thoughts from the Porch…

thoughts from the Porch…

action activity boys colors
Photo by Lukas on

4.27.2019 (on going series from, my porch)

I sit here in that little nook of my porch, the corner where the porch meets the wall, kind of tucked behind the Japanese maple I planted so many years ago, after so many failures, after the birch was gone, the one I grew up with, that now seems like lore, captured only in old photographs, but here I am behind the tree once more, yesterday was a day of beating rain, the type that assaults and holds you prisoner, the storm has passed and moved on, out into the ocean now, along with the wild winds that carried, this makes the sun, even at this late hour, quite welcome to my skin, the sky is quite blue, just a couple of strange cloud formations here and there, more like disembodied puffs of smoke, I find myself mesmerized by how the breeze waves and sways the upper branches of the trees in the fading light, illuminates every crack and cranny in between, there must be a party across the street, a child’s birthday should I guess, they have a whole array of blow up landscapes, slides, and a castle, I think, but their fence is rather quite tall, so I can only enter a suppose of the all, better to yet, let my imagination earn it’s rent in this old head, I never saw such wonders at a local birthday party in my day, not to complain, I realize it is all quite relative of course, I am sure kids of today would not be so enamored by a roller rink, the ground round, or a crown from some fast food joint, the kids across the way are very loud, but honestly I don’t mind the sound, a reminder of where we all once were, living among pure wonder of the world, free of daily encumberment, I pause, can we ever put that good genie back in the bottle? And what of our three wishes, would they be even remotely the same?

“Captain Underpants! Captain Underpants!”

one of the little girls exclaims, I have no idea what it means but she is certainly enthusiastic about it, and there is an impromptu chorus sung of “We Are The Champions”, it strikes me as amazing to consider that children of that age (9-12 perhaps?) know this song, but I must pinch myself and realize they are grown in the internet age, where discovery is merely an instant away, sharing of art and song is merely a question of getting the suggestion, something 40 years old can be as relevant as something 40 minutes old, with both gone and wiped in another moment, or preserved, or forgotten.

This makes me wonder ,or perhaps more truthfully regret, this scene, will never be mine, I am nearly past the point where children might become a foregone non-conclusion, like everything else I do, maybe I have thought too much into it, planning, worrying, fearing, circumstance building, rather than seizing the living of my life, of course my logical mind can always rationalize, what is the point? They will all die, just as everything does, but I argue with myself, does that mean we simply give up? Or surely try to extract every ounce from this life we possibly can, until the canister of effort is driven empty or fate decides to drop in for that ultimate visit, I think, well, I want to will myself to be, to grab such fruit that I can, from that wisest tree, oh such, in this shortest span, I search for the strength and will of man immortal. (and I lay down my pen).


Taylor Deupree – Dreams of Stairs

the master of ambient of my generation, this is pretty minimal but not too artsy minimal, it reminds me of sitting outside and letting the breeze wash over me, trying to become one with the landscape I am provided, and the life I am granted.

All likes, comments, recipes for chicken are all appreciated… as is your view now, I bow to you, the reader, thanks.

click pause, see the amazing world around you…

click pause, see the amazing world around you…

female monarch butterfly perching on red petal flower
Photo by Tinthia Clemant on

I contemplate the beautiful fragility
of butterfly wings
upon such gale
stain glass beats
oscillate with silence
only spectacle
the dance of survival
spiral pageantry
of these so easily broken,
I think of the single snowflake
winding journey to the ground
to dissipate surely
into vapor
and once more rise then gather then fall
to travel the world over in many forms,
I stare at these last rays
bleeding bronze out from this day’s ending
I pause, for all these things
and the miracles contained
of bearing witness
in these soft moments
of my existence.

blank paper with pen and coffee cup on wood table
Photo by Kaboompics .com on

notes… written 4.18, last night was the first real spring rain, no, not technically but it was 70 degrees and the rain was a relief, almost clean, seemingly a hint of bleach as it gently made overlapping circles on the deck as I watched, the dog sniffing around her domain in the backyard, life is good, it beats the alternative, take a minute and breath, there is something wonderful within eye’s reach, the idea is to reach for it, I am guilty as any for forgetting this, trying to re-calibrate my noggin to ground myself in reality, I am here now, trying to enjoy the ride.

music… going soft acoustic instrumental (thanks to my bud Chris all those years ago for turning me on to this and Tori…)

