October Eyes

Living in love amongst the blood in the deepest thick and oozing mud all around all our sores. all of our pain let go in a rushing flow of releasing entombment.

Uncolonized air of new growth searching, drunk ants twirling in the sink again they found the mouthwash, the same way the butterflies twirl when they feed on the grapes hanging off the vine.

No choice but to embrace the fire to keep warm. Smoke in the eyes, winds of change, breathe of night, butter in the moon, blood under fingernails the smell of burnt hair, shit, and blood. Lungs grasp for purity, the soul seeks love and renewal.

Knowing the mistakes that one has made enables the possibility of a strong vision. Knowing how much worse it can get, realizing how many false dreams must be shattered, how much struggle and blood and clawing and hunger there could be.

On the cement floor cold and broken no longer? Cannot wait any longer to feel freedom. Knowing the sky is endless and the toenails hold tight.

Ed Tajchman and friends at Resonance Arts and Music Festival 2014

The River is a Window

the river is a window
the fog is a way through and in.
the crow becomes another you when you want to change eyes.
it's the other side of the river now.
the other side.
The river is a window.
The crow's eye is where you are.
The wings through the fog rolling over the river in the morning
seeps into your blood.
Shimmering green pools of moss in the wet summertime
with your bike tires tangled deep in natures twisting embrace
of branches, flowers, seeds, blood feeders, buzz makers, flower shakers.
The river is a window.
The soul is shining there always.

-Ed Tajchman

River Drifting

Heat from the flame forges a fierce stare.

Beware of that gorge, when you pierce another's eyes.

No lies contain enough saturation to wash away the sickness.

Be real and slow in a thick way, with the heavy night of translucent

shimmering breathing on your neck.

Every morning another head upon your shoulders.

Every night another wreath on the pillow.

Every hour another seam lining the walls between dreams,

carefully thought out flayed through and separated again.

Vanished like the fog when the wind washes down the valley.

On the back of the spinning rivers, always going back again.

I know.

Who I am. Who all that I have been and have become now.

Will be becoming in this moment.

So loud when it dances now, it shakes the roots of all the trees.

Tread lightly in the shadows and the warrior's pace knows your way.

And will rest with you there.

Be light upon your own heart most of all, be like a waterfall, only then will

you know her.

All crashing below is free again. Be the flow. It is okay to let all go and drift again.

September 18th, 10:46 p.m.

 -Ed Tajchman

Wandering Hills of the Heart

Fulfilled and content in a dream with living creatures.

Roaming the wandering hills on an endless series of
unknown pathways through darkness with no sight of light.

Going forward through them because you need something new.

When the face gives away how broken you are despite
projecting the most imagined happiness.

It is because of the cold, because of the struggle to free the mind.

The aching to satisfy the heart with only what you have inside,
and what you can find hidden in the night sky when  you think
no one else is looking.

When the blisters on the toes burst,

When everything breaks again and you curse,

just when you think it can't get worse.

It is then you realize the beauty, the magic,

then endless whispering hills calling you forward,

calling you out of your den, into the eternal land

of the dreaming mind and the giving heart of Gaia.

Home is not a place to go back to but a state of the heart found in travel.

-Ed Tajchman

Slow Down and Talk Loud

Slowing it down. Everything around.

Faster then You think you talk,
even forgotten the way to walk.

Paper hearts hold no keys to contentment.

Vapors dart, lost into the breeze.

How to know when and if to flow,
is no easy task for a grand deceiver;

Ultimate receiver, unending pure of heart

-Ed Tajchman

Restless Human Animal

I never want to go back home anymore.

The feeling of belonging somewhere

falls into the sky. The deepest blue of

midnight's hour interrupted by golden light behind moons.

Every place I am now I live to be there.

So cracked and broken it's beautiful, okay to stare.

The wind changed suddenly and I was ready.

To take off, always had been half sprung like a cat.

Pacing encasing every walking hour I want to be free.

The void inside the heart brings me closer to where

I see the reflection of eyes unseen.

Always ready to be heard, everyone with a pure singing heart.

Projecting forward we will meet and create a new start.

-Ed Tajchman