Rose Petals

This is not a trail of broken hearts;
Fallen crimson rose petals
Reminding me of each cycle
Lost and reborn
Sun and moon dance.

This is a ripening and maturing
A ferment and bottle conditioned
Led by the golden tears
Of Springs fresh showers.

A frosty morning
With birds calling from branches
Yet bearing,
And a sly cat whispering:
Good day Sir, come along.

Not Spoken

I’m not spoken anymore
Dried in a bottom of dust
Let my soul sing
With fire sparks tonight
Can’t I get along alone
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.

Forget every song
I’ve written all wrong
Glory and frail,
Perfect and undone
Startling morning sun
My breath: heavy hung
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.

Empty this bucket
Lost in a sea
Between footsteps
Greeting me
And it’s dark
Close my eyes
To forget
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.

What Is Blessing?

What is blessing?
What is blossom?
What does hard work
Have to do
With my faith and trust?
How often does govern
Intervene with my magic,
Causing my inner blessing
To be lost in a sea of greed.

For my beacon
And my bacon
Do not get seared
Upon the same boiler.
I am a beacon
Like the sun;
Guiding by virtue,
Blazing in darkness,
Finding strength
Through built upon resistance,
Friction in consciousness,
And letting go
Until I no longer need to grasp.

Sitting here I hear policemen
Waving flags and shaming.
Sitting here I hear lawyers
Convincing me of wrongdoings.
Sitting here I hear government
Enacting laws of oppression.
Sitting here I hear,
And I see busy-ness
Building friction
To work itself into
Hellfire inferno.

From this darkness
Ignites foreverago,
A lost simplicity
Sitting in calm;
A bird singing,
A simple inclination,
Base necessities.
There is luxury in nothingness.
There is excess in freedom flow.
There is grand
In what we havent nurtured:
In an ancient Douglas fir,
In ripples of a frozen river,
In breath of wind,
In depth of a blossoming tulip.
There exists here
The base and carnal glow
Lifting thy vibrational flow.

What is blessing?
Did it come to you wrapped?
Did it accompany you from third to fourth gear?
Did it fly with you in a jet aeroplane?
Was it bought at Louis Vuitton?
Was it rolled up and smoked?
Was it intervened in a safety net,
An involuntary rule?
An orgasm of confusion?
What is blessing?

Bellows

This cold landscape bellows,
Blowing endlessly
With a high pitched wallow
And I am not a voice in it.
No animated gust of white dust,
No longing wave of seed heads bobbing,
No tall tree, naked and exposed
Arms wide open
Awaiting for the sun.

This cold landscape bellows,
And I sit in isolation
Completely enveloped
By a drawn sensation.
Dampness smouldering the fire
As snow melts to ice I sit upon,
And the red tinge of frozen willows
Keeps this glowing fire
I have not set.

Ohana

Take me back there
Waterfalls and tropical foliage
Reverberating along my spine
Soaked with sweat
A deep summer hike
Wearing my clean eyes
And high tides.
I jumped
Like you jumped
Into the deepness there.
A riverbend
An oceanscape
A photograph I’ll always take
That had my ride
In shotgun
Prana, Ohana, sun.
And on the way home
Pure darkness
I had my imagination
Remembering
What I had not seen
A sloping hill
Into the open sea
Around the bend
And horse stables
Wild as I’ve never been free.
Don’t take me back to misery
I’m here with you now,
I am a dusty road sign
Still signalling the way
Upon a path
I know by heart
Ohana I’m on my way.

Moon And By Sun

I am drained of life
Though calming gray Moon
Shines full into my vision.

My mornings wake
With such vast opportunity
Yet I slouch my way
Into an odyssey;
Blurring noises
From Nature’s highway
Busy outside my open window.

This tea alerts me
It brings my senses
Towards the front of my tongue
So that I can find my voice
Rescued from the deep depths
Of a tortuous night.

And here, upon my tongue
A caress felt within my memory
Time spent in my youth
Unabided,
For Spring spirit in Summer Sun
Reaches no Plymouth too soon,
And this warm milk and honey
Resting on my lips
Shall be enveloped by
Moon and by Sun.

Early Morning Hour

In the early morning hour
Wind seems to lay down
Rising sun sets out to warm
Every frosty blade of grass
And when my horse is saddled up
I mount my trusty steed to roam
Every bit of our home range
To find my cows and learn the land
For my life I’m setting out
Warm coffee in the morning
Another day to go about
In this early morning hour.

Tears Over A Sickle Bar (day 3218)

I tried to love you
With your broken ways
Spent the hours
Repairing your fractures
And took the time
To slow down
Listening to your hum
As you rocked back and forth
In the long sun
Struggling away
At cutting
Grass into hay.
But your fractures
Broke into cracks
And left me lurching
Struggling away
Too many times
To keep heart strong
Determined to make it work.