I am a breath
That lifts up my toes,
Tickles my ankles
And rushes my knees.
I am wind
That fills up my heart;
Left rib to right,
Belly button to spine.
I am an inhale
Refueling my source,
Taking natural bounty
Fully replenishing.
I am an audible exhale
Releasing everything all at once,
Letting my heart, in one motion
Exit out to return.
Tag: toes
Catered Driftwood (day 1383)
I paused to reflect on waves
Splashing my reflecting peace.
I knew that twinkling waves
Were unspent thoughts
Still waiting for my fancy.
Yet here I was, clear of thought,
Amongst children thinking it funny
To throw plastic cups in the sea,
Unaware of volunteers
Cleaning her from bow to stern;
Amongst gulls pecking at my toes;
Amidst catered driftwood
Aligned in rows.
Yet my thought was still overwhelmed
By sweet shining sun:
Heavenly as she chose.
And I lay still here
Until memory aligned again with thought,
And the sea was ebb and flow.
Out in the Open (day 1272)
Shadows in my heart
Are the types to be tested.
Are the types to be worn out.
Representing all I haven’t been.
Saving it all, loving it all;
Shifting working class numbers
Without an exhibition.
Count me down, live me up,
Wear me out; explicit.
Nanana na na na.
I’m out in the open.
Nanana na na na.
Matchsticks on the benches.
And like my mystery,
As I slide with the breeze
I come up with animosity,
Luminescity.
Chivalry in a shadow
Died like the one headlight.
One headlight making it right,
Making it anxiously toes tap,
Tippity-tap, tippity-tap,
Left right left. Left right left.
Nanana na na na.
I’m out in the open.
Nanana na na na.
Matchsticks on the benches.
Out in the open I stretch to the breeze,
I let go as I please and
Stretch upon all those I see.
You let go, you take aim,
You stick up with the pain,
You let go my hand.
You don’t know, and that’s all right.
Because we’re put here to ever play,
We’ve come here to forever stay.
Nanana na na na.
I’m out in the open.
Nanana na na na.
Matchsticks on the benches.
Medium Roast Pour Over (day 1194)
I am yet awake,
I have not yet groaned
My spider scaring roar
That echoes through these walls
And the cobwebbed corners of my mind.
But when I do,
When I finally wiggle my toes
And touch the cool cool floor
Of this autumn day morning,
I will smell the embracing aroma
Of my medium roast pour over.
Floorboards (day 1105)
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.
Lagoon (day 1068)
I was escaping a tear drop I had left beside the bed:
Tears of mixed emotions, like a fleeting moonlit night.
Stuck there; family man and the rock and roll band.
Jesus and his long haired hippies that didn’t wash their hands.
I played a mouth organ as I whispered at swans
Floating by the dock of this lost lagoon
Where my nimbly toes wash cotton balls free like fresh sheets.
I didn’t even turn around to that old familiar sound,
Lost in a pool of choreographed love letters
I’d heard in a song driving fast and straight down Paradise Road.
The things we used to do, the life I used to live.
An old loon used to sing the sun to sleep here every night.
Love Steps (day 1029)
What does it take to love you?
What does it mean to hold your heart?
Like a delicate silk perfectly folded
Into five evenly spaced sides
Without creases.
What kind of fingers dance, prance
About sticky honey-buckles?
Long strands of hair into the deepness of my soul.
For forever was a long drive
Straight West into sunset’s romantic heart.
What kind of foot pierces clear waters of a hidden brook?
What does the water taste like
After it drips off your tentative toes
Recoiling into giggles, riddling squirrels
Into silence.
A Love Poem To Myself (day 971)
This is a love poem to my own self,
All hairy and indulgent and breathing rapidly.
Because from the tips of my toes
To wisps upon the back of my neck
From the shape of my beak
To the curvature of my idle fingers
I am in love.
Constant thoughts that flutter through
Idle spaces of my mind
Keep my constantly occupied
With being me.
I love that it’s a gear
– Never ending clockwork –
Cycling through unidentifiable patterns
Undeniably grand
Our late night plans are always the finest
Delicacies like chocolate, popcorn,
And maybe even corn nuts
Fill up my dreams, the happy times
Times I spend my other time
Working towards expanding
Stretching it out so that even
Crunching noises become ecstasy
So my love, my true romance
It is my utter pleasure
To be yours forever.
Your breath is my breath,
Your thought is my care,
Your bend is my fold,
You are me, forever one.
Flip (day 942)
…and these beautiful tenses that flip then and now,
That close over my eyes and filter my dreams
Into little open-lid unmarked boxes
Arranged like a Braque exploration in cubism
These tenses float through thought, itching these dark corners
And flickering little sparks about.
Sensorial-wisps tingle my toes
And I close my fists a little tighter around patched memories
For brief moments then
As I stand alert, awake, and open
A vortex envelopes myself until that split second
Where I no longer have choice but instinct
…and I flip out, eyes fluttering
Glowing like a radiant being whose reached ecstasy
Who has just downloaded boundless formations
With Nag Champa floating and settling around
Frosty Morning Saunter (day 891)
A motionless saunter through the cold grass leaving footsteps every bloody place that I go and picking up my feet without tying up the laces because the gloves on my hands are too warm and the air is too cold but the path ahead is shaking and quivering in unrelenting uncontrolled mastery non-mastery in spite my insistence on leaving my hands out of their pockets to fight this urge to cower and shelter from the brutal elements hoping to bridge the gap between strength and toughness without too many frost bites but this is ok because I read about it in a book that told me I should and it told me it’s valiant and it told me I can walk on coals with bare feet too because the skin between my toes is too soft and could use a good toughen up but oh my look at that large dog walking down the now covered in leaves path about to jump up on me because I treat it like a human being and acknowledge it’s existence for who in their right mind wouldn’t want to jump up on me with such an acknowledgement but you know the dog is so friggen big it’s like a young man feeding must be expensive is all I can think as my steps trace up the frozen tarmac slipping on the thin layer of ice hardly visible and highly wavering but all is good because I’m about to peak this crest and stand for a moment on the highest point and survey my kingdom for it is my kingdom for it is my kingdom for it is my kingdom that I survey due to my commitment to walk the coldest slippery path in all the woods in the mornings before the dusk has settled in and after all of the leaves have come flying down to the maker of their fate named gravity and decay and decomposition and footsteps along the singletrack path between the naked branches of thinner than I thought birch trees awaiting the bounty of springs sunshine because I’m not ready to give up on the year yet I’ve got plans to formulate and materialize and time to waste and sleep to never catch up on and a nice warm cup of coffee around noon because I’ve begun to let down my guard for certain things as I raise my guard for garbage and consumption and waste and destruction of our land this land my land my kingdom I saunter through on this cold frosty morning good morning world good morning world good morning world get up and go now take it off.