William Ackerman – Sound of Wind Driven Rain

yeah, you probably never heard of him, he never got the complete adulation he richly deserved.

optimism, the muse, and easter…

optimism, the muse, and easter…

backlit clouds dawn dusk
Photo by Pixabay on


the sun must rise again.
for belief is life in the blood
as loving hearts contend
this perpetual motion resists
against the gears of night,
for -the sun -must -rise.
to breathe life
into that good hope
the singular line of light
to spark in the stirring
of the being, of the living
for again,
the sun -must -rise,
comfort to the children of men
generations seek wisdom
the good will to bend
up against that death
for there within is strength
resident in that good light,
and the Sun. Shall. Rise. Again!

person holding blue ballpoint pen writing in notebook
Photo by on

notes… I wrote this on saturday actually, it did not dawn (hah hah pun) on me until later that it could be taken in the context of Easter, this was not intentional, perhaps the muse felt she had to guide my hand, as I say often inspiration is a strange sensation, it feels like possession (in good way, not in a head spinning vomit way), this one wrote itself, this final version is barely edited from my original scribbling, one of those that you write an just immediately feel good about, which means I will probably get zero to three likes on it… lol, anyhoo, this was really (to me) about optimism, sure I could quote Annie “the sun will come out… tomorrow”, ok, that is pretty much the same sentiment, and I am not half as cute, or a ginger

crowd in front of people playing musical instrument during nighttime
Photo by on

music, I make no bones about it, my favorite band ever is King’s X, a band that was ground breaking before anyone knew anything about anything, that’s all, in this PC world of today they would be heralded as lions and pioneers for so many reasons… enough preaching, here is a song of their first album from back in 1988… damn, I was 15… the vocals, the rock/metal edge, it made me pick up a guitar for the first time, and want to sing (which I most certainly can’t)…

King’s X – King

thoughts, comments, random gifts, Game of Thrones gear… it is all appreciated.. be well, smile… for no reason, just grin.

reminiscing, and nature/nurture

reminiscing, and nature/nurture

silver colored microphone
Photo by Skitterphoto on

Music needed for this post (listen and repeat):

Gene Krupa Orchestra – Moonlight Seranade

this brings me back to days of my youth, my father had a “provisions” route back in the day, and when I was off from  school I went to work with him, in essence a provision route worked thusly, my dad (with me in tow) would travel to the meat processing plants and supply warehouses in Elizabeth and Newark NJ, pick up the raw product (whole briskets, fresh chop meat, huge wheels of cheese, snack products, fries, deli salads, condiments, you name it), and then deliver them to local bars, taverns, restaurants, and yes, the occasional strip club (we’ll get to that detail), remember there was no Costco or Restaurant Depot, it was a good business from the turn of the century forward but of course it was phased out by progress like many things, my dad had this big yellow truck, it was like driving around with the mayor of every town, I swear he knew everybody, smiling and waving like we were in a parade as he drove, he knew all the cops, all the weird locals in all the bars, “Hey Freddie K!” was just this accepted mantra, what did I know, I was a kid, I wish I was more astute or paid more attention, the amount of inspiration for character study was astounding then, some of the experiences seem so strange now that I recall them to write in these words, the smell of bars as the sunlight first hits the witness wood floors, a sort of mix of barf, beer, mold and pine cleaner evaporating, you could see dust particles floating upwards in the light, questioning drunk eyes watching, walking into a strip club before they open as an eleven year old and my only want was a quarter to play the latest video game, I am not sure why but strip clubs and bars always had the latest/newest video game cabinets back in the day, we are talking early 80’s so video games were new, hell I remember Street Fighter coming out and freaking out over it (although I am admittedly a Mr. Do man), seeing the help (ahem, strippers) getting ready (into their outfits), pinching my cheeks as I was so darn cute, but I paid it no mind, it just was, I remember Cheeques in Linden had the best damn hamburgers ever, well, they should as my dad was delivering fresh chop meat direct from Magnolia Beef, where I would see things made, you know, meat parts literally being ground down in front of me, half dead whole animals on hooks being pushed around to the various processing stations, I still remember the cold smell of dead meat, the places were cold, really cold, my dad and the workers had these white coats, and then there was the  sound of the hamburger patty machine, ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk, and then paper slapped between the patties, then a case is made, rolled to the bottom and this crazy wire tie machine thing would seal the box with two ties, and then we would pack them in the truck for delivery that day, learning to use a hand truck was second nature, a wonder all these memories, someone might look at me now and see none of this, a poet, a writer, a philosopher, a nerd, who cut his teeth in the bowels of urban central new jersey’s blue collar belly, I wonder how it shaped me, or was I already there…. hum?!?

