Inner Bird

What is the real reason for my inner voice?
Is this ego?
Have I whispered so loudly
To all Grandfather trees
That my echo and sensations
Are no longer my own?

Has my inner bird
Whistled alone
In surrounding scenes of chaos,
And called home
Mother Hen
Whom I sit under this great canopy with?;
Oaks and Elms and Maples.

Does my voice match my vision?
Do I see sky blues,
And earthy browns,
With forest greens all around?
Or have I become muddled
Lack of colour:
Grays, black, and cement.

Soul

What is my voice?
How does it come from within
But it is not of myself?
Would I have been wrong
To have heard it?

I bring my soul to the earth
Both by sitting upon it
By feeling it within my toes
And by listening to it
Sweet songs of assumed innocence.

But then if I stay
How long do my thoughts stray
What ebbs and flows within?
Can I settle down
Upon a dear limb
And become like green foliage?

Setting sun
Reminds me of home
So my home is where I shall roam
And here I slip back
Into my routine
Soul, still here,
Accompanying me.

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.

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.

Inner Heart

Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.

To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.

But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.

There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.

So It Came (part IX) (day 3181)

(part VIII)

National Banks printed more money
To give to their friends
That was backed by the Government
Who guaranteed the debt
Of a failing business
A shifting economy.
So the democratic government
With capitalistic inclinations
Overruled the citizens voice
And saved bloated businesses
From serving their own ruin.
And this made the citizens happy
They all sang out: “We’re saved.”
And they celebrated in the streets
With hate slogans of peace
And angry marches of non-violence
And fear deeply in their hearts.

(part X)

So It Came (part IV) (day 3176)

When the Doctors spoke up
The Government stepped in
One, Two, Three
Soon all of them
Inevitably
Began to speak up
For their subjects
(With Fear in their mouths
For it was Fear speaking)
An unknown
Hidden deep in their voices
Unsure and against everybody.
It was at this time
The Government
Of their loyal subjects
Began to circumnavigate
Each law the man named Democracy
Had written into books.
Government
Soon began to realize
That only a select few people
Were able to thrive
In this kind of environment
As it so happened
And it was as it has always been
The ruling class profited
Off the desperate and fearful
Backs of the ruled.

Lost River (day 3144)

For what should not
Like the greens in Spring
Vines creeping
Up the sides of your leg
Moss involved in lineage.

Memory was lost
With blue-black baskets
That bobbed unevenly
About hands of ancient grain
Settling into the hallows.

And River flowed
With anonymous voices
That reached the trees
And clouds, boulders, and lichen,
And touched the lips
Of each those lost.

Come Close (day 3103)

I don’t know how to tell you I love you anymore
For every way I know of has been told.
There’s no light I haven’t seen you amicably in,
No space I haven’t felt your soul in,
No memory I haven’t found
Where I’d thought you don’t belong
And my song’s always filled with your name.
But the days that pass
Are filled with an unmistakable void
That is you not being here by my side
Which silences my song to every corner of my world
And hurts me like a dying star should.
Where do I go to feel my sorrow
That hasn’t already been felt deeply so?
What path can I take that leads me astray
To a new thought upon a new day?
Where are your words that paint me pictures
Of what keeps you far off, away
To put my mind in an infinite at ease
And understanding of what furrows my brow?
So I tarry and wander
With my hands buried deep
Shaking off the cold inferno,
With my voice, hardly shaking
Reminding me always
That it’s you whom I love
So come close.