Pathways cross like
The trails of so many fish
And in the end,
We all walk alone
But these intersections
These crossings
These meeting grounds
Are ours to cherish
Like the trails
Of so many fish.
Art of the Fisherman
Month: March 2016
The Story of the Thorns
Story time.
This guy – he was wandering around 25 years ago in the brush somewhere and got these thorns in him. He got stuck out there for 25 years, and since the thorns were hard to grip himself, he wandered around with these thorns in him.
His body became a reflection of his guarding from the pain – a bit twisted. He knew that there was an old Battalion Aid Station around, so they might have something to help him with these thorns. Forceps, whatever they called them. And in 25 years he found nothing.
His life had been altered by pain because his body had been altered by pain. His mind had become altered as well.
But he found some forceps. They were broken, so he had to find some way to fix them. It took him a bit of time, as much as his hands hurt with the thorns, but he got it working again and he started taking out those thorns. Each came with a sigh of relief, a slight relaxation of the muscles, followed by meek contractions to see how far things could move without hurting.
Within a day he pulled all the thorns out. He slept. And he awoke, sore – but he stretched gingerly and winced before contracting his muscles all the way. It hurt a bit, but not as much. And he did that again. And again.
He healed over time. His body mended, his mind slowed – but on that one day, a very big thing happened.
He found the solution and he healed.
And he got out of that brush now that he wasn’t looking for those forceps – or whatever they call them – and he came back a bit older, a bit wiser for his journey, and with a strong aversion to thorns.
This is a metaphor for a real disease.
The Day After Yesterday
It all links together, each fragment
catching on the last, a stream
A moving entity, a segment
catching on the last, a stream
A decision here, a sentiment
catching on the last, a stream
A start here, a moment
catching on the last, a stream
A day here, a present
catching on the last, a stream.
Just written; 2016.
A Thousand Miles Away
I told you I loved you
In so many ways, and
You ignored each one.
Almost selectively you
Deflected my emotions
Leaving me vulnerable to
The ricochets
From my own heart…
I told you I was leaving
And you hid, I found you
That last night and
You cried I was
Leaving you all alone,
When you had left me
All alone
Every second I was there.
And now,
A thousand miles away
A year later
I still feel the ricochets
I still see your smile
I still miss you.
But I like you more
A thousand miles away…
written circa 2000.
A Song Is Born
He writes what he’s seen, what
He’s observed and
Puts it all in prose, distilled now
It ferments a little and
Picks up a heady, full flavour
Of guitar, piano and tambourine.
The song is born, aged
Until it sounds right,
Done only when satisfaction
Greets him with a shy handshake,
He expresses what he feels
Through the beat of his soul.
Written in 1997 about Mad Anthony Wayne Waite.
As I recall, I watched him writing the song above.
Transclude
Notes unfold like those
Passed in high school.
Subtle, quiet, unstoppable.
There’s a shift, a change
Through the glass,
Gazing at the innermost,
The soul gains new depth,
The heart lightens, as
The fortress is seized –
Taken!
The victor looks to his spoils
And sees all he had before
In a different light.
Lost Moments
Sitting down he looks to the West
Smiles his silent smile that nobody knows
Watching the stars alight and then rest
He recalls his life as sitcom shows
He sips his coffee and lights a smoke
Thinking of things he dare not say,
A car passing offers a poke
And reminds him to think anyway…
Back he goes in lost moments
Wondering at choices,
Things now make so much sense
Despite haunting voices…
Revisiting crossroads cold and dark
Reliving lost moments clear and stark
The path to hell paved with good intentions
The path still has no dissension…
And in all, he returns to the passing car
His gaze pierces through it in a stare
Years ago he would look at a star
By now he knows that they’re all there
And he wonders what will happen
And still doesn’t care,
He wonders what happened then
The smile leaves and visits air…
Lots of things in the past, been lucky and not
Lots of time passed in just a few years
Had it all and gave up all he got
And gained a view of what’s really dear.
People have come, people have went
Time has passed and still it stays
Letters written, none sent
Thoughts he weighs
To words he lent.
Body Language
Your body says it all, you see –
Your glance away shows disinterest,
The crossed arms show
Your defensive detachment,
Your chin over your neck shows
Discontent…
The shuffling feet show you
Disconcerted –
Like clicking your heels
Might take you away.
Written while listening to Mad Anthony live, playing this song.
The Wolf
Reality leaps, It’s hind legs
Propel it’s body so shaggy.
Muscles ripple beneath the fur,
Small motions are not lost
As it sinks it’s teeth into
Hopes.
It shakes it’s neck,
It brings the Dream
Down.
Juggled Eggs
A word of honor broken,
A home that was never filled.
Betrayal of a friendship,
A small and bitter pill.
Cyanide seeps through the veins
Of a friendship gone astray.
Damaged cells relay nerve’s pain,
An anguish words can’t say.
Embitterment cloves friendship
With such a sullen blow –
Waves created rock and dip
The feelings never show.
The feelings cannot show.