P o e t s Cultivation

P o e t s Cultivation

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There’s a buzz

July 16, 2018

Tender pathling’s along the way

across the rivers that move to sway

its you my friend that songs are given

where hearts are smitten

and the strings all pulled to bay,

to my delightful vision

your hardly a breath away

always there to lend a hand

at the sounds of everyday,

the motors trend in lulling

and your smiles in their play

but these moments ever passing

always open to the stray.


So keep on my gentle friend

for the sky is ever calling

where the stars in all their culling

ever wonder and the way

staring into spacey flies

full of minds and all their mulling.


June 9, 2018


But I do look sweet lover

to the ever sullen woods

in a place with no memory

with why, how, and could,

but to each that I proclaim

the volume turns up short

and every beat is twisted

into some recoiling retort,

reality it would seem

is nothing but the tale

and living is a story

as in the belly of ones whale.


To ponder for even a moment

that consciousness is to ‘I think’

to be aware of this surrounding

in the wonders of a place

to where no human has gleaned afore,

along the waters edge

swimming through each step

and understanding every nothing

as the precious experience

of a lingering future vision.

Free will

June 6, 2018

When did you become so full

my heavy flowing heart

to burden yourself with calming

in the hopes of a sweet depart,

your rivers fluid with yearning

a loss and find so rare

ever moving through the afterglow

no glory no shine no affair,

dripping in fainted sorrows

along the pattered path

footed broken bones

where daylight is dark with wrath,

there’s a deepness all around us now

seeking richly within our soul

crowding us into chambers

instilling empty bowls,

is there time to know his life

if only we understood

placed into a misled sleep

at the laden songs of creeping wood,

will wakeness never come

to save me from this falling course

stirring to me my senses

as leading water to a horse.

My old grey chair

June 1, 2018

I’m always the one dear Father

the heart within its quaking

near the borders of tomorrow

on a lake near to waking,

why am I not so vivid

in hues and shades like the future

as the children all dance and sway

to the sharpening tones of the butcher,

why can I not be as they are

moving faster with the spurns of time

needing more, wanting less

knowing it all with no clue.


Perhaps my ignorance and falling short

are my guidance and protection

along each footing my toes trace

with only dreams of recollection.


I sigh here now

looking over the flesh

watching eyes that see nothing

and ears that wont listen,

friends are a skipping stone

smooth and slick,

and my life is unworthy to be known

by those that are so high above me,

lost in the clouds of their minds.

Reluctance to cohere

May 1, 2018

There’s a creaking chair outside

my window on the pane,

where moods are flowing over side

and out along the trailed,

somewhere beneath the floorboards

between the sleep and waking.


Where a tree just wandered off

to sea the rivers angle,

effortless without the breeze

standing empty shores,

where clouds all baffle together

and quiet is a far off scream.


Its hear that I can understand

why the color is hue,

and where the stars all lead

when they fall out of love,

alone among the fullness

of a world seeking…

Copious masquerade

May 1, 2018

Can I cry now

my hands in despair

a heart full of seeds

that flow without care,

my eyes all disjointed

the soul is a knot

seeping every pool

at the songs from the rot,

and here at my turning

are the sounds that are creeping

along broken feet

with my face bent in weeping.

The cost of frontiers

April 22, 2018

Sorrow, my bitter friend

you crease my bent and broken brow

make my heart a waiting pool,

to songs of nowhere longing

each cry, this beckoning fool.


Everyday a single path

down the loss and ever growing

a reach just from my grasp

no path beyond the woods.

Perhaps to sway the oceans

of a never ending wade,

where the depths are nowhere deep

and the stars forever weep;

along riddles of sky

over ridges and mounts

under valleys on high.

A window of pools

April 11, 2018

Its not the tears that make me cry

but the wonder of their springs

that which beats upon their strings

coursing through the mind,

the ever spreading golden rings

that weep within my eyes.


This countenance of singing trickles

that ever flows the stream

a consciousness of rutting waves

gently swaying to the dream,

remembrance from a long ago

that cradle along the creek,

making for the running waters

my heart, my soul, too deep.


March 25, 2018

You know what I remember?

I remember a soaked red sky

under moonlit oceans

and the colors of every shred,

the heart songs of children

tucked away in their bed,

singing blue songs for April

through the holes in their head.


This I recall as I sit in my depth

inside my bottle

spilling over with dread,

but change is a clean glass

way high on the shelf

and the sun is a morning away,

where the glorious soul

does its dance for the day,

and the cradle begins

what I hope and I pray.

The perfect place

March 4, 2018

There’s a heart on the horizon

a large plump beating heart

its filling up the rivers

and flowing through the stars.


Every moment a passing day

every year a reaching rest

and here this heart it hovers high

as the heavens golden crest,

but lo, the land it seeks it not

quite happy to feast its gorge

the bitterness of a gluttony

a writhing fleshy horde,

the end a far off tale

or so we have all been told

to carry on without a thought

settled neatly within the fold.


But that heart it still awaits

pumping with its love

moaning with its compassion

and roaming among the clouds.