The overcomer

Wishing I could share

The shaking memory of South

Which occured beneath the same young sun

Not so very long ago

When I was just as young

And fire filled as your beating heart

Which lives its fullest on a run

And in ending finds

A great joy of knowing such moments past

The overcomer who has overcome

And the minds eye sight such as this

Which to us at least

Will most certainly last

Such a crowning day

Headache Love

A fog rolls in

And these tides swing out 

With noises crackling cackling sounds

My head a drumbeat sounds out

Pounds 

And I wish again for a steadiness of voice

And a trickling stream

Which in you I've found

Saria

Someday I

Someday when I am

I will finally be

And on my own stand 

Most solemn 

And proudly

And lonesomely

Just as my own father did

When he began again

After the goodbye which meant

No opinion was ere longer free

For we all must say goodbye

Most sadly, sometime

Storms and sights

After every storm

New plants grow

Old water flows into new

And life lives in some form

Renewed and born again like hopes

Though when there you find yourself

Within the storm

It is you who never knows

The sight 

Dedication and building

A man who builds

Only fanciful nothings

In his head

Will be remembered for nothing

Because nothing has neither spine

Nor concrete 

Within minds embed

Childhood droplets

Where wishes drop

Like condensation droplets

Spilling over into a new circular form

And down

Into open eyes of upward wonderment 

There

Where is nothing else but safe and warm

You can be drenched but not in a storm

Secure and yet never truly born

Of yourself just yet

So when the time comes arise

And dry yourself off unwet

Be me, please

I tell myself that walls I need

Or skies or eyes

Or tempered caffeine 

I tell myself most anything 

To keep the forward creative dream

Just in front of my dark cinema of eyes 

And yet in realizing

See only this sight sighing sight 

For its me in the end

Being the only one who keeps

My hands from molding beside riverbeds

Of thoughts most deep, and cool, and free

Be me, please 

Old valleys low

Though love persists 

For these distant halls

Of memories to which I

A sculpture of rocks

Did once attest and insist upon

Their memoires keeping in granite hewn

Know this

I can not 

For any such halls which will not

Nor ever would they or I

Equally ever want to be my own

Call upon more than a memory still

For I waste no carves or cares or concerns

On those whose whose care only for my name

And for what I do or with it do

And by this association keep

Barley as a line of limestone

You will never know me through and through

As my true heart does

And my lover will do

Though I appreciate what I once thought you were

Facile

Cutting Haiku

A most weary mind

Knows nothing of the sharp where

Such cutting thoughts ran

God is going

In asking and seeing

How his goodness gives

And in your getting found

There ought to be 

A certain level of trust

In what is going to be

And how within such scenes

You yourself 

Will survive and about

Coffee over apple fritter

Dark glazed bark
On a tree soaked storm of wood
Ripples deep with condensation
And yet with a saturation thin
As a mother natures skin

So also these trees never shimmer but shake
This mositure from their limbs
With an endless breeze and a summers stint
Amidst sunnish whims
No storm can touch these trees again

Once grown

Turning to the see

Somedays you
To the river walk
And then down to the sea
To draw forth water and a drink
But there is nothing to be found
But land
But what you can see

Man unmade

The only true original
Unordained and planned out thing
Here atop this asphalt sea
Is really just me
And my written word to be

ashes atop sanded stones

Old is old

And set like stone

In minds of traditional raising

Like trees

Their roots grow deep unknown

With reach unseen

But wood is wood

And grown is grown

Some seeds will always spread in woods

And amongst the this olding moan of moans

Which echo still above the snow

For nothing changes beneath this hearth

Cept wood and fire

These ashes atop sanded stone

Nothing left, a tanka

There is nothing left

To say or not to stay put

Is a matter of

More than merit or minds eye

For I see no such future

Forevermoreno

Holding fast

A riverbed lifts

A roaring water atop the chest

So I hold you

In a shaking gleaming

Esteem of still

With voracious hunger

I fast for us

And have continued to will

Us safely to the other shore

But know, this is not forever more

No

Mortal needs

The worst kind of life

In imagination or mind

Is that which leaves

The self to being

In a ever present state

Of be

We need purpose

We need work

We need faith

We need brown and green neath trees

Yes

Please

To such walking

We humans walk around

Like little fires atop a candle

With warming hearts

And chilling minds

And weary feet

Which age but no longer grow

With time

To see such walking 

Inspires me

To feed my stomach

Squint my eyes

And smile back at this stubborn life

You think the wind 

Cares at about your flame of being?

As surely as I write to you

No snow will hold a single flake for thee

Or day an hour

Or tree a leaf

As we human beings should be just that

Being

Sculpting a home

Demands of self

And expects of time

Make me wonder if

I am truly free

Of anyone or anything

Or any being bound to me

As this earth grows up

Beneath my feet

And I a timeless ageless beast

Wish flowers fall

And mountains climb

When not at home

Yet also resistant to leave

We are trees of trees

And sand of rocks

And rivers of cutting

Neath valleys to be

When home is not

Yet resistant to change

Lonesom, fast, thoughts

Self reasoning states

That something is

A someone of value

Worth time to keep

When my mind instead

In its most selfish fit

Thinks only of the invested time

To which I myself can never be

Truly me

When there for you

I feel not alone

And that bothers me