the house on the cliffs…

the house on the cliffs…

and so there I was, another year, another week, my fortress of solitude, or at least a rental for a time, a log cabin up on Calvert cliffs, overlooking the Chesapeake bay, I come here on vacation once a year, I wind up contemplating life, and death, no, not a suicide thing, I have never had thoughts like that (thankfully), just looking down at my pile of chips and seeing where I am in the game, this is not reality, heck, it is escapism at it’s best (or worst), I suppose it is easy to take the yoke off, work, family, the daily routine I fall into, immediately I am relieved, within a day, just walking along the beach, my preoccupation of looking for, fossils in the surf (as this place is known for), perhaps just a metaphor, as I wander looking for perfect pieces of my past washed up on the ‘beach’, walking with no direction, no time slot, no time schedule, no idea of time unless I care to look at my phone, the cliffs block the sun in a way that shadows roam and invade nearly at half a day, and the beach, in most parts is dark by two in the afternoon, while the residents are out and about with work and life, and there I wander, no destination except not being able to walk further, the broken shells rip at my feet, so I put on my water shoes, then they rub my ankle damn raw so I take them off, barefoot again, sinking into the shore, the usual chatter of a busy subway platform in my mind subsides, washed away by every lap of tide, even on days when the water was a mirror, still the soft heart beat slight roar as the waves sink into the shore, at times I just stare at the water, or the birds, cormorants preening, their black shadows standing out against the water, and the gulls, their stark white standing out against the bluest of sky, even the occasional clouds can not ruin this scene, a Chesapeake scene painted on the fly just for me, as no where else in the world is anyone else seeing through my eyes right at this time, the wonder, this patch of time to never happen again and yet will a million times more – with wrinkles, the stress I brought in, seemed bound tightly in chains to my being, melts away without any resistance, effortless, regardless of my advancing age I feel young again, full of possibilities, everything seems right, but of course this is not real life, and the mornings, as I sit in place, coffee mug to face, watching the sun come up out over the bay, I wonder instead of leaving a part of me here, can I bring this slice with me instead…

but admittedly on the exit day, it all starts creeping in again, deadlines, ‘have to’s, things to do, bills to pay… all seems to crowd out hope, but I must remember this, the view, from the house on the cliffs, and the clarity it brings me, maybe this is distillation of the soul, and maybe I should pay more attention to the unraveling of my coil…

been on vacation… scientist cliffs Maryland

been on vacation… scientist cliffs Maryland

this is my view all week… pretty much, I find this to be a magical place, to recharge my batteries completely, this is a private community, so you have to be a guest, or there is one or so rentals available (being coy), I connect to this place, I could live here happily and die here even more so… these sights and the fresh bay seafood, the wild life, watching the falcons, eagles, hawks and osprey hunt over the bay… maybe this is not the tropics, maybe this is not paradise, maybe this is to me.. and so I keep coming back and it welcomes me….



and I looked up, so there it was, literally, a window, is this me? fate? you? a blank slate? it just seemed… to all fall into place, and my hand moved, or did it move me? to watch this natural TV, this parade of, well, what is, no fake production could produce this so perfectly, or CGI could mimic this to a tee, no… just me, here, allowed to be in audience, lucky enough to capture this…

on breakers from above, a lesson in less…

on breakers from above, a lesson in less…

The setup… so I was driving over the Verrazano bridge the day after Hurricane Ida came rumbling through, it was a glorious day weather wise (some wind), personally, eh, not so much, not bad but tiring, so this was all stuff that floated through my head as I drove over the bridge, it is an awesome sight, especially on a clear day like this, you tend to forget the fact that the water is not exactly, um… clean, especially from that vantage point, so it was more like being a bird flying over the span from Brooklyn to Staten Island (the narrows as it is called), the phrase “breakers on the narrows” is the trigger and what popped into my head, after I wrote the 1st draft I thought I missed the point by trying to make a point rather than make a picture (or share the sensation/feeling/moment)… so I included both drafts here, I don’t fret over my work, I don’t strive for perfection, I just wish to be me, as much as I can be (no one is pure imo… we all filter @ some level so I am not going to preach about how honest I am, I’m not 100% without filter… is that the goal? you bet… but I ain’t there yet…)