Lyrics to the song, poetry if you ask me…

“I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight
I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night
The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade
The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming
My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?
I bring you and I sing you a moonlight serenade
Let us stray till break of day in love’s valley of dreams
Just you…

Just you. Just you.

not haiku…

not haiku…

white paper
Photo by Pixabay on

forgive the reiteration, this disclaimer is for those unfamiliar (hello) with my particular iterations, I don’t like to write in form but I like the idea/feel of haiku as it were, so here are a couple of little observations (sort of) I wrote today, sometimes I just am in the mood to write this way, and so I do…

moon, phase
shadow, fog
night owl
who who

the calming sound
of my april bamboo
as the wind works through
and plays each leaf

no animals were harmed in the posting of this post, do not remove tag under penalty of law, only you can prevent forest fires… only you!

black and white keys music note
Photo by Pixabay on

musical choice for the evening… a unicorn, an albatross, a kakapo

Paradise Lost- Ordinary Days

This band has gone from doom/death metal to metal to electronica (here) and more… I dig that…

Thoughts from the porch…

Thoughts from the porch…

so it continues (an ongoing series)…

shallow focus yellow daisies
Photo by Photokip on

that first dandelion has appeared in my yard, sure enough to be followed by more, is this that produces the roar of the coming season with that golden mane? the transition of land, the prey shall inherit the earth from the predator, I quite see all the harbinger’s of spring in their many forms, the golden locks of golden rods, the marked pinks and purples of cherry blossoms, daffodils ranging on ‘scaped frontiers, even as I count these happenings the shift seems an instant, is the world a touch greener every minute, each moment, or are my eyes just adjusting.
I watched a cardinal below my window, in the bush, hurriedly and meticulously crafting a nest, flitting off like a bolt to gather more building materials, placing them with expert instinct feet and beak, then sitting upon them, shaking her tail furiously about to settle the lot down, shaking her whole body with decided fury, and settling down to check the foundation, over and over and over again, I watched the process, careful not to disclose my perch, or my intrusion into family work, and on I watch, wondering, wishing, wishing I had such singular devotion in my own daily pursuits.

Part of this post is from a poem I never finished, but this post and that poem have been rattling about my mind as of late these days, here is the unfinished work:

the harbingers of spring
o’ soon upon the gate
announcing the guests arrivals
golden locks of golden rods
rows on rows of cherry blooms
sunlit hours stretch ’til moon
the flowers of narcicus
peak the boughs

I kind of like sharing the truth, or unfinished work, I am not some robot or perfectionist anymore, I want to let people in to see the inner workings, I do not have much free time so I write when I can and spur of the moment most of the time, it prevents me from posting everything I want but also holds me to the reality of what I got…  any and all eyes on this post, thanks, that’s all for tonight folks.

A couple of poems for a Monday night…

A couple of poems for a Monday night…

ancient antique armor armour
Photo by Maria Pop on

Heck, I admit it, I am on Game of Thrones overload… I binge watched season 7 all day Sunday (man so much happened).  I posted a review of the new season on my media review page (shameless plug here), I thought my brain would just shut off, but just when I think the well has dried up and I am the Sahara incarnate the muse lets me know she is not quite done with me yet (for good, for bad, for worse ? I don’t know)… so I literally wrote these tonight in a fever, well, OK not in a fever, they came to me, one when I was walking Samantha (the dog, I will post photos one of these days), to be fair, she walks herself, she is 10-ish, and the second as I was washing my face, seriously, I started the second poem in my bathroom scrubbing the old face, ah, the muse, she is her own thing and she owns me…



silhouette of tress
Photo by Free Nature Stock on

you are my constellation
bright upon that sky
even in the coming storm
I know your coordinates
your pulsar
a string of light
always close
ever far
from my touch
but always there
when I look,
for I hope when I pass
to transform to light
and join you
in that nightly retreat


tethered by a chord
into this world I did descend
lives and loves, my time is spent
so here I am at the end of such road
an appointment due with no one at all
for you have taken all my friends
I hope that with this single coin
might bear passage
to see them
once again

