Ghost Path (day 3011)

I want to believe that I’m the ghost
Walking through the woods;
One small cackle,
A broken branch,
An index of places been before.
I collapse
And am the definition of un-sturdy
For my limbs are limp,
My eyes deep blue pale,
My skin, the colour of
Ten thousand sins
Washed with a rectangular bar of soap,
And hair touching my shoulders
That feels like spider webs
Through a barely audible path.

Great Departure (day 2630)

Watched a blue sky tonight
Float away into dust
With starlight making it’s entrance
While sunlight rusted on
Carrying a short winged bird
Off into thy nether woods
Calling ahead to share
Evenings bounty, a full gathering
And though I worked long hard hours
Though I toiled away the day
Coming dusk soothed thy bones
A pleasant surrender thus I depart

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXIII (day 2007)

(part XXXII)

I woke with a start
As I heard the calling from within my dream
I knew something wasn’t right
And I looked for Lily and she was gone
The teepee door flapped lightly
In the dark summer night’s breeze
I grabbed my hatchet and stepped outside
Stars were out and the moon was shining
Waxing crescent – energy building.

My eyes adjusted and I listened
I didn’t hear another call
But I started walking along the ridge
Leaving the encampment behind
I walked for a while silently
In my moccasins Willow had made for me
With little beads Lily had threaded in
And thought of their faces
When they presented them to me.

I saw her standing on the other side of the clearing
Facing into the darker woods
That loomed in front of her
I couldn’t tell if she was in a trance
Or had been led there
But I didn’t want to scare her by coming up silently
Nor did I want to alert whatever demon
Should there be one at her mind.

I kept the hatchet in my hand as I approached
Watching the darkness for the spirit
And Lily turned around and looked at me
It was Lily in body, but in spirit it was not Lily
I clicked my fingers
Like I had been showing her how to recently
Then made the bird call she had made me practice
She had said if there’s ever an emergency
Make that call and her bluejay spirit
Will come to me.

I called again
And clicked again
And she shook her head
Like she was waving off a thought
And looked at me curiously
A bit confused
And asked: “Joe?”

When we returned to our teepee
Willow was boiling some peppermint tea
As we sipped the warm tea
Willow told me the story
Of the first time this happened
And what the medicine man had said
In my experience I had seen this before, too
I had learned in boarding school
That some kids sleep walked
Without knowing they sleep walked
Like peeing the bed
Something that one just comes to understand.

part XXXIV

The Art of Forgetting (day 1035)

Even visitors don’t bring lost songs
As they wipe their muddy shoes
At my open doors.
Like angels losing faith
I roam from here to you.

Along my back door, trails:
Straight out from here,
Switch crossing deeper into the woods.
I catch your disguise
Lost in my naked eyes.

Because I don’t know the answer.
I don’t know why we laugh
At birds feeding hungry.
I don’t know why I hear you
When you think long and
Deep into hollow’s eve
Flickering against the softness.

To catch me is your effort I praise;
Perhaps my missing piece,
My soul’s mate.
But long dropped baskets
Keeps staring at me.

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.

Ol’ Ginter’s Ruins (day 737)

There’s a lady I walk by-the-by
She drags her feet like
With hair out wide
She’s got an old black lab
That huffs and puffs
Up ol’ Ginter’s Hill

She ain’t much of a hill
But the ruins at the top
Make a nice place to stop
For a break and a view
Let my mind sit and stew
Upon the brick walls that remain

In front of ol’ Ginter’s ruins
Lays a meadow and a copse
Brooding in green
With a gurgling stream
Which I roam up and down
Day in and day out

Some days I go up
Above ol’ Ginter’s ruins
There’s a well up there
At the end of the trail
Along the gurgling stream
Where I listen to the wild

There are two paths
From ol’ Ginter’s hill
To the house where I stay
One weaves through the woods
The other: a wide rocky path
I always go through the woods

Ginter's Meadow
Ginter’s Meadow