continuing my series of just parking my big white butt outside and looking at the small window of the world I can see here in new jersey suburbia. I am a little behind so I am posting two posts that represent two weeks, I am posting tonight’s first (and last week’s just under) because if feels more vital to me, I am trying to carve out the time to post on time, in my head I have a plan but the world seems to disagree with me… often, but I will endeavor to keep doing this project, sort of like the “picture a day” thing people do online, it is revealing, I hope this experiment turns out worth it, if not, well, then it doesn’t… but I am certainly more optimist than not so, with that all said…
9.16.18 (porch series)
this is one of those fall nights
where everything seems the way described in books
the temperature has fallen into comfort
into just cool enough
especially on the back of the memory of an angry blistering summer
(but that even now seems so faraway
weeks wipe memories faster than time can build candles on a cake);
leaves have two lives now
clinging to branches or littering the floor
all from verdant green move to vivid spectrum now
swatches of the dead adorn
but no rebirth can occur without the purge, I know,
this same hour in which I write, is much later now
the ancients association of death with night
the night that approaches and slowly suffocates the daylight
day by day swallowed night by night longer into winter, a descent,
all life is strangled to slumber
each phase of the passing days
subtracts a piece of the orchestra
summer full bloom is certainly a symphony
(or cacophony for some)
but now the year moves to loom on ever still
the lights burn out from the peak fire of life
leaves fall, insects lose their songs
the rain will become hard blocks
but – I should remain in now
not dwell on such dire things
even if I might be quite used to them
why faster should I wish their arrival
for now – enjoy, this nearly flawless night
something of which I might wish I could capture
in a moving minute moment picture
wrapped up in ball of cloth, stuffed in my pocket,
so I might take it out and wrap around
to block out
the whatever “importance” is swirling about,
and come back, to now
sitting here under the hazy crescent moon
drawing deep breaths
exhaling –
to become a component of this night
under the hazy tender glow
of a crescent moon.
9.10.2018 (porch series)
in an instant, seemingly
the summer has given way
already the silent stalk of winter
inhabits the shadows
the rain, once soothing, once relief
now speaks of longer nights
and trades in the rumors of the coming cold
fall it seems is just a balance beam
between, walking along artfully to an inevitable end
the cycle which began will but start again
as is all things
but this is a different matter
to try and capture the unfolding
to observe the obvious march
towards winter’s holding
do I delight? or mourn?
but as yet I know reborn
but there must be, that firstlast kiss of death –
the step that must come before the stairs
before we can resurrect.
Music… dramatic, with classical instruments and modern ones… you might notice patterns, I might call them taste…
Beautiful
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