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Posts Tagged ‘travel’

The Keeper

The farewell light, the watch tower,
The candle keeper up so late,
The flickering thoughts, the sadness stays
When off go those but some must wait.

One day upon returning, maybe never,
The coastline torch that was left behind,
The keeping light may have changed hands
But the light still stays for those to find.

Aged old man are you the one
Who sent me off those years ago?
Are you the one who keeps the light?
Are you the one who guides my soul?

A ship amongst a lonely shore,
A night hanging low in moonlit air.
Fade away into the world then
Find light from a man with silver hair.

Tell him a tall-tale or two,
Watch the light and share his drink,
Do not forget he keeps the shore,
And as you talk, he will watch as he will think.

Kyle McHale      2012

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Dying in a Chair

I don’t want to die in a chair,
I’d rather be afoot somewhere,
To be out there when I’ve no air,
The men before me died in chairs.

For Pop-Pop faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
The Pacific blood he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

For Gramps faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
The prison camps that he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

For Dad faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
That jungle hell that he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

I don’t want to die in a chair,
I’d rather be afoot somewhere,
To be out there when I’ve no air,
The men before me died in chairs.

Kyle McHale      2010

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Reflections

The way our souls are drawn to the underground
As if roaches were surviving the end of times,
Crowded, shoulder to shoulder wishing the
Worst to be over.
We travel in trains under the earth like blood vessels
Moving us to work everyday, from light to darkness to light.
Time moves normally above ground.
The complexities in a day that never cross our mind
Lead us somewhere unknown in the layers of daily routines.
Outdated D.C. metro trains pass by through mind numbing tunnels,
Our reflections flicker in train windows
And we rarely notice them spying on us,
Like mirrors aligned at a barber shop
In endless worlds of ourselves,
Each receiving a slightly different haircut.
My reflection self may have had a better day than I,
Stepping left instead of right to avoid tripping,
Or arriving a minute earlier to catch a train on time.
Our reflections live every part of our lives and theirs.
The poor ones who live only underground,
Stuck to the windows of things,
Remind us that when we have a chance for light, or love,
We must take it without flinching.
Time is patient, though we are not,
And we must love so that our
Limited reflective selves know there is hope for them too.

Kyle McHale       2012

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Man’s Heart

Always now, as always then,
A place to form a perfect age,
When chivalry and better men
Had fine-tuned their sharp, skillful rage,
Or showed their love with letters sent,
With blood and earth on an old page.
Better or worse to woman that
Could then play puppet, tit for tat.

Always now, as always back
When only strength in men had failed,
Crushing thoughts of a woman that
Gave wind to an empty sail,
The only thing that men do lack,
Finding strength in loves betrayal.
Old knights and new knights do their best,
Holding hearts from a bursting chest.

Always now, as always ago,
Carried honor but could not pass,
Through or around the awful show
Of two body prints in soft grass
Where love was formed and made to glow,
But no one told not made to last.
A time or two duration of,
When honor thinks it can keep love.

Always now, as always had
To carry swords and steel plates,
But battle flesh is far from sad
When stacked against loving’s hate,
Of that which kills a lonely lads
Chance at keeping honors fate.
What swords of men, what honor set
Of traits can make good men forget?

Always now, as always past,
Dark ages come and go away,
It’s sweetest things that do not last,
That make men men in honors way,
Carrying forth the only task
To say the words when one must say,
I am man with armored heart,
I lead worlds that once were dark.

Kyle McHale      2009

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Deep at the Roots

When the light fades over the hills,
The world quiet and resting,
Among the creatures place you sit
At odds with what you are thinking.

Know that life is fast, life is slow,
Sit and rest in your wooden chair,
Breathe it all in to cycle out,
Trust your thoughts to that low lit air.

Let it take your troubles out there,
Sit easy for a time and then
Your thoughts will spread in that soft wind
To find you back in a time when

Dirt and cricket chirps had meaning,
When nothing mattered but the sun,
When crayfish waited for your small hands,
When you first had to trust someone.

That breeze will bring it back to you,
Remind you life is not that way,
Then as the early night time falls
Be thankful for the warmth that day,

And sweetness flows deep in the ground,
That pulsing life just under foot,
Just dirt and crickets singing loud,
Touch all of life deep at the roots.

Kyle McHale      2010

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My Westward Mind

A calling to my westward mind,
But I a stubborn east-lee soul,
What wonders stay out there to find
A landscape that once truly stole
The dreams of men whose families kept
In all that pain but never wept,
Yet strived to seek another way,
Packed up that carriage, moving on
To some new tune of western song
To follow the sun at red ends day.

A place kept near and close down in
Where wild calls and spirit seeks
A chance for the true journey-man
To not perish on an east-lee street.
Venture forth! Venture forth!
Find out what life is truly worth,
Watch the plains spill out with sun,
Dip in a river wide with fear,
Hold close those things that are so dear.
Watch a herd of bison run

Like changing winds of giant domes,
A bison’s back or thunder cloud,
Confusing start to a new home,
On the edge is living now.
In that edge a canyon stays
Waiting for heavy hearts to pray,
And sway among a wild place,
A brown bear’s spirit hiding out
Where driven up are magic trout,
Where all is comfort in the space.

A calling to my westward mind,
A storm not seen so deep within,
Building smoke like the ancient kind
When one small flame has to begin
A roaring traveler’s blaze
That fire’s the soul into the haze,
When it clears what stays is peace
That seeps through once painful veins,
Heartache that’s released after heavy rain,
The past is now the lonesome east.

Kyle McHale      2012

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Travelling Towards a Heavy Heart

Travelling from the broken coast
To where one seeks some peace the most,
A destination waiting there,
A calling out through humble air.

To find it and to travel well
Means keeping faith when oceans swell,
Keeping pace and bearing straight,
Knowing luck meets travelling fate.

Broken down and walking slow
A hovering of hope will glow
And stay with you just over head
From when you’re true till when you’re dead.

Not all who seek find that warm place
Hidden somewhere in secret space,
Below the ground, between the trees
Is where some peace stays secretly,

But if by chance or stupid fate
You’re lucky enough to locate
That cherished space, that sacred glow,
The reward is what you’ve come to know,

A heavy heart and wisdom too,
A subtle warmth and peace for you.

Kyle McHale      2012

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