Over Field And Glen 1994/02/08

Run free with the wind in the fielded glen. Fast as a cloud with a few minutes over a valley to spend. Then rest beneath a few trees with hints of azure skies above the boughs. Or bathe in the cool of mountain streams during spring thaws. For such occurrences I bodily strive. Bound through nature’s eternal struggle with happenstance.

To keep my life I write, I sing. I fly as in a dream with birds on a wing. An augury of flight. Innocents of the night. With our lives like ritual and a foreboding sense of might. Where we will land to the predator there is given no clue. Simply a fact that this story continues later is true.

Focus By Consensus

What we are certain of will change. What knowledge lays before us we will remember. What we can describe through speech we are familiar with in thought. In that we see we know. In one sense are two things. Dignity is the consensus of mind. An entertainment is a linking of cant universals.

The pledge of the hypocrite is the camping of the crow. One’s rider should not expire at the cost of one’s stupidity. A league in throes has not the sense of self will to lead it. The anchor of the anger is the quire of the ire is the auld mad. Spiritual supposition is an enigma without redown.

There is a need for heroic measures in the spiritual recompense.

Iconoclastic Fete Stances 1996/08

On Autumn nights when the rye in the fields has been harvested and put into bundles. Merrily and with stealth comes the cather of hay into the rye. To garner away the faith of accumulated clave ceps of purpura from off the stalks. The bundled stalks of rye.

Politicians would argue to keep the clave crow on the rye and let the seekers have their fill from the milled grain and suspiration throughout the year slowly drawn along. But the cather could refuse and go out to pick a many lot in order to brig back the letryses of the garland with him to make out well in doling the larder of his accomplices. The gud stamp of the dance set.

Occasionally when propositioned by gypsies’ and their ghost and when they had enough some was given away. At the want of the best specimen for ingestion. Simply they are were boding of the thrown chances in a lucred plight. The having of dances in the arms of iconoclastic fete stances.

The politicians realizing the light coming long before dawn. Stalwart in doubt as to the wind weaving of survival in their grain stores and stirs. Wondering without refrain and often shunned. From the interior country where the travelers were known for coming out with the laughingstock of the rogue and rambling, the revelers and a rake.

The fact that gypsies had their own sundries of a tailor and wine to speak of the vintner of bleaky sun aum mantra chant nourishment. Taken heartfelt to dreaming child gait and sweet reminiscences. With strange calender romances they would thus have their dances in private on mountain sides beneath the moon.

A Candleweight Ten Thousand

In a word. Slammed! Mother Nature’s own son get out the tackle and using it to raise up both his arms. Still righteous and real heart rending. Oh but to make your query of the air. That same thoroughfare as the gospel messages. Given to flight by the birds and their unassuming breezes. Chill and aerodyte. A systemic set of ropes echoing clear. So bound by obstruction. So well fielded as to give strata to its broad sweep. Of the passages, the waterways, the landsdown way of catching tails midnight. A stormy concatenation of modernity and reach.

If there comes back to point, that poetic license is a dealing in proclivities. That meander before stealth is a cataclysmic reprieve from the dunder of a simple and shy hunting. To wink in the age of fascination. To be given to charmed reckless havocs. In determined causality of smelling a quaint blueberry pie cooling in the breach of an open and unguarded kitchen window. If the belt of a hefty broach said making good on the bibard, the penchant, the hustle, of gray eyed and stumbling dodgers.

There has been up till now a good amount of experience to remit the wealth of the common unto the dominion of the reel. There are not again as many oogling codgers to make off with the coffers of the house of justice. More of a due concord in the way that trees buffet and sands sift their dross unto dirty rain. A fitting contentment on the board of believers although still being thwarted by the contest of deserts where there are drowning and the mar of realities when there is not to be found a drop.

Life. Were it raised up behind the stump to reach the conversations of leading tonic and tones. The wistful and indeterminate in their contesting figures of art. The very air above can weal and turn in broad and cavorting temptations. While the given nature of the past time cross. If there are to be more sheep in the fold. Well then if the keep of their hearts to shelter will continue to bleet at their mistress like lambs. She the one to see to their high mountain passes.

