entrance with delicate personalities.
Discussion and her sister curiosity
Played the small orchestra to my memory.
A Naked Gift (day 1071)
Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.
Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.
Tax Man (day 1051)
I’ve marched here across my anchored points
Delivering pain to sinister few.
The tax man has come,
And he’s collected from me.
Now I’m delivering antisocial notes
With expressed tones,
Lingering intonations,
Fingering about my fretting tongue.
Gathering my fees, I’m straddling.
Marching and lifting and leaving.
And condemning, loudly condemning
The unspoken children, gallantly smiling.
So leave me here if you’ve forgotten your manners.
I’m not ancient, I’m not sunken deep.
Present and lofty and collecting a fee,
The tax man has come, and he’s fixin’ for souls.
Never Anarchy Love (day 1045)
It’s never the end all
The catch your breath
And look back a second time.
It’s never anarchy,
Two bits vying for love.
It’s a death trap,
And Boris is dead.
We aren’t the restless,
We’re the owners:
Ruthless and cheap.
Talking back and rigging it,
Cheap thrills and lose tongues
And leaving worthless, spent.
Cause I’m not alive
– Horribly penniless –
Missing all the good times.
I walk with arms open
For your outstretched revolution
To move my soul.
To catch me
To look back and
For all my breath, moments
Stretched into life and death.