I wrote this next one when I found myself in a human frenzy, as one often does during the season. Its good to step back from this from time to time and take in the scene. Hope you are all well and warm out there.
w
The two chickens pictured are actually actors, the drama over the corn pile at their feet is simulated.
wow what a hustle.
Here is the crowd, and they’re dashing around,
bumping and brimming to the top of the town.
Spilling over to countryside, and into their homes,
to rest in their beds, and heal their sore bones.
Then on the next day they start all again,
scurrying like chicks, without a good hen.
Hunting for feed, and more feed they don’t need.
Making small piles, of dirt, stones, and seed.
The hustle turns heavy, when the seed becomes few.
you’ll see folks do things they would never normally do.
They will peck, scratch, and shout, at the tops of their voice,
on their tiny seed piles, like they had no other choice.
But people aren’t chickens, who know just how to count.
They have far many more treasures than the seeds that they mount.
But they cant see their real treasures until it turns cold,
and it’s too dark to see, and they feel very old.
Then the chicken-head folks find what’s really at stake,
and they all scratch up sticks, for the nest they will make.
They will make a big room where everyone fits,
and all surely will come, ‘cause outside its the pits.
Their seed will be shared and and all will eat corn,
and they will clean all their feathers, and make themselves warm.
They will see the true treasure is to share of ones labors,
and to make a small pile, of home, love, and neighbors.
I’m not a communist. Its just nice to be nice.
:)
Sometimes when I think about tough times in the past I notice that taking it easy is the best approach. This new story is about those times when we think there is something missing.
Hope your season is shaping up nice.
w
Hello, I am a hungry shape and Im rolling down a road.
I feel a bump from in the place, from where my missing piece was thrown.
I cannot see the kind of piece, that fits into my space.
Im hoping that my special shape will find a filling grace.
My hole is kept up nicely it has a big garage.
Its smells like 3 square meals a day, and its provides its own massage.
Is that a piece in front of me? I don’t have any eyes….
Its not my piece, it tried to fit, but failed from too many tries.
The road is studded with little shapes, with a missing spot their own.
They bump along and try to fit but often continue alone.
This rolling has me worried, which direction have I gone?
I cannot see the way to go and I feel its nearing dawn.
Oh dreamy missing little one, please come and take me home.
To a silent spot where we can rest, and know were not alone.
Ill sing you to bed on rainy days, and kiss where you get sore.
Ill bake the bread, and make the bed, and mop the dirty floor.
You’ll have the cleanest nesting spot inside my missing gap.
Please come inside and you will find the presents that I’ve wrapped.
There is still no voice that’s calling, and every piece I’ve seen is weird.
They all have funny gaps themselves or Mohawks, or sandals, or beards.
I guess this missing place of mine needs some room inside itself.
Ill just breath deep, and make some space for my books and a bookshelf.
Now that feels good and tidy, I think Ill breath once more.
Ill make more space in side my self and install a dancing floor.
I’ll ned a bit of music so Ill breath and make a band.
Ill need to play the trumpet too, so Ill breath myself a hand.
In fact Ill keep on breathing, deep and deeper still,
so I can see, all there’s to know about the space that I must fill.
Well there is not a missing piece any more, it seems my space has gone.
I think I breathed myself some eyes and I see its breaking dawn.
Why, I wasn’t looking for a piece today, I just needed some air.
I wrapped myself inside myself until I gave myself a scare.
Now I have unravelled, and I can see and I can feel.
I found the missing spot in me was me and I’m what’s real.
There is no missing pieces, there are only wrapped up folks.
Searching but forgetting, to smell the roses and laugh at jokes.
But everyone of them is breathing, and once they all breath free,
you’ll see the their spaces open up and their be, will be, will be.
Happy winters to all.
w
the sun it has a favorite, and his name is old ned.
That sun would never beat down, on his old favorites head.
He would blow him a wind , that was just strong enough,
to fill the sails of neds boat, while on his pipe he puffed.
Ned was a sailor and a good one at that.
He was old but good looking in his coat beard and cap.
He would smile and shine and wink at the sea,
while wandering and wondering about birds, mice, and fleas.
He wondered about things all day and and all night,
he would talk to the things that once gave him fright.
But soon they too were his friends from the small to the tall,
but he had a most special and secret friend of them all.
He kept all his magic in a small crystal ball,
that shined like the sun, in spring, summer, and fall.
This crystal had a house in Ned’s beautiful face,
now we will talk, about how neds eye it replaced.
Once on a day like the one we have here,
ned was much sadder and swilling some beer.
And just when he drank, so he could not even walk
he stood right up quickly, and fell down while he talked.
His speech was just slurs, and for so short a time,
that on lookers and listeners, just heard poor Ned whine.
But his words were a wish and he remembered them clear
that from now on he’d love magic and not ever love beer.
That fall was a bad one and Ned woke in the morn,
and found that the eye from his head had been torn.
But ned did not stop to shed but one tear,
He was not at all sad and felt not one ounce of fear.
He said to him self on that first fateful day,
Its time that my work should turn into play.
I will find a new eye and that eye will be mine,
and remind me, there’s magic in this old life of mine.
So he looked and he looked all over the town,
he looked in a bees nest and undernieth the kings crown.
He searched through the alleys and into the glen,
he even took a gander in the oldest pigs pen.
But still he found nothing to take his eyes place,
but then he thought ,”after magic, you can never race.”
And just as that thought had entered his mind,
he looked to the ocean, and what did old ned find?
He’d sen a dim glimmer, like a star it did shine
up from his reflection in the deepest blue brine.
So he took up his fishing pole and cast out a line,
and he said to himself, magic is finally mine.
After some trying he caught just the tip,
and slowly he reeled in, so as not to let slip,
the shiniest shine that grew ever brighter
and as it got closer, it even got lighter.
Till the small magic piece was sitting in hand
and Ned then gave thanks ,”for I am the most blessed man.”
Just a small piece of glass, that everyone missed
now sat in neds hand and was gently kissed.
It had an inscription that could hardly be read
Ned read it and said it then placed the glass in his head.
“We go high we go low thats the magic” was written,
Ned saw it once and was imiediately smitten.
Now nothing can stop me, I have my magic glass eye,
Ill travel by sail boat, but I feel I can fly,
And now he’s the favorite of our big yellow sun,
and he reflects the suns rays with his eye just for fun.
He left his small port and now looks all his days,
for the magic that rains down like the suns golden rays,
he looks in the rivers and he looks in the sky ,
he examines the magic in the hummingbirds eyes.
But the strangest thing to ned, about the magic he’d found ,
was not that it smelled sweet and made his little heart pound,
or that it lived right inside him, and sang a most beautiful sound.
It was that it could be found in all things, and everywhere all round.
Its been a long time now since ned lived his last day
but hes still the suns favorite and there he will stay.
if you are a lover of sea magic, and are the sort that is kind,
then just search for a special sparkle and there Old Ned you will find.
smiles are magic and so are soft breaths while sleeping.
x
