Tag: wooden

At Home

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There’s a mountain of crows
Crawling about my mind.
Distant snowy peaks
Tall, looming firs
And the faint, eerie howl
Of the wind
Settling through furry boughs.

I dont want comfort anymore
I want slow, agonizing pain
Of cold feet and biting breath.
Let darkness fill my voids
With only the fire
Inside my eyes
Feeding the warmth.

Here, I will stack wood
Against stained boards
Of an ancient vision;
Architectures ancestor
Where notches have been worn
By our rattling wind
That kept the night
Hallowed at home.

Arc Beams Vision (day 3020)

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I have a vision
Been coming stronger
Sitting in the middle
Of a wooden floor
Carpets laying around
Neatly arranged
Raw browns and orange
And fringe
And a comfortable
Record spinning
Easy for my heart
With a friend
Who’s looking into my eyes
To find a vision
With the smell of herbs
Floating into our souls
Palo Santo,
Incense and a candle
And plants
Creeping around the room
Like they invited me there
To sit
Like a student at the altar
Singing with the open air of breath
So clearly enchanting
The moment in the sun
As it arcs its way across
The beams of this vision.

I Want to Feel You (day 2952)

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I want to feel you
Until the lonesome bubbles
Fade away from my open eyes,
Huddled in the darkness;
Wooden chair holding
My scissors and notebook.
I want to feel you
So the open pages
I haven’t found to mark
Stay to the light
Forever low
Outside your door;
Knocking my heart
Ceases, overwhelmed by thunder.

Fallen / Left (day 2553)

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I could be falling over you,
Knocked down by time
Left here to wind my way
About books and seeds
And burnt candles
Handled by delicate hands
To the tune of Chopin
Rustling pages of a score
Over aged ivory keys
On a wooden floor
Showing signs of nostalgia
In gray and white carvings,
Had I known any better.

Fresh Hay (day 1847)

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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?

Yellow (day 1570)

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Shake your hands little man
Rumble rumble rumble.
Shock proof and submerged
I’ve become a yellow alien
Lost in a foreign land.

Shake it in a glass pint of feel good yellow
Until it hurts so hard nutshell
There begins quite a rumble.
Put your guns outside now,
The blood is run down.

Bitter is the agent of change;
A sour heart upon edges of my spine.
My yellow in the midst of your confusion.
An iron, coyly, in a state of disconnect
And my flattening ceases, rumble rumble.

I hope you found the keys –
Open sitting etched wooden door.
Explanations come out
Flight from a thousand monarch butterflies
In a thousand shades of yellow.

Soil-Meet-Water (day 1311)

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Can you make this wind so calm?
Eyes become lost amidst time,
Fall whithers deep beneath frozen soil
In an exhale from sweet Gaia youth.
Hands beneath a wool fleeced warmth
Trace aged and soggy wooden trusses
To ground all paths sturdy,
Placing soil-meet-water underneath
Obstructions aging gracefully,
With moss
Silhouetting a vista worn on the sleeve
At fogs deepest moment, neigh.

image

Honest Greenthumb-Man (day 1230)

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I grow my tulips in large wooden buckets
Pansies are higher, in small clay potters
Resting precariously upon railings and windowsills

Then here we have hanging from awnings and perches
Creative little baskets filled up within:
Snap dragons, petunias, geraniums, lobelia
All overflowing with blossoms of life
Watering is fun for you know when it’s done
By the stream of water flowing out the base

Now off to the side of this here green kept lawn
Is a boxed off topsoil-rich haven of growth
Strictly for vegetables and strong smelling herbs
Which will feed me this summer
Well, most of the summer, after they’ve ripened
After they’ve grown high and wide

Some of them root plants, digging into earth
I’ve built up on rows to give them wide birth
Others are leafy greens with big flapping wings
Reaching out high for the hot summer sun
One row I planted with mixed lettuce fantasia
Its colours range wide, from green, purple, yellow

Well, that is my garden, my flowers and vegetables
It isn’t that big, and it’s grown a little wild
But it makes an honest greenthumb-man out of me.

Southern States (day 508)

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All too drearily I drag my heels across the torn leaves turning wooden colors
A light evenings sprinkling has left that wooooooshhhhh feeling in the air
Smells trying it’s best to pick my head up
But the wind is winning that battle as it charges through my vein
I’m thinking about the things I gotta do
Getting a sudden understanding that it’s been done before
I’m not walking original streets anymore
I’m a two bit pony at the stallion races
Diners and hip fashions line these streets with eager faces laughing out loud
It’s an optimistic buzz that I’ve missed sailing
It’s the flight south and I’ve been caught chilling

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see an oasis
A spot in the middle of this barren land that’s calling my name loud
Like the 4th of July in the Southern states: IT’S SCREAMING
So I check myself and take a tug on my cuffs
I know this is going to take a while