Between faux geste and the solar bearing of a kept sort of universal time. Broad out across the waters beyond cliff face and hungry rocks of the reef and fallen takes on the humble towering of the above. A season to take off the normal chains of our intuitions and accept the vocalizations of a consulate. The remaining ephemeral traipsing of a bandy few to their watches and their wait.

To blow the horn of yesterday and remember the Winters release of our dreams to the Summer gardens and the liberty to make good on one’s time. Well spent and garnering both a memory and a taste. For the blessed sunshine and the greenery of the tree and field. The forest in its vertical ascension into the guises of the upward and outward skies in the fair above.

Simpleton Seeking Rhyme 1994/10/26

One and the same and I think of this often. One less nail in the coffin. Got to wonder what cloths he’s doffin’. These clues are out leagueing in the rain. I feel a bit certain it has brought me a deep seated pain. As if I have run the full gamut of my grain. The coursers on the track with a haughty swain. Once labeled legally insane. My how I asked to complain. If only creatively I were afforded substance and did gain. Then I could give a jingle the jangle and let it, let it lap at the harmonious in a fell dispensation of the rains. But I won’t be out there in that maelstrom messaging around in my bi-plane. I’ll be quaffing root beer and chucking pizza inside, in a corner, content, and without want to wane. Never die in bed for want of a tongue to give meaning to a blood red stain. It is something I find as primitive as my want to be found in a name. So no more dropping a shift by taking something lame. For I have found it is a no good old hilarious game. Though it dies early it is not forgotten for being tame.

This good gal I have got has on the goods with her raiment. Mister Bobby really just saps like hoopla about making the necessary payment. But as I can see there is no real telling where they off and went. I’ll win the lottery and none but a penny will be needfully spent. Then I will just go and give where I never lent. I’ll be a philanthropist or like a politician remembering all the babies he’s kissed. Can’t go and wake up in the morning there wanting to be pissed. In fact that bitter little witticism of mine might not even belong in this list.

The seldom gleaned but growing green of indich cud. Creeping along for some ancestral and graymalkin coping mean. A light’s reflection made this out to confusion with suds. Let the pruning gleaner round up a levee flood. Cold wash away the cow’s own barn-red blood.

And so we see it is for this good kid to remain in her trust. And though she can taunt a bit with her outlandish ways there is not a grain of sand that should go bust. So come on enou, righteous and simply, stop that poor reason from being your fuss. I’m telling you so I don’t have to go out on that limb there treating you to none of my cuss.

Thrice I delivered your sayings to the ends that were loose. My livelihood thus made out likened unto a Western flying goose. Some of the incarnate wars dropping their tools and bringing out their respites at a truce. She made up neither a name for the freshet in her locks nor the child without labor on her back in a papoose. But when back it came on the much emaciated bull moose we found he had gotten his stockinged feet stuck in the fecund sluice. We already knew it must have been how the honeybee squeezed a lemon to cure with his nectar and juice.

The queen could hold him tight though at first they were rather attending to something of a boost. The varied and auld diffidence fared its way through. The media and its channels right on out to the news. So I sat around and came up with a song for her I called ‘That Kind Man’s Blues’

They came calling on me, so I figure I had already paid those dues. And you know, I am older now and I understand more of the assignations behind the stemming of the loci and voci proctors in our melodics. And stone’s throw wooing of this foundling and nascent innocence. And yes even its delightful dumbfoundedness in the mete of these so many efforts. Out to know our very own peculiars. Our relaxations, and our austerities. As well we would choose to afford them a good string or two, a few clues. Shifting in these reels I almost feel like the sour in the mash of some homemade fruit-top booze.

Offal Care

Offer care at a level somewhere. Above awares, are the sublimns of any lesser importance than the sort? Of matter rooting in its form. Is it motion that brings arc to bow? Those lengthy gaited and hallow strides in the revolution of their quandary. The cross borne plots of matter. Through space in motion. From the gravity of a fallen leaf or water down a stream.

The moon askew in its round from the general hobnobbing of the planets. And then the sol in its fascinating wheel twinkling on and off. By verifying a round succor. But itself triambulating a course of 4 motions or rather 3 motions bearant upon a core vessel.