All looks, likes, comments and the such is greatly appreciated.  Criticism is welcome, how else can one grow ?  be well, spring is upon the land, at least mine, still waiting for the iron grip of this winter to relent… but there was a single dandelion on my lawn… a marker toward the march of summer’s dawn…

Watching the death of a generation…

Watching the death of a generation…

adult affection baby child
Photo by Pixabay on


so, the wave has begun
the first domino has fallen
a generation to come –
to an end.
I have seen the wave coming
for some time
off on the horizon
off in that inevitable ocean
but so soon crashing upon the shore
this is the way of things
for we are mere pillars
of rock hewn of sand
drawn down and back into the surf
from which we once rose
in and out the flow
of this life,
we pretend
to have some modicum of control
ever looking at that horizon
and the coming waves
as they come for me
surely, some day

notes:  for a while now I know a certain portion of my family is at the cliff, at the precipice of that final step, it is a generational thing, I have been admittedly lucky that death has not visited my doorstep too often, my grandfathers both died before I was two, my grandmothers died at advanced ages not suddenly, that is pretty much it, but now… it is only a matter of time where I fear (know) they will be dropping like flies, I can not imagine what it is like for my parents who have lost friend after friend over the past couple of years, death is not a fickle beast, you can do all you want but she still comes for you whenever she wants, my folks are not in great shape, or of particularly long DNA stock but they are around to witness the deaths of all their friends, it is a strange thing, one we all do not want to imagine or even live in, but it is always there,the horizon seems far but is always approaching.  So this poem is about that, my uncle who is gone now, some months, he was an intellectual in such a way that he ordered no funeral or even memorial, I understand that from a logical/scientific perspective, but maybe those things are more for the living than the dead… a moment in time to bring together a family to remember they are indeed family, maybe even if just for a moment, and perhaps bonds can be reborn, or remade, or started anew as the younger ones in the family are transitioning into the elders and having their own children, the conveyor belt runs better with connectivity, and that requires time set aside to be together… just a thought or thoughts…

analysis blackboard board bubble
Photo by Pixabay on

I know, not my usual Saturday lighter musings, and the weekends are where posts go to die, I don’t care, I post what is on my mind, maybe it is because I had to wake up @ 5:30am today to go to work, Sam (the dog) gave me that look like “really dude? you are never up this early”, and of course she’s right, starbucks lasted until about 6pm then I passed out, back up again and writing this, so maybe my mind isn’t quite the same as usual, that’s ok, sometimes you gotta’ shake the tree and see what happens.

Music????  sure… not that you asked but damn I am a persistent mofo pushing what I love…

Shot of Love (acoustic) – King’s X

silhouette photography of man and woman
Photo by Gabriel Bastelli on

Simple and sweet, the vocals are just so friggin good, if you like 3 part harmonies and the Beatles.. well, this should be up your alley (except Doug has a better voice than any of the Beatles individually, I know blasphemy…).  My cousin Renee worked in the city @ the time and sent me the CD with this track on it along with a signed poster, that had to be 1994, it made my year (thanks cuz!), and later I got to meet them many many times over the years, great peeps.

a poem about war glory…

a poem about war glory…

man wearing gray and red armour standing on the streets
Photo by PhotoMIX Ltd. on


upon glorious victory!
let my men
take me from this field
hoisted up
on heralded shield
a procession commence
to great fanfare
the songs of this day
for long they share
let the choirs rise high
from those survived
chapters now written
in the tales of scribes,
further look back
in peaceful times
the fallen are gone
and shall have no lies

Notes: not to glorify war, but, war happens (one of those inevitable things), there have been many commemorations and such in literature, for some reason the topic hit me and I wrote this from the perspective of a dying commander in the wake of victory, maybe I was listening to this… (hey, I am an old school metal head after all), all comments and such are always appreciated, well, unless they aren’t well thought out, I am a busy guy…

doors of perception, or just doors.

doors of perception, or just doors.

choices decision doors doorway
Photo by Pixabay on



which ones are open

which are closed

which are no more

might I have the skill

a locksmith

a lockpick

might I steal

a quick look, a long peek,

through cracks

and peer

into rooms

before I commit

to entering


gaming the system

keyholes are for fools

I break and enter

at my will

ignoring the rules

in this maze

I must navigate

compass to north

and find the one door

that opens


notes… written back in August of last year (altered slightly tonight), August, a month I am generally fond of, for some reason

humanmeshdance (taylor dupree, or taylor121 or a genius imo) – music of the spheres