Fear, redemption…

Fear, redemption…

art beautiful bloom blooming
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What holds us back?  Mostly ourselves.  I am not claiming to be better or an authority on how to live.  In fact the more I think about life the more confused I get.  How in the ever loving world am I supposed to understand another person?  We are all an amalgamation of very specific ingredients and experience coalesced into this singular experience.  That is of course why we gravitate to our own tribes.  Nothing spectacular there… so the question becomes how to break these walls?  I could say it takes courage… but does it really?  We all find our comfortable couch and love the familiarity…  I am just as guilty but I see it, I see me… I want to burn like a hot stick of dynamite in the world, I am sure I have it in me… but what holds me back?  or you ?

Here is something I wrote today… as is my usual jaunt this is a one take piece (literally, I thought about live posting the writing which I may do in the future)… I wonder if I should work on my work or just keep throwing out what I pen immediate.  I know I could improve some words, some rhythm for sure… but should my poems be perfect … as I am surely not? I should let go of the fear.


grounded” 6.19.18

I am a bird

grounded

shattered bones

feathers burned

scarred

torn

lying in a broken pile

of my own filth

dying-

-reflection

cast glint

glassy eyes

 

penetrated by the sadness

deadened by the masses.


Music?  Yeah.. I got that… Paradise Lost “As I Die” … PL has been one of my faves for .. damn, that long now?  I always thought this is the direction Metallica should have gone.. not the crappy one they have… I love Paradise Lost because of the name (obviously you poetic Milton freaks).. and they change sounds almost every album (even an electronic one! the awesome “Host“).  I swear they should hire me as a publicist… well, maybe not.

Simplicity…

Simplicity…

purple petaled flower on white surface
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Sometimes less is more (or so I have heard).  I have a busy mind which runs and races.  There was a time I tried to subdue this engine and be “like everyone else”… but I am tired of that and willing to release the reins to see where it goes.  I used to have strict things in mind when it came to poetry… what exactly is it ? Is there a pure definition?  I imagine it is alive, like people, and diverse, like the community of minds here (and throughout the known world).  So even a simple form of simple words can hold the spark of imagination, the fire of inspiration, and capture the heart or light a thought… I wonder.


6.16.18

ego
broken

humble


6.16.18

I thought I had found

a four leaf clover

but I had

no such luck


6.16.18

fierce in name

the fear subsides

once you realize

dragonflies

do not bite


dial” 4/26/18

why does it feel

like my sun is setting

when the clock-hands

only show noon


dandelions” 4/27/18

last night

maybe three, four at most

this morning

a yard-full

of brazen yellow heads

threatening revolt


5/6/18

I look at my driveway

the only car is my own

I walk back inside

there is no one at home


5/14/18

power lines

bring light to millions

enlightenment to few


ineffective” 5/22/18

a week

I weep

I pray

I fall

nothing changes

nothing at all


5/25/18

if time is a river

swim to the bank

dry off

does it stop

do you exist


regrets” 5/28/18

the stem was cut

before the flower can bloom

now it will never be

a flower


 

scheduled arrival” 6/2/18

I am sure

upon my death

I will arrive

right on time


pain” 6/1/18

if this poem is a promise

these words are poison

stitched into wounds

forever broken


musical accompaniment ? Eric Johnson – Fatherly Downs

In the same breath EJ inspires me.. and makes me want to throw my guitars out the window…

The Weekend is for…

The Weekend is for…

blogger text
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whimsy.  I have two whole days off (a rarity) so I will be out and about here in New Jersey digging for fossils… yes, you can do that here.  One of the best kept secrets of NJ (ahem, besides myself) is Big Brook Park.  You are allowed to just hop in and dig (so I do). But anyway here is a silly little thing I threw together the other day while looking at my stat page (as most of us surely do here on wordpress).  Surely this is an inside joke for wordpress folks only… so, find art wherever you may roam (or blog).


login” 6.8.18

wordpress

my domain

free with a plan

upgrade

menu

view site stats plan

manage

pages and posts

counting visitors

coveting followers


as close as I come to “commercial” music… R.I.P. Shannon, saw these guys at woodstock 94 (maybe I will tell you about that sometime, I wonder where Jodi is…hope you are well out there!), they were great…  “No Rain” – Blind Melon

Her…

Her…

affection afterglow backlit blur
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Ah, the lonely poet contemplating the one… yes, that one.   Something that seems unattainable from the outside looking back.  Yet… the old adage of better to have loved and lost becomes a friend.. or a mantra, or a lie we tell ourselves.  I do not know if I will (or can) have anything that pure again.. the circumstance of youth and confluence of events seem like a tale that I made up in my head.. but yet, can I trust in age and experience (perhaps a little help from the universe).  I am searching.


