Marrow (day 2351)

I wrote a poem as depths of summer
Did I know it would collapse?
I followed the wind into sweet trees
And left my marrow to bleed.
I cried a last chance
Like winds over emptiness
I called and hung on to a word
Yet unspoken was my very reply.
Soon I had walked beyond
Escaped a southern wind
And opened my book to a lost page
Again, a cold and fleeting choice.

Rolling Along (day 1941)

A long way from home
And two coyotes howl into the night,
Pale moon’s looking me in the eye,
And I don’t got no campfire going tonight.

A saddle’s a lonesome companion
But this trusty steed’s sure good to me,
Four hooves and a long mane
And my dusty trail goes on.

A valley’s spread is my eager eye
Around every cresting corner,
Naming trees and flicking bees
And I’m just rolling along.

Infinite Night Sky (day 1167)

A night sky that dances from star to star,
That takes my hand down darker paths,
Down the aisle of no-regrets that hover
Close to cavernous regions of no-ones soul.
A night sky that silhouettes ancient trees
Reflecting what little ambiance echoes out
From unsuspectingly glowing eyes.
A night sky that answers my little questions,
Dangerously scattering edges of hidden thoughts
That crawl to me naked [just like a lover].
A night sky that blinks when I blink,
Slowly remembering the far away feeling
That covers patterns and kaleidoscopes
And fills up my dreaming with geometric simplicity.
A night sky that lets our universe open
Into ten-thousand tiny little flashes
Of infinite brilliance, infinite suggestions
Of which tip-toe lightly to the tune of tranquil.

Protest Poetry (day 975)

What was the arctic before it became an oil well?
What was a forest overrun with trees?
What was my name before I was a sibling?
What was my right before I’d been stamped?
Did I come straight from a hologram?
Was I brought home on a road?
Whence and where from did the light come?
And the warmth, did it come before gas, painted and housed within four block walls of a thousand pixels per inch?
Where did I walk to before a wood chipped trail led my way?
How did the day fill before the calendar?
Can a city be a city without city lights?
How did one tarry about a late night corner before floating electric drones showed I was withing safety?

Because dammit, I’m starting to wonder
Is there any point in the quest?

What is the point in stuffing our bellies?
Where did the idea of nik-naks come hither from?
How did function get replaced by aesthetics?
When did choice become demand?
When did want become a dire need?
Why did our brothers and sisters turn from extensions of ourselves to examples of our desires?
When did we lose all of our trust?
And where has my community resettled?
Where has my tree grown its roots?
Where is my moon?

This is a protest poem

Reverie (day 967)

The day that I died
I rose to heights I’d never imagined
I screamed at the clouds
For breaking my ascent
And snarled at the trees
For leaving me behind

The day that I died
I put two left socks on my right foot
I wore my pants a little bit low
To scare old folks
And throw out literal puns
Like the madman I was

The day that I died
I gave mother the biggest hug she’d ever had
She felt within her own arms
The rise and fall of my own heart
She cried great tears that washed away villages
And carved out the mighty Fraser

The day that I died
My heart went to Tibet
Where it sat upon a flagpole
And could do no harm
In times of need, it was unbounded luck
To those who wished upon it

The day that I died
Not a piece of green grass died
Lush was the planet
As the stars made way for me
To call into eternity
That which cannot be given a name

The day that I died
Reverie floated about
Where we lost moments that chided
Our deep complexion of humanity
And all about the silent house
Peace was found existing

Written (day 965)

Letters budge my soul
They dig deep
They remind me of a moon lit sky
Shining down on my half inebriated eyes
A little goblin that wrestles with trees
Dark and settling in
Just holding form until scripts are written

Letters make me remember
Not just my latest flirtations
But memories of my soul’s soul
That existed when plastic didn’t fill
Empty holes mines didn’t dig
Long ago, filtered through memories

So remember
As letters float on by my closed eyelids
As fat cats dodge rat traps
That morph their edges into lost doorways
It’s not just whispers that shift unfiltered frequencies
It’s corpses and serifs, un-written and un-scripted
Un-animated in a midnights grace
That pull my toes tight in a grip of pure delight

With The Eagle (day 928)

The Eagle flies with me tonight
Around tall lean trees
The anger of cold winds
Flexing thunder in eyes of darkness
With whispers lightly tossed with Zeus’s talons

And I – with my cry – let fall great prey
Great beasts of ancient lineage
Who scream loud
When I soar near

I am gliding through torrents tonight
With the Eagle by my side

Fly Southward (day 878)

Audible melodies yell out to me
From browns and yellows and oranges
And decay coiling around the forest floor
Waltzing in a downward spiral
Escaping grasping tops of trees
Shedding for coming seasons
And Orchard grass spreading seedlings
About the popular field surrounding
Swept about by gusting winds
Tickling the noses of passing strangers
While squirrels burrow deeper
Birds fly southward
And sun sets earlier

2013.10.09 - Prince George Forest (23 of 176)