(1st draft)
breakers on the narrows

as I am passing over
might I look over
and from here, this is almost mystical
this structure, seemingly bifrost made real
this gleaming span, many thousands roam, daily
and I, one of those
turned into spectator by spectacle
as ida has departed, the sky opens wide blue

a boat’s wake, turns
rows of wind swept, rakes
breakers on the narrows peak
frozen in motion like marching saints

as I speed by this scene
hundreds of feet up above
in the comfort of my driving machine
wanting to dive right in
I imagine I can hear the sounds above the din
seagulls, waves breaking onto themselves and the shore-
a horn breaks the trance
I am transported back to this land
the common asphalt, ezpass flash
transported back

(2nd draft)
breakers on the narrows,
tailwinds whip up clone-peaks
angled on-towards the beach
I can not hear the roar
but do imagine
as I pass above them
such a scene from afar
a sky wide open blue
and the cleansing sensation
as this flying by calms-
breakers on the narrows.

the song has no link to the post other than allison was a tropical storm that ravaged texas a decade or so ago… sometimes rain is the worst part… as was the case with Ida, except super south jersey which got tornadoes (mullica river area, I love tooling around down there when I get the chance, it is like a different state)

Photo by Mo on

;there are times when I look outward, reveal inward, and I lose my way, my hope, as my dreams both nourish me and deceive me, and my words – they come – so I write;

counting down
the days of the sun
counting down
the days, to our reunion
counting down
until there are none
in my heart
I know – this,
will never happen




I smile

This is all about the beat and simplicity of form

1 – 2, 1- 2, (pause) 1

sun – shower – light – rain – (beat – long breath) I smile

so in utter simplicity I tried to achieve depth like haiku impact, that is what came to me in my head, all this when writing this… all this was swirling in my noggin, well, maybe not swirling but actually coalescing… and yes, I meant “light rain” as the sun (light) in showers (rain).. 2 lines of the same but not, it was pouring, I thought/wrote this in the midst that is the nature of a sun shower… the strangeness of the phenomena always makes me smile… comprende ?

your thoughts ? (I mean you did get this far, right?)

Photo by cottonbro on

how I miss you,
the taste of your lips –
my, my only love, for you are, this

sometimes I wake
trembled in the corner
I made myself
where none
had yet to exist

I have painted my own portrait
determined, my own fate
my inner demons
the mask, now is my face

and I am still here

looking out at the world
sometimes I dance along
most times I walk alone
and so-

I can not escape, this box
not by will or by smarts
just the end, determined by none
if only
I could really know, someone-
inside through and inside out
like I do, this house

gathering storm clouds come
the wood floor planks speak with age

my hands shake, with anticipation
or perhaps, just age again
so here I am

locked in this made hollowed cage,
sometimes my mind escapes
a hand turns the knob of the door
up into the sky, from the earth
into the stars, then I go
eternal, as light from fusion flows forth;
may I burn, like our sun
and provide that warm feeling, once more
on a child’s cheek
or provide the power to raise
the truly weak-
or fall,
to split a glimmer, of a tear
and may I find glory in the unfold
transform into all the colors as rhymes are told-
for a moment

but so returns the astral dreamer
back locked into,

into my cold dark corner;
hope is stoked by both sides in this
dreams may be the epitome- of murder

notes… I wrote this from the cuff, all tonight, raw, maybe could be more polished… I went over it maybe three times… but it makes sense to me, if it does for you, please comment, I am curious if my thoughts make sense to anyone, I post to make my art public, and my inner life public, because we are all alive right now, we owe it to each other as artists… maybe that sounds like bullshit or lofty, sure, but we are alive right now, together, for we truly are… and one day, one day too soon, we will all go away, my friends, we will all go away… why do we not live every minute of every day as such… we are caught up in the game… because, we are human… and I wonder how to express that and share that… with you…

