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29 Jun

Reading tales about the dead

Why would they care about the legacy they left?

Do across the void we carry caring gifts?

Surely love is lost after the veil lifts.

–

In awe the way the kinder ones persist

Projecting love through the grey mist.

The others get forgotten though.

Forgotten lives of the so-so.

–

The cloudy bits I left for free.

When you go and take your memory

Leaving words to some bored entity.

A whisper ripe with ambiguity.

–

Will all the love and hope I leave

Touch my children’s children’s children’s sleeve?

Will I give storied forests or will I give scribbled leaves

Based on my disinterest in my own family tree?

–

When I fail and die

Where will my values lie?

I always felt my life was mine.

Privy only to the mind that sits behind the eyes.

–

To be better than us who came before

Is my borrowed motto at the core.

Maybe with a little swirl

Of “not everyone will change the world.”

Hover

16 Sep

And now it’s the future and I don’t sit beside plastic leaves and steam. It’s a busy road, it’s tops and toes, birds and trees. If I pop a lid there’s still steam but it’s rising majestically from a paper sleeve.  I wanted ivy and leaves, I got rocks and onion stalks. These days I talk and I don’t talk. They’re killer waves, these conversation saves, shaking earth, breaking things to elements. People reduced to common sediments. Stars shine to remind that we’re insignificant. We live to live and dying is a period.

Another Mistake.

30 May

It feels good to fall down.

To come up empty handed.

A life fulfilled

Has already ended.

And when you make

that sacred stumble,

wear that mistake

like a stony mantle.

Feel that weight

with the fury of opera,

close your eyes repeat

that half breath mantra.

Work that rock

with the voice of the season,

Tom or Mike or Will or Stevens.

A life aglow with sideline voices

who play out all your unpicked choices

You’ll run and run

and run much longer.

And in the end you’ll be

that much stronger.

At least that’s what I whisper

into my pillow’s feathers.

Tracking Dirt

24 Sep

Tracking Dirt – SoF

I sewed seeds and their harvests reveal,

the need to retread,

the paths in my head.

Ruminate while tending to plots,

I forgot,

oh, I weed a lot.

Captivate me quietly,

and take me to that place,

where the past leads the way.

I can’t slow down I am jumping between,

a bay side town,

and a swamp and a frown.

Culminate can I stop the clock?

I’m backed up at the block,

a metaphorical clot.

You can fake me perfectly,

I’ll talk about today,

in my regular way.

Step outside to a luminous shock,

with my feet in the grass,

and my eyes at half mast.

It permeates and by the time I can see,

cool grey sky has arrived,

tornado inside the eye.

Jar this ghost reality,

and take me to the place,

where I lead the way.

Rain falls down and this drought is repealed,

and it’s flooding my fields,

spring forth a bountiful yield.

I cultivate and I am present again,

you’re a delicate wind,

and you’re taking my hand.

Image: Lotus Carroll

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New New Ceremony

8 Dec

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Harmonics – Gareth Dickson

Wrapped in the blanket we wove,

we’re waiting out the storm.

Sand sleet whips at windows worn.

The sands of time will eat our love.

The first tear in the fur of a bear

only after we’re bones and a pile of hair.

Thunder.

We witness the mixture of sediment.

And the ceremony is grand,

but love isn’t sand

and the process loses it’s target sentiment.

All we have is this wind.

We’re going to keep each other warm.

We cant protect from all these elements.

But we’ll leave this earth in finer form.

image:Mihai Balan

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A poem about my new shirt!

23 Apr

Black Moth Super Rainbow – Lake Feet

We’ve all got skeletons,

skin deep down.

When we get cut they try and climb out.

So we curse and shout some

skin deep noun.

Send those fuckers home in pale green gowns.

We

make them hurt.

We

drown em in

ethanol.

–

Sewn into the scars in our bodies. Hide our bodies inside clothes. Close those jackets, never to be opened or exposed.

Because

We’ve got a fear of being open and exposed.

Of

taking off our clothes.

Of

the stories of our scars.

Of

all these bones of ours.

–

What a world this would be if we had no skin.

No muscles or nerves,

nothing to hide in.

–

image: unknown

 

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The Water’s Creeping Over the Floodplains Again.

29 Aug

Okkervil River – A Girl in Port [Demo]

We’re making that rich soil.

We’re confiding in all the wrong people.

We’ve got fish a’ plenty.

But bread and wine’s a different story.
–

The water’s creeping up in my chest.

Spills in my arms. Shaky.

But flood plains keep the water tame.

Disperse, absorb, reclaim.

image: laerpel

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Stuck outside my body but I think I left a window unlocked somewhere.

25 Apr

Black Moth Super Rainbow – Colorful Nickels

Would I be proud?

I always delayed self assurance.

iv three times pass.

Then,

Friday, 3:00. Forgiving.

A beginning becoming itself.

A compassion I never knew.

A delicate bloom.

Precision in the sun.

Stretched lips and dimple dents.

I see them through the fence.

A timed mind.

The sins of pines

are needles born.

image: ?

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(and Her)

15 Apr

Sufjan Stevens – Borderline

A ride home as kind as morphine,

I saw floods slip over quiet eyes of friends.

The bridge softly buckles and

the rivets give like dough.

But the tires have all melted away anyways.

and Her lids are heavy and she’s

losing the fight these days.

.

I never saw the blinking lights,

I never heard the siren’s sounds,

Please, let me have the window seat.

.

A ride home being sung to sleep,

I saw lids slip over quiet eyes of mine.

Magdalene softly chuckles and

tidal waves rise and grow,

but my fires have all died away anyways.

And her lids are heavy and she’s

losing the fight these days.

image: tocityguy

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We are what you want.

31 Jan

Marconi Union – Nothing Ever Happens In Tunguska

I hope I dream another dream tonight.

I hope this proves to be a better year.

I’m swallowing a stone that won’t go down.

Upon examination fades away.

Elusive time it always gets away

with homicide. I’m left to slip slow down

in dip down sheets and dream this bitter year

away in premature moonbeams tonight.

image: AndyCunningham

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