I wandered into an empty barn, and couldn’t figure out why the hay still smelt fresh. My eyes adjusted with a twinkling daylight filtering in through cracks in the wooden walls, dust that may have once been settled was caught suspended in the beams of light and my eyes scanned the well worn floor, distracted by the antique tools laying about as if still in use. How could I know what had come here before? How could, with a flash like a blink, memories flicker through my vision as if my transistor radio had suddenly happened upon a past I knew well?
Tag: vision
Tracing Blurry Lines (day 1844)
My eyes have become the blurry vision
Of what they once used to see,
Fading sunlight in a white-washed
Washing machine.
The deck has become stained
With forgotten footsteps,
Leaving only smears
As marks on my mind.
And I delicately touch rough bark
Encircling our plum tree,
Tracing lines from hither to tither
Like the vision I once used to see.
Ode to the Clouds (day 1760)
In all my years of traveling days
You’ve been there by my side,
Led me ahead when I’ve been lost
Followed me close as I ran fast.
And when I pause to give you space
You’ve never let me down,
You’ve always shown me in animate
Horses and dinosaurs and ducks, sure!
Amidst visions I’ve of you,
Crumbling, rumbling, rambling and full.
Breaking and spitting and spinning too
To bring me closer yet, to you.
So when you are my lungs, I am all yours,
When you are so high, so far,
You are my dreams I send afar,
And when my sleepy eyes first wake,
It’s to the sky I send my morning eyes.
Steam (day 1683)
All that’s left is a silhouette
Screaming out in bursts of steam,
Each echo, forever damped.
Each heartbeat, forever cold
And solemnly lifting this black trailing gown
Lightly off Lucifer’s cold ground,
Frozen unevenly like ghastly daggers
So elegantly strapped
To my heaving chest in triumph.
And so fades thy vision.
Mended Arrows (day 1667)
I’ve left out all my wiles
For a holiday in heaven,
A turn upon the road
To reach where my heart is still as still can be.
You, you were always forgiveness,
You were the mended arrow
A light beyond my vision
But illuminating my walk.
And how come I’ve been dreaming
Of a memory I’m believing
When I’ve got all of my stories
In a rucksack on my back.
There were twenty one good reasons
To hold onto the heathens
As they quickly walked on past
All in excitement and pure jubilee.
But you, you are plenty appealing
You hold me in good standing
And have brought me all my planning
That’s been brought out in the end.
So darling, reach out your good hand,
A wand of my believing,
To make my heart forever bleeding
As an arrow for your sweet light.
Moon (day 1220)
Speak to me moon,
Eyes so wide.
Take me to dreams
And lullaby’s.
I coo at your vision
(Watch sun drop deep)
Your eyes, a mirage
And I am the stars.
Push Me (day 1151)
Push me.
Push twilight hours into dark corners
That swim amongst nevermore, nevermore.
Push my symbols into vertical black lines
Twisting about blurred vision scapes.
Push elephant hoof raindrops
Deep within my exposed and crackling skin.
Push out spring bloom’s beauty
Like a healthy garden explodes.
And if the camping hustlers deny
Engulfing catalytic tremors,
Then I shall be forced with all my might
To push my crows to vigor.
Where By Now (day 890)
I am loosing my way, path
My sight and vision that has drawn me
That has layered my soul
To be unraveled
Alone, confused
Clouded in a misguided belief
Loaned out to the public
Really, truthfully
Abandoned
Shifted like last season
Disregarded
Where by now
Amidst my centered thought
I have no more whole
And while lost along the way
I have imagined I
Am
Whole
To be purely mistaken
As if a premature frost
Escaping the night
Earth as We Know It (day 636)
Apocalyptic desires spread across the landscape into horizons of jubilant joy, needlessly wandering about the edges in a vignetted blur of reason and sacrifice.
All that was known then suddenly became lost, like the vision from the eyes when consciousness is shifted into the willing arms of a sideways glance, a flicker at the edges of a landscape.
Energy begins to build with anticipation and excitement; roaming birds know this feeling well, they make love to the feeling on sunny days when warm winds blow fresh scents of motherly creations of earth upon their nest.
Laying absentmindedness at the door, whipper-whisps swap the mind to the present, dust floats up from the awoken floorboards hitting sunlight that delights lovers, playing with time and space it’s exchange grows with anticipation into one final exultant gasp and releases such a tremor the rest fall into a deep dark sleep.
Deep within runs wild, from all except the grumpy gnome, the soldier of harbouring resentment, who scowls at all life and pushes away forthcoming joys to create for himself the place he never wished he had.
Alongside this dwelling of darkness runs a brook wild, over mossy rocks, through gnarled trees, past covered bridges, and out into the pussy willows and lily pads.
Taking away with it, from upstream down to the lowlands, all hate, love, magic, potions, desires, misspent emotions, and dying flowers into a new season of germination where new things shall sprout and grow with playful arches of sun that float onwards and away as the magical fruits of earth we know.