Tag Archives: Poems

Pact

1 Oct

If born a bird

I’d flip and flit

and ride the wind

down to water

sun and light, well it’s the fodder

we frolic in and when it’s done

go home and sleep wake up and start another one.

–

And now I’m nine

that show and tell.

I’m heading home

this desperate spell.

I trade it all, I dig the well.

Well freedom’s free when wandering,

but I don’t care I’ve had enough of floundering.

–

And now I’m me

you tell me that

I’m not the sum

of all my past.

Consumed with finding missing mass

I scrape my mind and find a voice,

The answer to the past sub now is choice.

–

If I was a bird

I’d flip and flit

and chart the winds,

distinct contour,

sun and light, well I won’t falter

I frolic in and then decide

to sleep, wake up and head towards my workward ride.

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Motto

8 Sep

Sisyphus – Alcohol

–

Life oh now why am I endlessly

measuring matters with those of an-

other, if waters of fables my

whole life was leading to came just by

closing that delta you’d think I’d have

done that already.

–

Picking my way through the needles on

sidewalks the work walk disrupted by

glance of the past yeah the glance of a

fleeting careening if beautifully

seeming it’s only the feeling that

comes with the ending.

–

Why am I floating the cosmonaut

feeling I crash into ceilings I’m

talking I’m reeling when fighting my

monsters my pilot’s on auto there’s

always more time to design a new

motto. I’m working.

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Mantra

24 Aug

East Virginia – yMusic/Tallest Man On Earth

–

Sharp feeling from knowing

I know too little

about too few.

An isolation coming to.

Forensic eyes I always knew.

A sight, a sign I’m wading through.

–

Well I would like to be

every thread of me.

Every possibility.

My woven tapestry

Cauterized. Epoxied.

A futile flesh amalgamy.

–

I’d rather be inside some dark holler

where the sun refused to shine

than to wear some distant

wind warm upon my face

as if it knows the time it tears;

I ponder where it’s born.

–

And as long as we’re lounging in these dreams,

or wading in my tantrums,

I’d read my worn recipe,

remove some bits, clarify some.

Because I don’t see these mantras

etched upon the lids of the man I want to be.

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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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Probably something about hands again

9 Jan

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Michael Homnick – Moment

I’m going to blend, because the rest is blended. Only known because I’d descended, amended and transcended. Soon I’ll have those old man hands. Finger flexation result of a thought’s creation to end destination.
I’m going to blend the thing I lost and the thing I’d condemned. A long struggle come to an end.
But in the end, what will I defend?
What is false and what is true? The things in cinemas, what is staged and what is us? The difference between Lake Quinault and Las Vegas.

Same ideas, same old loops.
What’s the difference between me and you?
In between dragons and rains, remember?
I sewed seeds for complex floodplains.
I’m a new man of a different age.

Image by Pocket Images

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New New Ceremony

8 Dec

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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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With my eyes closed, close my eyes.

17 Nov

Walk With Me – Moby

You’re all elbows and I was the soda machine,

dishing out what everyone needs,

the basket weaver ran back to the trees, and

I’m alright.

I didn’t buy cause there wasn’t bait.

He’s making these things that he hates

well it shows and you know what?

I hate them too.

Or that’s an idea from long ago,

tangled in the lost and forgot.

–

In this hail I love you more.

contrast wild like storm and stable ground.

A newborn and ghost.

I’ll keep you warm and an eye on the stove.

I hope there are no spirits.

Because if these dreams of mine are signs,

then who knows if I’ll see another winter.

and if there are no spirits,

I’ll build a house with you in it.

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Somewhere unfinished

21 Aug

Portland Cello Project – Please Leave a Light On

Your impossible heart, it’s soft pace.

Strings of your hair don’t fade from my face

when I awake. No more strands of smoke

that fade then flash in crepuscular strokes

before falling in the grains of shade,

behind the bed where beauty was made.

–

I’m no stranger to killing in my dreams.

Fire in my heart and steel in my beams.

image: Jesper Hauge

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Home is me and home is her.

24 Jun

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Safe – Nosaj Thing

These are the lost hands that wrote my future.

The lost feet that are my ship.

Navigator’s lost the compass and we’re unsure,

but I’ll keep these sails taut til they rip.

I breathe in my chest and I shoot from the hip.

 

A world of mistakes are mine to make.

Mine to create.

I shake em loose

and ingest them willingly.

because there’s no soul in living blissfully.

I flee in my rest, and I shoot from my lips.

 

Connor, death is ever present.

every day’s a day gone on.

You’ve still got some time.

Some days to hear death’s song.

 

Sailing’s fine and living is nice and if

nothing’s nothing til I try it

I’ve got play to work

and a song to find it.

 

I teethe at the breast, and I’m food in the crypt.

I peak at the crest, and I sail til they rip.

 

Image – Abri_Beluga

 

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Diving

20 May

Mimicking Birds – The Chimney Sweep

 

I slipped fate.

The coarse, rough, and fear

feeling midpoint.

Trampling medians between

The   plunge       and     the  numb.

Some doubt grows and fades.

A dying breath

thick with spit and

maybe this is right.

Maybe I’m comfortable with this.

Or maybe my compass got stuck a long time ago.

Either way I don’t think I’m that OK.

Rebirth.

It takes nine months to come to this.

Every child begins the world again,

to some extent,

and so have I.

And I will not stop dying.

One day The Ship will sail.

And I’ll be on it.

 

image: fiddle oak

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