 

book dedication” 4/7/18

to my one love

she is more than light

to see the way

more than breath

that fills my lungs

she is the gravity

that holds me

to everything

 

I will love you until the stars fade black.


dmk honest Note:  I imagined I was commissioned to do a book of my poems… and I would want this to be the dedication as she is my inspiration even if I am no longer hers.


Thoughts: On Franklin Lakes Reservoir” 4/7/18

lakes have a different voice

even when played by wind

not quite the lion’s roar

a bit more than a kitten’s purr

 

four quad geese patrol the known expanse

not quite an ocean

yet at once foreign and vast

the town, the road

off the far shore

all seem calmer from the distance

under the rhythmic song

of waves

one before after another

(2)

so here, sick with solitude

within everything ever created

before and past

waiting for you, ever for you


4/7/18

you were there

as our sun rise

ascending into the sky

and only those below

could worship and bask

in our glow, bathing bright light

 

our course crashed

like an eclipse slow burn

deepest shadow cast

in no light time has no thought

no life

unfurls in this night

 

now I look for you in this twilight

searching for you before my final night

yet I know right where you are

and you could not be much further

from my arms

beyond my reach

and my heart

the sun has set

as it will

helpless, helpless

ever still.


4/13/18

inside your love is still resident

at times like a cozy blanket

in the grip of my winter

or a bed of nails

as a pointed reminder

 

as I have tried to block and suppress

to forget

why does it plague me

so long now after I’ve left

moments years of regret

beg, I beg to forget

cycles of sun rises and sun sets

never leaving my soul to rest


musical machination for the moment…. “It’s Love” by King’s X

Sexy time…

Sexy time…

beach boats coast coastal
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Of course I am saying “sexy time” in my Borat voice…. makes more sense that way (and amuses me).  I don’t write about sex or sexual innuendo often, certainly not as often as I think about it (as if I have that much free time).  Nothing pornographic… which is odd because I could care less about suggestive or out right lewd language.  So here is 2 poems that just kind of happened .. the equivalent of a one night stand in terms of my poetry given what usually gets my pen to stand on end. (and I quite liked these poems as I wrote them or maybe it was dictated to me by the universe in one full sweaty stroke of my hand)


room for 2” 4/4/18

as I stand there

as I bathe in you

the woman of my dreams

every contour and every seam

tailored for my hands

small of back

I place my hands

a burst of sweat

as fingers rise to shoulders

I pull you in

closer, closer.


we meet” 6/1/18

our skin meets

I know your temperature

I know your scent

lips pressed

firm, wet

body lines

hands glide

slide

inside

you shudder

soft moan

drawn close

nibbled lobe

whispers exchanged

desires, explode


dmk note: I hope you caught all the double entendres in my intro… if not, shame on you.

musical selection, one of the goddamn sexiest song I have ever heard… “Minus the Bear: White Mystery”, no mystery, turn up the volume and be with the one you desire

Trying to be a good person…

Trying to be a good person…

selective focus photo of pink flowering tree
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Not sure if there is such a thing.  I am trying though for what it is worth.  I think deep down (or not really at depth) we all know what we should do but we actually do moment to moment varies.  If everyone moved in a certain way the world would surely be better… but is that the way everyone thinks? or stops to think? or should think ?  Sometimes I look around and think everyone here is dead, more or less true.. so what does it matter?  I guess I am searching for the answers also.  Smarter and wiser people than I have pondered these questions and will… for ages.  Maybe words are my sanctuary or at least a temporary refuge.


unfamiliar” 4/1/18

I saw a creek I do not know

I have driven this stretch

of the parkway

a thousand fold

a body of water

a basin of life

flows into a forge

becomes a river

and the sea

begins

off mile-marker 131b


dmk Note: Mile markers or more specifically exits on the garden state parkway (GSP) are a very new jersey thing. For us there is a common occurrence “hey, where are you from? what exit?”.  I do not claim to know if other states are like this.  The GSP runs like a spine and in a way is the spine of the state from tip to toe or point to cape (as it were).. it is a part of being from this state as much as being New York’s little brother.


easterly” 4/1/18

my neighbor’s easter chatter

in their backyard

a letter to another neighbor

washed up on my lawn

from these late spring storms

 

I return the lost parcel to the plastic mailbox

filled with mail already

how odd (for a sunday)

 

I’ve known this place

my whole life

familiar

 

a woman

walking her dog

whom I do not know

 

easter is letting out

as my neighbor’s family disperses

to travel to their homes

goodbye grandma” a little voice

followed by the heightened whine

of the minivan pulling up the block

 

the sun is almost set now

peeking behind fifteen lynnwood

I guess I had not noticed

the buds on the trees

ready to burst and transform this tract

once and again

from pale green slumber

to lush with leaves

soon we’ll have summer

there is always hope

I tell myself.