maelstrom, male storm, hurricane and gone…

maelstrom, male storm, hurricane and gone…

oh your ennui, henri
the plain rain of henri, you would think a french sounding fellow would have a bit more flourish, no, just a wet blanket really, no howling or even soft blowing winds for that matter, just straight up and down rain, what a pity for a hurricane, once downgraded to a tropical storm, no more, just a collection of clouds with a core, a big messy spigot floating over central park, poor barry manilow, at least he got to start, I can only imagine the mass of rats running relays in subway tunnels, backstroke? I suppose there is a rat stroke, although I hope not see it in person, leave those olympics to the feline persuasion (hopefully hunting the things out to extinction – although I know better), maybe pizza rat will make a pizza raft, quite the tik-tok that would make, fivel would have nothing on that take, or even nimh for that matter, I can only imagine what might lurk in the flood waters of the city, perhaps like that scene in star wars, as I imagine the contents of a garbage compactor are much the same as a city street swept by water into pools of filth, so I suppose henri, after all, had some teeth, gummy-drooling wet ones gnawing and swirling at ankles and feet, I shudder to think… thank goodness for the suburbs…

the peak and flow: glory

the peak and flow: glory

Photo by Ricardo Esquivel on


for I recall
the gilded halls
the glory, of my own memory
like a museum, for all
I know marble is slow to fade
locked-staring into a slower realization;
on those days I was the prize
a stunning stallion gliding by
like flashes, stills, brief catches
all this resident inside, but spent
days behind-number greater now went
for alas there still remains a spark
for I recall the time I was a king
and now my throne is bare
and so has been
to stride these halls and live again
in the past, what seems now hidden
within a shell, broken mantle given
the glory shines less dim
suns-set in eyes, a horizon looms
might I capture one more ray of light
and ride out this diminished glory ‘fore the tomb.

reading the leaves (not tea, stream of conch…)

reading the leaves (not tea, stream of conch…)

Photo by Andrew Beatson on

the heavy summer air is full-ripe-pregnant-hanging-low with humidity, I can see the reading of the leaves nodding that a heavy rain is coming, my hand strum-slide-strokes up over on one of my newer shoots of bamboo and the protruding nodes, not unlike a lover, perhaps as intimate – as hairs on a limb, I whisper things in my mind to my plants, and when they do well I think they comprehend, like children do, I have conversations with my garden residents, for there are far crazier and more dangerous things to do with your time, when they start answering me though, that might be the time to question this or me, for now though I will still whisper and listen to the feel, the interloper wind is sneaky and subtle, a slight coolness slips in the door, cracks, gifting a micro oasis to the opposite palm of my hands as I walk, I want to stand here forever in the right now, however, I imagine even more of a release when the weight of the rain breaks the dam, so I wait…
(a few hours later)
I drifted off to sleep, expecting to be woken by a rollicking torrent-tempest worthy of noah, well, forty minutes at least, not forty nights at best, heck, I would even take a nice ten minutes and forty seconds less to break this humidity, I would like to tell you that I peeked outside and saw evidence of such a flood impress, but no, maybe just the equivalent of spit, or a light misting, as the idea of spit conjures a visceral reaction, ‘misting’ sounds calming, like a day spa commercial and flute music, so I suppose I need to work on my communication skills with my local nature guides, and perhaps… a better weather app.

(but wait, just now… I do hear some distant thunder… like hope off rubber bounce…)

notes… as I have said before this blog is me, not just works, works I do on the spot, this is not some contrived thing, this is more a diary than anything, a diary in works as I go, and maybe you learn a thing or four, I often wonder if anyone reads any of this babble outside of ‘likes’ thrown, I wonder, but honestly it does not matter, I am going to plow forward like a… and um, plow ? (but aren’t plows towed… damn semantics)… so anyone who reads this, thanks, your time and thoughts are appreciated, I can only imagine somewhere there are those I resonate with, one, two, a thousand? not important, just anyone alive in the right now, and if you read me you understand how I value the right now…. the universe conspired to have me posting at this moment in a billion years of time… because I am, and so are you, existing right now that is…