I often wonder how my walk would be in another's shoes.
Would it be smoother, faster, and with the path clearly laid?
Or would it be like walking in eggshells, or a tightrope perhaps?
Crossing mountains of daggers with my tattered footwear.

Would I be burning bridges after I traverse them?
Or walking a plank to a dastardly end?
Would I be walking the talk, as I speak dreams of wonder?
A walk with thousands following my footsteps.

Would I get lost in my walks to memory lane?
Dwelling on the thought of trekking the paths less travelled.
Is it a walk where I hold someone's hand, as theirs hold mine?
Or a bitter cold one where my feet gets frostbitten?

I wonder and keep wondering these walks of life.
That I only noticed, there's only a few steps in mine.
The path is not clearly laid, but I know my direction.
The goal is in the horizon, but I really must take a step.

So I gathered my musings and put them in my pocket.
And I... walk.

clipping a trail
  through the un-mown grasses of prehistory
i am reduced and nuded 
  by the buoyant vat   of sky baby blue

the grasses seed the heels of my work clogs
spiking sensory jabs through my socks
      a shy petting of pain

with the prow of my stride
  tiny residents vault scut and flutter
neatly evading   un panicked

radiating wet heat raises to my waist
i stop my destructive wading
i am slit, vulnerable and fed
i am primitive and free
i have membership
my uniform   banished

i take in a humid breath

about face
       and the illusions are switched
the buildings icon dominates
       and draws my responsibility
i can smile at the wash of life
       and reinstate myself in paid labour

It was an ordinary nothingness day
I slipped on my clogs and went for a walk
The ones that smell like suede
It was cold, but sunny... winter sun
Very very still outside
The occasional motorist passing by
Where are they all going I wondered
The sound of my shoes
Like a horse galloping on a paved road
The trees looked particularly picturesque
As the sun hung still in the sky
I didn't feel sad this time
I didn't miss anyone
For a short moment I thought of things that could've been
But that was a fleeting thought that I shrugged off and left on the pavement
You have a reason to be here said a voice inside
Here... right now... in this specific space
In this place in time
You are simply somewhere on the planet
Breathing and living
Getting on with what is referred to as life
Breathe and live
Just simply breathe and live

the devil walks the
shores of a deep black ocean
my mind is the cause

i am now something
walking the ruff world like all
here we are my friends

Start with self.
The others can wait.

Thoughts are just passing clouds for which to meditate.
Observe the world as the observer, not the taker or receiver.

Judges are for benches. Do not sit alone.
   Stand and walk into the songs of birds.
   Free within your self called home.

you never visited me
while
            waiting
                             for you
i became part of the earth
as a fossils
whom you walked on

white snow hard as ice
old man barely walking with
cane happy to be

{from 07 Feb 2018, reintegrated to my mind today, btw}

How much weight can a word carry,
you know?
I-am-bicly or bib-licly speaking,
y'know
What I mean to say is, no word stands alone
even
the word word itself needs a place to put its foot.

---
Certainly, we've seen a thing
or two
since you first stopped to see waves forming right
before your very eyes
in stone

Lies. You said you were certain
they'd be lies if you told another soul
what you thought you might have,
might have,
seen.
...face-forgotten man wonder who I am
Well, I'll be, if it weren't for me,
I doubt I'd get one ****** lie
unbelieved,

Tut, you know what I mean,
we can't go diggin' up the past and get past the present without suffering it to be so.

Just sayin'. Pain ain't, necessarily, part of waiting, now.
Here, if you're hungry, you can eat.
If you are thirsty, drink. The real here, where you are now. You're not in some torture chamber reading this.

Think about what you can't live without and,
watch, time stops, to prove you wrong.

You live on.
Even if you think you died, you still think, so,
you live.

Get on with it. Imagine the reality of truth,
as a place, past physics,
no lies exist there. So,
what else is new, to you? What else ain't
here, where it is said there is no condemnation?

Don't do that.
Don't start imagining all the bad stuff happening here because you can't imagine no lies you believe.
You imagine lies every time you say amen, in-advertently, so be it, as it may
be,
admitted ly,
for gotten-past-things, such as they are, imagined ones are still the worst. Hardest to get past.

If there be any
virtue, praise, rock-candy-mountain-reality, you
may recall them all.
Freely given for giving, dharma karma doing done,
old son.

Fair were the tales the servants told to Grandma's people before the flood.
The ant people, were a diligent folk,
they hid us all in reed boats
they bent with the wind,
like Corn-mammy chill'ns in April sun showers.

But, oh, the way things used to be, they was ab-
used, them servants sent from God.
Good luck findin' one now.

Blue and white, and blue and green, and blue and yellow, and blue and orange, two by two,
on a spectrum of one being the best,
choose blue and white.
Discern the rest.
Be still. There's more.

a -musin', eh? the way things might-a -been.
'lot a good that may do ya', ken ye, kennin' ever things?
Kin folk fallin' from the fam'ly tree be
laughin' sayin' see what he wannabe,
lordy, lordy bless my baby heart.
Pea-pickin' heart.