poison” 4/3/18

a toxic house is poisonous to all inhabitants

walls pulsing seething

membrane

throbbing beating

even in the calm still of night

labored – breathing

constant – pounding

never – sleeping

doors closed, air stifles

cripples motion

throats crack

strangles the air

choking choking


4/3/18

are you a wolf?

no

but yet you hunt

are you prey?

no

but yet you are stalked


As is my custom (and my burning desire to spread good tunes) here is some music to enjoy… “Steve Morse – Modoc” … known well in musical circles (one of my favorite guitar players) but outside those circles probably  not so much.

Bourbon…

Bourbon…

two clear high stemmed glasses
Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

A truly American spirit.  I wanted to lighten the mood a bit today (lovely day in the northeast USA). So here is some amusing musings on Bourbon.  Why?  I recently scoped out a cool documentary about the drink: “Neat: The Story of Bourbon“.  Like a good documentary should you wind up having a good time and learning a thing or two.  So with that in mind here are some booze inspired numbers for your consumption (and mental inebriation). Live life, love life people.


 

6.7.18
Bourbon
makes great friends
but a poor alarm clock

6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and neat
and the while later
crooked crossed feet

6.8.18
Bourbon
screams and kicks
fiery
and down the hatch
time plays
one eye opens
who is this person in my bed?

6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and slick
burns the tongue
for only quick
tap on the shoulder
from you know who
temptation bout reach for more
but one more knock
you’re on the floor


Musical choice? OK… I’m going to be obvious here… “George Thorogood – One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer (Live)

Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated (unless I am in a foul mood… then all bets are off)

Suicide

Suicide

man in black dress shirt with blue denim shirt sitting on black concrete bench near green plants
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The universe has a way of sending words into my mind and then to my pen (quite literally I scrawl in journals I have stashed every which where).  The inspiration today is not so inspiring (Anthony Bourdain, a fellow New Jersey traveler).  Sure, we all will buy the farm at some point but somehow the prospect (and specter) of suicide deadens even a beautiful spring day.  Spring should be the time of blossoms not burial.


6.8.2018
suicide
the right to die
on your own time
but what about those
you leave behind

6.8.2018
springtime
for blossoms not burials
but for you my friend
you decided
this is the end
so hope at least
the peace you seek
is yours to grasp
to ever last

6.8.2018
demons in the rear view mirror
much closer
than they appear


Music… Boa “Rain”

Horses…

Horses…

two black horse on field
Photo by Jan Laugesen on Pexels.com

I really did not plan on posting this the day before the Belmont Stakes (really, I swear).  I wonder where inspiration really comes from.  Divine spark ? (as it were).  I have always sort of written poems in these veins… sort of like Ozymandias (one of the first poems I really remember striking me).  This is another work that is word for word (sans punctuation) exactly what I jotted down in an instance (inspiration – Divine Equine?).


 

once a stallion” 3/28/2018

I was once a glorious Stallion.

thundering through fertile fields,

as carved in stone

from the Roman age

power , engraved

in a glance

my mere stance falls tall

cast of my shadow confidence upon

in the noon sun hour

glistening to behold.


DMK note: R.I.P. to Anthony Bourdain, I suppose we have all contemplated suicide but it still comes as a shock when we see someone who seemingly “has it all” go that way.  Take happiness where you can get it… and hold on to it… as long as you have breath you have hope.

music : My Dying Bride “For My Fallen Angel”

Love is…

Love is…

stone artwork
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

a puzzle, regret, joy, inspiration.  Many things. Today she is something I wish I could forget.


 

 

 

untitled” 3/28/2018

the depth of sorrow

regret burrowing

cornered mole inside, churns

the helplessness

an infant cries in the void

 

waiting for the fade

but ever sharper

the thought,

a star dims I can no longer reach,

one second on social media

mine to reach

mine to display

to marvel

to joy!

 

to run and ruin in the depths

my life breathes

labored and arid

deprived of your air

 

I imagine my hand

cradled behind your hair

to embrace once more

the warmth

of your breast

holding close and closer closer

in sheer desperation

 

an apparition

cast adrift

on the vast

succumbs to the tide

I can no longer grasp

the prospect of land.


holding you” 4/2/18

if I might hold you again

like a delicate orchid

pressed upon my skin

 

if I might dare your sweet embrace

like summer heat

held in soft summer sands

 

I fear I may never let you go

I fear I will never have the chance


here is a song that is timeless about a man and his love… John Denver “Annie’s Song” (live)