Just For You (day 1803)

I’m not following these cool habits,
Smooth trends and fine catchy style.
I’m letting those things be
Without any real help coming from me.

You see, what I’m lighting to be
Is the real me.
A me void of all this consumption,
Distraction and greed.

It’s a long line for the starving;
I’m holding a short stick to poke,
And what’s left here of me
Is all here just for you.

If I keep pretending again,
It’ll be the end of this straw I’m sure.
And if I’m not here with truth
Then I’m not here, in truth.

Young Fir tree copse in the Temperate forest on Vancouver Island

Skivvies (day 1357)

I do the laundry because I’m a man,
Not because I’m told to do it
And not because my balls are held for ransom.
No, manliness is the epitome of style.
Style cannot exist without cleanliness.
The two are mutually inclusive events!

I fold sheets with perfect edges
And keep socks paired by elasticity.
My skivvies though, those shape accentuating
Pieces of gentle cloth – that hold tight
My prized pieces of manly nature –
Get tumbled and crumpled into my exciting drawer.

Foreign but Traditional Airports (day 736)

It was cold as I stepped off the airplane in that small foreign airport, so many miles from home and not a plan, save for you.

You were an adventure, insight into a foreign world with a warm couch to sleep on. A world I had spent so many years learning about.. planning for.

An adventure with a heart wide open and arms firmly closed, cobblestone streets ancestors had walked upon and a quiet corner of a once booming shipping port.

There was a long bus ride with anxious questions as friends long been separated chatted, and the grand tour through old town with a heavy bag and just a little bit of complaining.

Awaiting at the airport pacing back and forth, I wondered where she was. My phone was expired, no money in my pockets, not even an address to go to.

Biezpiens is a traditional dish. It was necessary, so was the fresh selection of strawberries at the old farmers market. And a little slice of chocolate, traditional chocolate.

There was a dog; a big brown Lab/Sharpei mix with big ears and bigger paws. She was an anxious dog, the kind that pulls at the leash every step of the way. Leaves, sticks, strange smells, other dogs…

Twice a day I’d walk her through the retired graveyard, searching every gravestone for recognizable names. Never found any.

Ever step I felt like I could see horses pulling buggies, old top hats and pointed mustaches. The signs of old Baltic Ritterschaft nobility.

I’d find new paths every day I’d walk the city streets. New buildings that were old buildings, new corners of the city that were old corners of the city. I’d learned cobblestones made quite a racket when car tires roll over them.

I left there in love. In love with a city, in love with a way of life. In love with a style. In love with a woman who did not want to love me.

I left there with a hug from her and a lick from the dog for a long full bus ride. The whole way to the foreign airport early that morning I stood with my bags about my shoulders, fighting the woes of leaving my heart behind and the dizziness of hardly a breakfast in my belly.

Of course the only thing I could think of was the laughing while smiling.

Riga - 201209 (26 of 605)

Dear Children (day 458)

My dear children
I’ve been waiting here some time
I’ve been holding onto my book
Flipping through the yellowed pages
Thinking of you

My son, your charmed elegance
Your presence simply beams my pride
Startling personality
That I grow to appreciate
How I’ve missed you

Dear daughter of my own style
How beautiful your long hair is
You make me long so much of my younger days
I wish I still had your skin
My beautiful girl, the love we have

I cherish these times my dear Children
I wish we could always remember
These beautiful moments here
Sure enough, as days pass on
We will not laugh nearly as much

Lost is For Good (day 137)

Lost lovers and lost sinners
Remind me of death
Accept it and rage it
Decide to eat it alive

It’ll set you not forward
If you take it to heart
It’ll teach you to crawl
If understand it you try

Wail out a beat given lonely
Narrate a poem long and comely
Never sit down in style
With past; long, gone, and well