With nothing to do,
With nowhere to roam around,
With being forced to confine yourselves,
Just digging into the past,
Digging up old memories
That's what the pandemic is
Allowing us to do...
The COVID is forcefully changing us, asking us to put breaks and reflect. Some things bad, but somethings definitely good.
I raise the pick-axe high up above my head.
I bring it back down with all my might.
I hear an audible thud at it pierces into the ground.
I change my grip.
The soil turns over as I pry it out of the ground.
I smile to myself in satisfaction at the sight of the churning soil.
It is a calm, soothing sight, worth the magnitude of the effort required to produce it.
I change grips as I ready myself and raise the pick-axe high up above my head once more.
I am the artist,
the Earth my canvas.
The pick-axe is my brush,
the chaos my muse.
Seeds will be sown
and vegetation will be grown.
Spoils will be shared
and cheer will be spread.
But for all the good that is done,
I am the one having all the fun,
for this sight is for me,
this art is my own.
Digging the ground is surprisingly soothing. And extremely tiring. But worth the effort, all the same.
The geese are standing there
just being geese in the grass
poking through the leaves
going deeper for nourishment
may I follow their example
I knew a worm who lost his way, boring and digging the earthen clay
He knew all along he could go where he chose, but lost his direction is what we suppose
Today, of course, was raining quite hard, he had to surface and let down his guard
He made the mistake of crawling too far and the end result is a bit bizarre
He ended up on the end of a hook, wet as hell as bait in the brook
It wasn't long before a fish can along and checked out the worm and sang him this song
Where oh where did you come from little worm
Are you lost and forgotten, and please, please don't squirm
You look very delightful I have to admit
I bet you are tasty, I think that's legit
If I eat you I fear, I may be unhappy
I have no control so let's make it snappy
You know the rest of the story....
Brian Hill - 2019 # 259
Wrote this in a funny mood this morning but it took on a life meaning. Who is the worm and who is the fish? Just asking.
It was a miracle you chose me and a blessing I took for granted too often.
Maybe I knew I didn't deserve such an angel so I pushed you away in hopes you'd fly to better things.
If you find happiness someplace far from me I beg you to stay there.
Because with my own shattered pieces I hurt those I love and the more that I care the deeper I cut.
Then I awake alone and their blood is on my hands.
Trying to remember how I got covered in so much shame colored brownish-red but I fail to understand.
When I see you lying lifeless there fighting for one more breath I catch my own and shed a tear for the body dying.
You turn your stare away from death to face me instead as your eyes are immediately flooded with fear.
It's not til that moment I realize what I have done to the only person who meant more to me than anything or anyone.
I swear I just wanted to keep you safe and I thought you were safer away from me but somehow you got too close again without me realizing.
Practically under my skin but before I could see I ripped you to shreds unaware of who I was destroying in my haste.
But what scraps were left there I immediately recognized though your features were all out of place.
Now there is not enough of you to put your parts back together and we both know you cant live half a human forever.
I hate myself for digging a grave too busy to notice you return to me in my desperate state.
Gripping a ***** shovel I lost my balance tipping us both over and we turn and twist midair.
I warned you but too late you learn and now not just myself but both of us are far too gone to save.
Even when I am sad my puns make me smile
as she sits
her thoughts exploding
some + others -
maybe if I dig deeper people won't question, "are you ok?"
Sometimes when I look at the ground
And see it round
I want to dig so that it's not there
So that what's beneath it is revealed
Is extracted and laid bare
Sometimes when I look at the ground
I want to know evermore so
And in my desire I do not care
Sometimes you just want to know why.
Unraveling the mystery in her spine
Knots all throughout time
I break it in;
I cave my mark,
I show her how I like to start
Can't remember last time
I knelt down to dig in the dirt
but I do recall all us boys who'd climb
the sandy loam pile in the yard
to make castles, caves and highways
and let our fantasies reign -
oh what glorious days
when fun was simple and plain.
We cared not about smudges
holey pants or muddy feet
had not learned about grudges
nor become expert in deceit
hadn’t yet been betrayed
enough to live in hurt
and conjure all the ways
we could spite and spread dirt.
Maybe every now and again
I'd benefit from kneeling down
and digging deeper grain by grain
in earthy dirt - to find my being’s ground.