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pmh
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iv'e decided that
there is no right and wrong,
just comfortable and uncomfortable.
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pmh
|
Silhouetted Autumnal Branches
tiny crooked fingers
scratching eachother -
black from frozen sunset
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pmh
|
shoulders folded over like a bandage
keeping my heart in my chest
cuz i think i'd like to use it again
i think - if it still trusts me
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pmh
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the room between ribs
doesn't breathe anymore
unless encouraged with smoke
to fill in the spaces yr absence has left
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pmh
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i see you outside
grass stabs through yr shadow
light shuts yr eyes
carressing me while i drive
smiles creep 'cross yr eyelids
joy creeps 'cross mine
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pmh
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haha... an old haiku i just love......
(and i use the term "haiku" loosely.....)
-fresh snow sinks into the footprints
of the girl who moved away,
filling in my hollows, slowly-
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pmh
|
contrasts of colour
and the shimmering vibrations
diluting my sight
but it's not my eyes it's my vision
increasing clarity
as the invisible waves recede
exposing the scene
but it's not my eyes it's my vision
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pmh
|
o how i love the lines that divide
it's where things meet that their beauty creates!
the silver lining cutting the sky
the sun burning out the horizon
two things exploding into glory!
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pmh
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compassion:
it's ok to share with me your sadness
you know, it's not a burden, it's a blessing for me
but in silent concern
and the warmest patience
i'll encourage you to try to understand it
and hold you till you figure it out
(written after seeing Lost in Translation with my girl)
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Intergalactic Church of the Almighty Rod
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Greetings and salutations to you pmh. Thanks for gracing me little spot with your kind words. I have read the mirror quote myself, damned if i can remember where it came from. A most excellent choice.
For the record (Side B track 4), I find you to be a pretty cool cat yerself.
Remember, sometimes in order to fight devils you have to be a devil yourself. >:)
Blessings upon you.
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pmh
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to the trellis (an afternoon adventure in Hubbards, Nova Scotia) part 1
after stretching fingertips to the sea and bending knees to pull the ligaments in foreshadow of lengthy stroll - on top of rock above water like cormorant at low tide - grabbing bookstuffed and sweatered backpack and skateboard i embark on stew and salad quest (or at least a coffee, not yet knowing of this hearty stew's existence) ... so it's through the gate in still damp shoes from last night's fireside accidental step into hightide on way to whaleback rock's above the tree moon view, but not wet enough to squish-squish as i walk along the bushpath dirt johnson road away from stillwater boatspeckled st. margaret's bay, past the continuing construction of woodsided new home for young couple nestled nicely into the woods, being built rapidly in anxious anticipation of long cool breezy nights on the porch sipping tea or port, slurping through the leaf rustling smoothwavy cricketsong din, afternoon lawnraking, watching passersby such as myself, continueing by the taller than me wild rosebushes, pink and white flowers causing sweet winds, prettiness protected by prickly protuberant thorns and tied up dogs - barking seeming scary but sad old hounddog and lonely shephard just want to come play, walk the winding road with me or go chase the gang of freerunning roosters behind the bushes, sad ole pups pleading for a crazy rowdy afternoon instead of stuck sticky laziness by the doghouse - "if i could bring you i would" i holler "but you wouldn't want to miss yr lunch would you!?" and they stop barking immediately! allowing me a continued sojourn past the must be rich or retired homestead of large lusciously landscaped lawn trees and rocks with big beautiful boastful home up on the hill and look, the lady of the house carrying the even-rich-people-have garbage down to the roadside, and althoug smiling appreciatively at my compliment on their beautiful property we both agree that the best part of our
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pmh
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to the trellis... part 2 (go read part 1 first!)
...anticipating the ride as i walk around the bend past the house where the truck of pretty girls from BC were visiting and reach conrad road. paved! being a small country road of little traffic and of the downhill nature i lay the deck down underfeet and push, quickly building up a nice momentum navigating between tiresmooth spots of the road, winding around small holes and pebbles i meander along the meandering road of bush and modest homes, mailboxes and hounddogs, men in frontyards cleaning eavestroughs and fixing fences, women dirtknee'd in the garden harvesting garlic and potatoes, beets and carrots for the weekend Hubbard's farmer's market - riding over smooth dips and curves of the concrete conrad street hills like waves, carving like a surfer, greensmelling breeze cooling and happy late september crisp atlantic greatness and as the road ends at old trunk 3, as the smiling lady holds leash as big black clumsy dog pisses into the wildflower ditch, i stop the board, take a smell of the air, say a quick hello to her and the big black puppy, and skate on towards the minor highway - on the smoothest pavement possible i gather great speed standing on the wheel'd plank of wood and speed into the meeting of three roads, a huge white church and a little bay of lobster boats, sailboats, cigar boats, dory's of all crazy colours and contours floating drowsily on high tide, the old boatyard seemingly empty of living folk, just haunting and early autumn still - and i ride over the wood bridge of fitzroy river feeding the bay with rapids over rocks and i make mental note to hike up the river on way back to look for faeries and butterflies and to taste the fresh fitzroy stream. but i'm at the highway now. highway three, and it's time to hike again for who needs to get smoked by a car when the air smells so great (but there's no cars so i ride a little more till the uphill defeats my breath) so i hike along the oceansi
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pmh
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tomorrow a fading cloud
tonight the dancing winds
yesterday a ghost, an apparition
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