#red-tailed - Hello Poetry

i keep seeing hawks or maybe it’s really you swooping down to tell me what’s new maybe they’re buzzards and they can tell how i feel lost without you, a useless spinning wheel maybe they’re birds but maybe they’re planes and i’m looking for meaning in nothing in this digital age (r.e.)

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC

anonymousm8

Red-tailed Hawk

i keep seeing hawks or maybe it’s really you swooping down to tell me what’s new maybe they’re buzzards and they can tell how i feel lost without you, a useless spinning wheel maybe they’re birds but maybe they’re planes and i’m looking for meaning in nothing in this digital age (r.e.)

12

Remove the mask Strip to essentials Remove the ballasts A crossroads An intersection divine Don't rue the darkness on a boulevard of light Lucifer's here Will the deal go down? Or are you hedging on up? Flying in on the back of truth As an agent of change Write your own contract Be just and align Oblige yourself with Self 'Be like water my friend' (Bruce Lee) Fill that vessel up To overflowing A soul is pedestrian An overflowing soul leads to changency An over~soul (Emerson) Define your cosmology Uninitiate is a good initiation You have to strip your house down To ensure true pitch Attuning for those forks A hollow reed For a river of truth

0

Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

Enter the Dragon

Remove the mask Strip to essentials Remove the ballasts A crossroads An intersection divine Don't rue the darkness on a boulevard of light Lucifer's here Will the deal go down? Or are you hedging on up? Flying in on the back of truth As an agent of change Write your own contract Be just and align Oblige yourself with Self 'Be like water my friend' (Bruce Lee) Fill that vessel up To overflowing A soul is pedestrian An overflowing soul leads to changency An over~soul (Emerson) Define your cosmology Uninitiate is a good initiation You have to strip your house down To ensure true pitch Attuning for those forks A hollow reed For a river of truth

27

52 Weeks: Whitman The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. 52 Weeks: Mullein The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape. I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered, And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed. The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress, My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer, I am coaxed into existence once again. I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you, It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain, To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense. I won’t depart, I dig in my heels, And I turn my back on the organized. I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother … And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely. I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day), But I am good for you none the less, As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle. And always I wait patiently, for me for you, for us.

0

Sep 16, 2014

Sep 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

52 Weeks

52 Weeks: Whitman The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. 52 Weeks: Mullein The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape. I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered, And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed. The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress, My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer, I am coaxed into existence once again. I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you, It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain, To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense. I won’t depart, I dig in my heels, And I turn my back on the organized. I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother … And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely. I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day), But I am good for you none the less, As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle. And always I wait patiently, for me for you, for us.

37