Through the forest grass,
a lockstep march.
of silent striding teams.
To ground they go,
to burrow deep.
foreign and mundane
Can they look into the giants above?
There is no time to dream.
Hurry home! Your colony calls
and the task is but half done
#23 in my Year One collection, from notes on 3/21
Brace for the rip tide's
crash and sweep and pull.
Light, hazy blue,
flares safe heavens,
beckoning a breathless plea
There has never been peace in drowning.
Because every wave worth fighting
demands a hero who can breathe underwater
#22 in my Year One Collection, from notes on 3/16
Welcome to a land that is not.
Don masks and play pretend.
Characters are outfits to be tried on and shared,
merry heroes until the end
Off to steal glory from the world
and etch their names in the legends to come.
Every impossible tale of beating the odds
and pray doesn't roll you a one.
#21 in my Year One collection, from notes on 3/13
I know what I am to become.
Revel in the gazes casting me insane
Only I have seen the future from the pavement,
hidden like a painting stolen from its frame
This is my autobiography!
A fluttering, open book caught up in the wind
Telling my story faster than it can be written.
A thriller all the way until the end
#20 in my Year One collection, from notes on 3/11
The last star before the dawn
fights all the majesty of a brilliant sunrise.
The last remnant of the night,
drowning in an over saturated sky.
When the curtain calls come
to usher everyone off stage,
the last star before the dawn,
through morning haze and window panes,
takes its final bow
#19 in my Year One collection, from notes on 3/7
A shutter clicks in flashing colors,
recording the imaginary.
The wheezing voice of tales unfolding,
now hoarse from an endless retelling.
Capture what we can't remember,
make up everything that's left.
A faint, but echoed, call to arms
that no on hears on set
#18 in my Year One collection, from notes on 2/26
"When am I?"
Calls a young man's voice.
"Once, I could freeze time.
Once, I could read every detail."
"When am I?"
Calls the old man's voice.
"I've lived a full life,
but I know not how long that is."
"When am I?"
Whispers the westbound wind.
"The sun rises faster every morning
and night only falls when I blink."
"When am I?"
Asks no one at all.
Silently studying history
whilst looking for riddles undiscovered.
#17 in my Year One collection, from notes on 2/12
This is a stroll through the valley
of the last Forgotten God.
The walls, overgrown, throw shadows
that whisper when the wind blows
through the maze ahead.
The temple is fragile
and the slumber of the unknown
is a blessing
After time's cruel neglect,
pray at the empty dais.
The only lost
is losing faith again
#16 in my Year One collection, from notes on 1/31
in a canyon of corn,
a blue ban calls new life to this
around the stall.
Don't let the foal's whiney
be an unanswered question to
legs held us all
when we were fresh and blind
Take pride in teaching to see a
#15 in my Year One collection, from notes on 1/21
Exhaustion drip the night away,
bleeding the clock of every second.
Drifting on a raft of dimlit dreams,
down a river of wayward thoughts.
Stopping and starting.
A blurry room fades
to backlit black.
sink down with every breath
#14 of my Year One collection, from notes on 1/10
A broken haze drifts down
form a gray and weary sky.
Who has cast this blanket?
It is dampening our light.
Lift this dull affair.
Bring the sun back to our lives
End this tiresome evening
of speckled windows and soft sighs
#13 of my Year One collection, from notes on 1/3
It is quiet in the halls.
All the merriment has died.
Paper lines the floors,
all the elves have gone to hide.
Tonight we will sleep in,
for there is no more surprise.
No cookies are left out,
just happy smiles on Christmas night
#12 in my Year One collection, from notes on 12/25
A taxi drove past
at two in the morning,
blurring through the street lamp halo
painted on the sidewalk.
stuck speeding stationary,
clipping the spotlight.
And the night hanging off the lamp pole
does not appreciate
being caged away
#11 in my Year One collection, from notes on 12/19
The bed is empty again.
Warmth settles in the void
by neatly tucked sheet corners
and a fading memory in the mattress.
A wayward dream of soft snores
begging to come true
recovering from a restless night,
frozen like marble.
Too foreign to be disturbed.
Too real to be dismissed.
Too distant to be admired
#10 in my Year One collection, from notes on 12/15
Reap the fields of dying holly
and sow the fields with red berries.
Dream of sunny spring awakening,
before the dew sets in the morning.
#9 in my Year One collection, from notes on 12/1
Raise the flag!
The lucky lost
fighting waves of inky stars.
on silent streets,
waging war on the wild and wistful.
Fall in line,
learn our song!
These ragged ranks have room for all.
So long as dreams ne'er come
and nightmares run,
we will whisper our violent lullabies.
#8 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/19
never tells true
stories of weary legs.
Through great jungles of green and steel,
we urge against
the ground dragging beneath.
Unconquerable, every day
#7 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/16
Such habits born of repetition
through the meandering walk of days.
Moments caught in a rhythm
or stranded out of time
Scribbles captured and enshrined,
ignored and then forgotten
Back to the mind of your creator
to recall the lyrics of yesterday
#6 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/14
Like violent footsteps of translucent insects,
rain clouds the glass.
A dynamic curtain between
and the wind
forever shifting, obscuring, revealing.
A one man audience
to a one night only movie
in the courtyard below
#5 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/12
Smog and sizzle,
ears fight eyes to be the first report.
Colors swirling in a pan,
steam hissing up,
the ripe flesh cleft through,
spraying the counter top.
Pungent spices dance with delicate herbs
through the kitchen air.
A spoon as a baton
and a knife as a paintbrush
are tools of a necessary art
#4 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/7
Standing against the sun.
Gazing across beaches.
Staring down cliff faces.
Towering over harbors.
What is a lighthouse in the daytime?
But our Athena to Poseidon
#3 in the Year One collection, from notes on 11/5
Well traveled leather binding a vault of lost ideas.
dripping ink down the page.
Crumbled sentences and half-finished
backdrop the soft scratch of the pen
trying to outrace time
Years, composed as fragments,
have no place
outside the white walls where they were born
Only the architect remembers
and still he is mortal
#2 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/3
It is quiet in the dark
the winter air settles,
stagnant on the glass,
before the sun can thaw the sleeping dew
Striped wool hats and cracked leather gloves
emerge from the closet
to join a hopeless war.
illuminated by the high rise windows
dotting through the fog,
towards the front lines.
Catching the warmth from their breath
And for a split second,
just before it flits away,
they are dragons
#1 in my Year One collection, from notes on 10/29
— The End —