A keeper of sakes floundering like some new fish on the dockside. And further be the plane in any reaction of numerous flight. Gaiting in volumnicity and stratagem. For some period at a reckon with mindset. And relative conjuncture of paradigm. And orthodox mitering at rite with revelation.

Could the octave and its few scales bear upon representation of the universal colossus? What to praefect the learning aptitude. And settle any qualms against practice and well contained hypotheses. It is a duel tremens that airs the third. Dimey at a mention-duration. Long enough to pick a gait. Long enough to bow under and lay.

The ground strewn in its contesting bouts with revolution(entrofusion). To find some harmony in this epochal. Like ratios of the interning fate. The smallest besmidgeon and the longest tide between ebb and flow. It is some method of emotion at a virile stance with any affection or fertility.

The fuse of consciousness looks for new and different means. To accept or rather digest the influx of such matter with precept in one’s self. Wit’ the rationale at want in garner for report. Some pliable civilized cant with the theros of imaginings making mendicant the hallows or shaded side. Some relative use, some mythic livelihood that grips the conscience by the whole. And then receding as if it has brought a new sketch of the stars to its own focus and frame. At a mete with science, at a core for sure. Yes my indigenous side still hankers for the evolutionary stuff.

A diversity of intentions has the watern soul, in converse, in sure measure, and to smart with such dole of the indicative and thoughtful process allured. A cohesion of spirited trains in the mirthful respect for one and his cohorts. This acclamation in encouragement for the pathos of the mind. How seek it, I, with cant equippage at the outset in the paranormal array to lay against it. Meditative states of robustness and boundary. The eternity space of marques thrown near to capsize on the shore. A prince of the heathen starside village.

The reinforcement of historical credence drawn by not langouring, not smuggling the mishap of a fallen dawn. Does the baroque cavort upon a surface or is it more a wheel milling of the course in its figure and number. It would seem the motion enrapt of self and charmed by offspring. To look back estrailing on some dremarian conquest of the exhibitionary mien and liege. It is curious that a revolution enkind could be left here remaining in odd sorts of spiel. In odd parts of a fused wheel. Or spiral or snaking filibuster of its coil and mane. The freeweight accumulation of firth and bow.

A last handled paying of the homage to any mentos serendip that escape the beauty of the rose and its stone in a messianic attempt to bridge the gaits. With cross-reflex inter-temerities of an awry muscular flex. And the Saint of a lock and bar counting up his cultural whereabouts with his head like a man.

On more than one mission at once. A mark skanse his halidome. Raising in shape like a stand before the new days rising sun. A penchant for non-vehicular movements, read to all like a list that fate is no worse fare. For a better common good than one who’s tune seems strong enough, but fails in its distant recoil and falls too often like a limb to the wind or other such disparaging weathers.

Kettle Bell

Looking into the gloom in an amusing and songwriting kind of typecast need to presently go about the ruins of this late war. Without fatuous displays make good on my coventry and in God’s good service, try to at least, to bring about weal in earning my wage. If this need to attest, to query, to make good on promises and petitions. And the descritory confluency of ramshackle husbandmen speaking of womins and lambs. Also Clara, and Elsy and Bessy, and May.

That the fielding of ryeman and crossbearer go passable into the drink and are reliable beholding unto the pools of a shoreline ocean at low tide. Good enough to collect supplicant realities of the rolling sands and the cut loose bottoms. With currents of the old whaleroad coming to bouts. Drawn upon the sea from the outlet of rivers worldwide and deluvian in their release to the high spirits. Clowning the rafts and jambs in their escapement of fealty unto the campus of those broad waters.

A crow’s harbour of the woeful and right to pity. A last ditch effort to get up to snuff in the lackaday and upright and relieve the hoveled and the pinched. With the nuance of charming clatter and the charge of a hospitible drum. Hoops and solace in the turning gait of independents’ that quivels and spits, burns out and fiercely requits the display of teeth.

With every other semblance to the reel strayed out to a glen of the fielding career. The gear and the Wright’s foot. A kings’ ransom for the fearing of civility. The goat’s head soup of a cavalier and assuming despondency. How it clears the roof and supports the filch for his carrolus innurement of medicinal blends and denatured tinctures.

