NaPoWriMo Day 30 - Dreams

Dreams

Dreams come and go, yarn on the loom
forming a tapestry, a quilt, a story
being told with each thread pulled
from a different stock. Individual
strings are mixed throughout, grand
picture never to be completed, never
fully connecting, waiting forevermore,
waiting for stitches, to be made whole
at last. But when the dreamer awakens
threads are cut, stories are twisted
lost amongst the shadows of daylight,
blankets tossed asunder, care ungiven
to the unformed quilt of lost dreams.

NaPoWriMo Day 29 - The Dunes

The Dunes

A small parking lot sits next to tracks
where trains carry freight and fellows
away from the lakes and the woods,
towards the ever expanding distant city.
I am not on the train, nor following
the tracks, walking instead, between
tracks and trees, under the cackling
power lines. A symphony of both machine
and animal fills the fresh air, smelling
of water and sand, leaves and the faint
hint of train exhaust, mingling throughout.
The path curves, no more tracks or power
lines, a forest erupts around me, a deer
stops nibbling to watch with wary eye
this stranger to his domain, but my steps
carry me past the deer and further, further
through the trees, up the hills, towards
the scent of water, growing stronger,
past the ever changing horizon. The ground
grows soft, sandy, though the trees remain
dense as ever, until they remain no more,
disappeared, as if swallowed by something
unseen and unknown, replaced with mounds
of sand, like drifts of granular snow,
lapping waters making a pristine backdrop.

NaPoWriMo Day 28 - Single Malt Scotch

Single Malt Scotch

All across the college campus, cheap
cans of beer are all the rage, drunk
nights and drunk days, vomit induced
hangovers hosting an eternal party.
Occasionally special occasions arise
and students spring for cheap tequila
or vodka or whiskey to mix their nights
celebrating loss of memory, inhibition,
and the contents of their stomachs.
They cry out in joy, claiming fun times
are theirs for the taking, but I pity
them, never taking the time to sit back
and enjoy the elegantly refined taste
of liquid gold, a single malt scotch.

NaPoWriMo Day 27 - Novelist & Poet

Novelist & Poet

A novelist and a poet walk into a bar,
or rather a coffee shop, with wi-fi,
of course, as is most often the case,
and fight for a seat near the plug
so their laptops can live, allowing
them to build and create word worlds
where everybody can see them, hear
the tics of fast fingers, typing
nothing, the words on the page less
important than the image of a writer,
hard at work creating. God of a world.

NaPoWriMo Day 26 - Bushido

Bushido

It is ingrained, intrinsically known
unuttered and unwritten, yet trained
from birth through sensei's actions.
Honor and morality, no room remaining
for greed or selfishness, a balance
naturally occurring, between souls
animal, plant, and mineral, earthly
scales delicately stacked, a narrow
path, a recipe of success followed
by necessity to the unwritten letter,
the difference between an elegant
masterpiece, surviving through ages,
and an infamous disgrace, a rancid
concoction on history's taste buds.

NaPoWriMo Day 25 - Model Trains

Model Trains

Electric engine, a few cars, caboose
circumnavigating without purpose,
around and around, room revolving
with each subsequent pass, sounds
of cheering children mingle gently
with the tin horn, coming in view.

Days turn to years, track is laid
piece by piece. More cars join
their brothers, and eventually
trains multiply, a simple loop
evolves, an entire metropolis,
the inner child still cheering.

NaPoWriMo Day 24 - The Forge

The Forge

The air is filled to the brim
with a heavy heat, and flashes
of smokey sparks, fireflies
wafting through the tiny room.

Coals of yellow, red, orange
form the centerpiece, a table
serving tempered steel, folded
by learned hands into perfection.

The metal does not glisten, glows
rather, possessed by the rising
sun, symbol of its motherland,
another elegant katana is born.