A Year of Poems – Day 365

And here we are a year has passed away,
Much has changed but much remains the same.
The cricket’s song has passed to gold,
But there are stories still to be told.

Pine needles stay for many years;
Time will even break down tears.
The soil is richest where homes are built,
Where linoleum and carpet both are tilled.

Feet make the best plows.
In time even stone will bow
Beneath the presence of a thousand souls.
That is why the bell tolls.

Time sounds in fifteen minute intervals,
An hourly musical festival
That celebrates the garden’s spreading bounds;
Silence marks out bedlam’s hunting grounds.

The battle will continue through this age
Through poems, stories, and the day to day,
the pine trees grow as the bell divides
in minutes spread out till the end of time.

A Year of Poems – Day 364

And the cycle goes it turns and whirls
The world will never stop
The spinning sounds like fun
Until you learn it never stops.

The chords are tangled round the gears
And neither ever stops,
But grass and weeds and ivy vines
They also never stop.

Weeds were here before we were,
They’ll be here when we stop
The world will spin in glory too
The turbines will not stop.

The dizziness will long remain
Unless we learn to dance,
To take the spinning, knotted world
And make the chaos stop.

A Year of Poems – Day 363

The palace of Tunalanath floated in the air,
The pyramids of Kandabar were buried by the sands,
Now we learn vast forest stretched across the southern pole
And the forest hall of Gal Finok is where the penguins play.
These wonders once resounded in every waking dream
Now our dreams are fading too, unless we sing again.

A Year of Poems – Day 362

A kingdom is but many homes
gathered into one.

If the kingdom is among us
Our home must be there too.

Like scattered chicks returning
Or sheep long gone astray.

A king is but a parent
Who love and is loved by all.

If the kingdom is among us
Our king must be there too,

Like the hen whose wings enfold us
If we allow them to.

You could say that a kingdom
Is a political device,

And a king is just a tyrant
Who decided to play nice,

But my kingdom is full of chickens
And its ruler is a hen.

And while it might sound strange to some,
It sounds like home to me.

A Year of Poems – Day 361

When travelers come to the palm trees
They come for something else
They do not come for the crashing waves
But they come for something else
They might say they come for the seagulls
Or the air with a pinch of salt
But when the travelers come to the seaside
They come for something else

What the traveler seeks is the ocean,
And not the big wet thing,
But the vast and rolling parchment
With a treasure map penciled in.
What the traveler seeks is the ocean
And the promise that rides along
Of a home that lies on the other side
Where nothing will be wrong.
What the travelers seek is the ocean
And I guess it’s the big wet thing,
Or at least that’s as close as it comes
When we’re on the wrong side of the sea.

A Year of Poems – Day 359

It is grace to look and know a face
to integrate a person and a place
it is like the ivy growing on a tree
till it becomes a boulder beneath a stream.
It is grace to leave the hiding rock
and see the sun without the solar shades
it is like the moment two eyes lock,
the key lies forgotten the padlock stays.
Grace is in time, it also lies outside –
The haze before the morning cracks to day,
The sea hawk rolling in the tide,
And spiders catching dew, waiting for the ray
To descend and see his web for what it could be,
A diamond saved from possibility.