A breadth of cover inclement to the diaspora of run down streets. The emblazoned recalcitrant, a stuffed goose of the bonnie pike. How now brown cow. Where does your garten frail its picts? Are the wicked and parsimonious the same flagrants of repasse as the rioter and his ill acquainted dogs. Not to die outright but within the guise of the earthly church. That sovereign empowered in the creature beats and elemental scions of the dutiful and fruited.

Surrendering to the clandestine hinterland of subjugated viands of green. As if the running down of burr and tawn. Where in the sidereal cogent of placer rhymes and cordial assays makes good on the all to often henpecking of dispassionate qualms and painted glare of a south going mystic.

The book gets thrown. The laurel crown it falls along with the thorny and them gone up and died. Only the ivy seems to understand the apparent lack of penchant honesty in the tooth gnarled pugh and quarrelous hangers on. If you don’t know then you are a lying fool. Got no real need to identify with any other than the devil and his Satan stick. Always in repair and high tallying to the tune of ignorance too toward earth-centric consistency. A regularus mood disparity amongst the locus of illegitimate sinners. At taught with the steal of the official broken plate diners. Without, the gone mayers just continue to place their jimmy the crow spinners and say I me mine you stupid farce of Witchhazel and blazing beginners. When the lie ties off it is at the betrayal of its persuasion. Not too many freakshow winners left to bring in papa his review of the wicked kempt treats.

No most of those people wound up kicking themselves in the head before they could get out of the way of the mess they were bringing. Eh? What’s that? No repulse for your thoroughfare. But I thought you were assuaged in your horrendous reprieve. Don’t tell me your back here for being such a complete pain in ass was all over again. Well the sickness of disease does enjoy the voluntary slave. Much booty to go to their bouts with chainsaws and watchers and in short order bring on the remove of the shrubbery. From its reminder, from its satiety, from its mien.

The Corn & The Vine

Rationing of reasonable foodstuffs has alway been a cooperative effort of the highest endeavor. At least in my opinion. And as that is so thus and even more so what is the reward of having chosen to let the Earth flourish and flourish abundantly.

In order to better affirm the writs of my langours into what betides a fitting parlance and rhetorically speaking to do that up in the conquest of those things I may allay one with another in some hopefully good sense of simple resiprosperus action. The holding of coats aside any who do not aspire to reeve at the commonweal with the matters of feeding a nation.

The many hungry from the seclusion of spirits and seeking the comfort of a daily prayer. In so many ways does this eventually lead you back to the simple need for one’s stover and draughts.

By the merry tide of expectancy. In the gladsome raring of memory with the potential to expand the witness of selfhood unto the realm of all the many possibilities for compunction in the masting of cates. Rite assuaging the guttural truncation of a time to refresh. Acquaintance with this paradisical continence and the accountability of breadwinner does not leave one alone for the reach of faith that is steadfast in the actual belief in what assists us to exist lifelong from birth onward.

Should we by the time of responsibly and satisfactorily safewise and manifesting maturity of aptitude. Larder enough to turn with and discern merit or otherwise bear in the functional indemnity of terce branded cross or incrementally the moniker of tenderness and viability with gumption and cheer.

To see is prayer for guidance in order to mature to the point where one may be responsibly sensible. The extent of the adventure that we take in grasping our becoming is neither to be set aside in the way of good company nor what sanctimony there is in a familiar table or the head and nut of interspersed manners of assembling our needful store.

To greet peril with props for the drama that fate is in our core and what grounds we have for enculturation of those same endemnified characterizations is no real trepidation but a put on. Give up the caveat to the gerrymanderers of later days. Nothing to say 💭 is a pessimistic way of airing that moot is the worst and most egregious feeling of being a lack in a world 🌎 of untried respites.

Recipes for reminiscence amongst the mingling days of a well drawn interlude. At such a juncture in the day and its diet we should guide the foal and the pup to remit and acquire the gnosis of a fitting condition for continuining on with good relations succinct in the convivial art. At while the wanton or bereft may hale other shores. Not to tell the dam to break before the Lord. As well the faith in a happy grave supercedes its soporofic need for contest.

To eat and to eat well. By God Thank you Lord