(We're not at )A Loss for Moss (here in the great Northwest)
by TwoHawk



We're not at a loss for moss on cemetary grounds around here
Covering old wounds
Dried wreaths now weeping with dew
Of course, I live in The Northwest where water and moss are at their best
Soft mossy feelings
Lying everywhere on my lawn,
On my loins
In the grass
Flat on my ass.


Outside on my alchemical lawn, my magical tree, a Raven sits and sings about
Muddy streams
Rainbows in the grass dancing
That could be tomorrow's chance to spirit me away
To another world.

Today I, The Mouse, am suffering from poetry about moss in the grass
Since I ache in The Wounded Knee
Of my own Little Bighorn
Too far away for anyone else to see me scream.
I can't run as fast as other mice do
I know Raven's after me, But he can't catch me.
I can hear it in his song.

This time he'll just have to sit there and whine
Like people who haven't the time
To enjoy doing nothing at all
Cause I'm on a roll.
(Does your boss claims you're out of line, like clams thrown into pot pie by mistake?
Well, just who is this boss who doesn't know how to cook?
When you're president of
Your own company, author of your own poetry
Preacher of your own litany.
Nobody's prey 'cause you've learned how to hide,
To run out to play when its dark.

So go ahead Raven, sit on your butt
Whittle and woo.
Paint pretty pictures
You're such a fool.
I don't plan to come out while The Sun still shines.
Society says I'm getting old. You're through.
You're over The Hill
You don't fit The Bill.
Cultural indignation
Political stagnation, useless litigation
Business flagellation
Cancerous, too!

Oh well, the poet's back at sniffing moss, licking raindrops
Throwing fits, licking spit
Blanketing ideas he faces everyday.
Ah! The artists are slumbering
The musicians down under are yawning
The Sheets are making too much music.
Fingerlings are filling the streams. Where're the big fish?
Lovers wonder what it all means.

Hummingbird's still singing about gorging on nectar
Robin's still winging her way
Pidgeon Crossings cross over telephone wires, man. Think about it!
Hu-man's obstacles have no where to go
But to follow each other right out the door.
Four-legged critters, birds by god don't mind.
They simply fluff up their wings, pause with their claws a bit
Dodge and fly through the maze.
Some drift about lazily in the sun, or under the bridge
While the human people just sit there in a complete daze
Wrapped up in the gauze they made for the dead
In wounded haze.

Birds just keep on singing song after song
Keep on moving their feet, their beaks
Keep dancin the Light Fandangle
Keeping pace with all The Fleet of Sky Dancers You meet
When you look up at The Sky, smile wide
Watch for geese
Then thank Your Creator as they fly by as
The Angels you meet in your mind do cry,"Right on, man, ride on!"
See what I mean?
I'm still hard at work doing nothing but lookin' up to The Sky.
With poetry on my mind.
You're in good company
Come join in The Chorus Divine, said a Mole one day to me.
Rewrite The Refrain yourself, said The Mole.

Verse Two

Now about those tidbits of moss on the ground there in The Great Northwest
And those fluffy seeds that float by your window.
Why collect moss
When you can be a moving weed?
Can't put moss on stones on top of dried flower wreaths
Nor on tombs yet perceived
Or bequeath Beauty to your offspring if you haven't been to ALL
The Changing Rooms between the crib and the tomb.
But you can reminisce about it!

You CAN sit and do nothing but wonder. How lovely!
A single moment of silence or bliss. Do you know what happens next?
A Wave of Beauty simply comes over you
'Cause you've been mindlessly blessed, dear poet
You've been blessed!

Maybe you can't paint the museums' walls
Maybe you can't drip raindrops with words so wet
But you can dance on old bloody crosses, with moss at your feet,
Roll all the way down your own Cruci-fiction Hill
(And other false-hooded traps.)

Instead you can sing.
You can think
And you can dream.
Its all in your mind.
How well you do,
That's a no-brainer thing

Verse Three

There's something I want to mention before I go rolling down my own little hill.

Who's your evaluator?
Who's tapping your toes?
Who's looking over your blueprints
Who chose to be happy just to see that you are too?
Put a close on being chastised by your self, your peers, by fears, by wasted-out tears
Don't be intimidated by critics. Throw them to the lions instead of
Them throwing you. No one but you knows
Inner beauty better than you
If you're not afraid of standing naked in front of your own mirror.
Have no fear. Many people will love you regardless if
The mirror shatters..
Maybe you don't hear their accolades often,
But they do give them out occasionally.
Open wide your ears and open your eyes wider still.
The Divine Painter's toolbox is always open, tools always clean,
Ready to be used all over again.
Feel The Presence of Love's Disguise in the paint tubes He's used.
Creator's pigments are as soft as moss, they never dry out. There're everywhere
Outstanding in The Rain.
Hidden Laurel Wreaths
Beneath vested interests
In The Brass of Carousel Ring.

Once you've ridden 'round and 'round and 'round
Reaching out for it but never catching it,
Soon you'll make The Decision
To Stop Trying so Hard,
Then you will have found The Golden Ring

The Philosopher's Mound of Lovely Things.

So, Get off thy silly painted horsies and all these fairy rings.
Be primed pound by pound for a real wild horse's ride,
For The Beauty inside you is so wonderful so wild
The same one you helped create inside of me when you first gave your love to me,
The one others tried too hard to find.
How can something be found, if it can never be lost?
Like soft moist moss underfoot,
After rainy storms, the drowning floods
Most people are still looking elsewhere for it
At a loss for soft moss.
Yet forever down on the ground beneath your very feet, in the footprints of time
Lie fetiches of such notable beauty as thee.
Mossy feelings of moistened love for All of Life,
Whether it rains or not!
A pie in The Sky? Uhn-huh, There's plenty of Pie on The Ground!
I Love to Lie in it!

Can I lie on the moss in your lawn without lying to you?
I can? Whooop-ey!
In the summer air I shall be
Looking for you from down deep inside while looking up at The Sky,
Looking inside makes a lot of sense.
Rolling you over on yourself in the grass
The Beauty of You Inside spills out. I feel it on the outside as we roll.
I Beau Johnny-come-lately shall enjoy your caress under your dress.
Such is my folly.
One day will you tire of Self? Or will you tire of me?
That's OK. Others who come after me will continue to create
The same Beauty you poured on me.
Inside you, there's lots more yet to find.
That is lways so, hmm........You can call me Johnny-so-faithful.

O, Coral Sweet You, Knees bowed head to head sniffing flowers
Tippy- toeing on Mother Earth. Deeper, deeper deep inside I will go with you.

Of course you can lie on my lawn...My loin, My breast and my heart.
Uh well, uh Momma Earth..... I think I'll go looking for moss some other time.
You scare me sometimes with all that Beauty inside.
Aho!