I sat there, in too much obviousness, sometimes when you are trying to meditate, or clear your mind, you try to hard, in fact you try, that is the problem, there is the confine of time, I get it, I am the same, I have this confined space to get into my right mind during my lunch break, I like to think of music as a trigger, to allow my mind to linger and then fade into the background, I did not do a good job of it today, I was thinking about an upcoming wedding, a young cousin, the same age when I fell madly in love without the groundwork I have now to understand and worship the ground, I thought I might dedicate a poem to them, some wisdom, from me, the fool, but certainly weathered and known, of course I will cut a check to them as is custom but I would rather do something memorable outside of candelabras and the usual like… I wrote this, perhaps a start, it was my thought at the moment, in the moment, so, why not…
love is two stones in a brook where over the water perfectly flows shared experience coincided time fate in a window of all that could have ever been in billions of ever gone and since two stones in a brook side by side
notes…. I hope it makes sense to them, or maybe the ramblings of an older man who may understand or may be reaching for once what was, and perhaps what will be, once again, I hope
I am no guru or practitioner of any particular faith, belief system or anything of the sort (but I not one to dismiss those things as I once certainly was), today was one of those days at work where everything just seemed LOUD ! (sorry, about the volume, that is), ever have one of those days where every little sound in your office or work environ was more like a jack hammer for your personal amusement, almost a cacophony produced just for your benefit (or to spite specifically you), the phone, the tapping, the door slamming, the laughing, the phone, terrible personal ring tones, the tapping. the door slamming, the phone – will someone get that! all this escalating in a spiral of audio vertigo… ugh, I think you get my drift, so I had to escape to find some good head space, I sneaked off to my car, popped in some tunes (in this case (“Carbon Life Forms – Mos 6581”), FLAC format – I am a nerd, I know, I guess this is meditation, I close my eyes and try to open my mind to whatever will come, sometimes some gnarly psychedelics, but often I think of water (the ocean), as I am trying to clear my mind, not necessarily get to a “happy place” but more or less let my mind wander and empty and see what fills the space, today it had words…
endless waves stretched out to the horizon why is it always these times when the light has not long, rises in sines waves formed in perfect lines motion in curves amber orange crests to cover, endless waves on shore break I can feel each one, penetrate as they dissipate into my feet bottom sand, blanket sense I wish to lie here forever for all time in this endless waves, this lullaby, rise risen riding fading one by one looped film as one becomes at once billions and one becomes one with all the calm the heartbeat drawn pace by phases dampen the path of mortal ambitions this celestial shore endless waves into the forever more.
notes… as usual this is a first draft, I’d love to say I will get back to it… but I probably won’t. this was a moment, and there it is, or was, or something like that.
(my series is over a year old now, I’m so proud, well, I was glad to survive the winter, and still write through it, to be fair it was an easy winter by all standards)
Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com
I must readily admit that the visuals this evening, are… well… not particularly inspiring, my neighbor must have guests as cars line the street announcing there is a party at that location, there is no raucous sounds, and this is not some holiday I know of, perhaps a birthday or anniversary I suppose, what dominates my eyes is the lines, the data and power lines running perpendicular and parallel held up with power poles planted, the human string section of technology, like sign posts of humanity, at least the buds on trees have begun to poke, so easy to spot upon what seems fruitless spines for ages now, but not much else is stirring, so I decide to concentrate on what is.
I close my eyes and this does provide, a requiem of sound…
in this meeting place, where certainly man has dominion, but forever, nature waits, quite benevolent in a sense but still base elemental, waiting for the slip of one little finger, holding back from the dam, through that crack will purge the world of man again, for the dam is forever cracking, we just take solace in our dominance no matter how ultimately precarious.
robins engaged in an endless twitter battle, at times I think I can distill some meaning, perhaps glean a sentiment or two, but I am a reaching fool, for there is no rosetta stone for these fellows, the distant train horn sounds distant but I actually know exactly where the crossing is, the horn does not recall the slick silver boxes of now, it is bathed in nostalgia, or perhaps the filter of my mind, the sound is more of dreams, or movies, an eruption of steam bellows rise, and that gutteral scream of a great whistle, the veritable choo choo, the supreme romance in that, of leaving the station,
either being left behind or now onward to your destination.
the weekend, or for those of us who work 6 days, the one day (sunday) is the weekend, it is for relaxation, the old recharge of the batteries as they say, I like to post some simpler thoughts, usually I go back and look through my notes, but this one literally wrote itself as I pulled into my driveway tonight, I scribbled these lines, I must say I liked them immediately, but I am assuredly biased, no lines that change the world, or even the most clever of sprites, just purity of thought for you to consider (your eyes on this post are appreciated)…
“in the sunrise I see hope in the sunset I see dawn
in the light I see the way in the night I see the dream”
*All thoughts, comments, likes, re-posts, crock pot recipes, vitriolic diatribes and pats on the back are all appreciated. so what do you really think of this life?
This april shower feels more like a november rain, the gentle rapping of manicured fingertips sounding on my windshield, not a down pour by any means, just enough rain to confuse my intermittent wiper instincts, back and forth, back and… forth, forth, back, I settle in medium, I scan the radio digital dial, rise my eyes north and traffic is negotiating with a halt, I keep my foot set to brake, I settle on the classical channel, on comes a violin concerto by mozart, it does not seem to matter which one, tail lights flare and glow, diffused and suspended in this wet prism, organized embers from a thousand volcanoes sizzle just above ground level, and the world seems, to…, slow down, like a well made movie, the musical score underneath sets the tone, the rotating yellow beacon of the tow truck reaches across three lanes, like a lighthouse that has arrived too late, I feel calm, then passing past the scene ups the pace, perhaps this music has me held in a trance, my thoughts drift and float away from the sea of red angry eyes, in fact, they seem more now like a string of xmas lights curling around this asphalt pine,
and inevitably my thoughts wander, to her, wondering what she is doing, if she is merely ok, knowing I can do nothing about it either way, a helplessness not ameliorated by my own guilt or shame of actions, I am cursed with a superb memory, I recall most all things, words, deeds, moments, the feel, that moment the morning I left, that gentle kiss to your forehead, the day my hope became terminal, these are my own monuments hewn by my hands, my own doing, whether that is good, bad or mightily indifferent, matters not in this hour or ever, sometimes the punch of this inflicts an illicit reaction of tears, sometimes a wry smile, sometimes a sheer bathing in the warmth of light, of joy, of rejoicing, I realize, for some never get the chances I have had, I know this, but the road I have chosen certainly has taken a toll and the miles long, long ago. You are still and will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, even if the chance to say so has been lost to time. (concerto ends, radio host interjects with some not so clever quip)
another accident over there, in the express lane, another tow truck on the right shoulder, amber lights spinning, I am back to the real world, driving home, under a sky with no stars, a bleak mess I think, and then… it stirs, “but I have to believe, I must believe – there is hope in all things, I am alive.”
Notes… I wrote this like many things, in my head while driving, literally on the go literature (reciting the lines and ideas in my head like a mantra), scribbled down in my journal at the clark rest stop, in the rain, and somehow it made me feel a little more sane, at least for a time. There is always hope… I hope.
music… time to chill out/meditate and turn up the bass ! check it…
*all thoughts, comments, criticism, questions (and spanish rice recipes)… are ALL appreciated my friends, thanks for the look either way even if you think I suck, I can only be me G…
new moon, no shadows empathy tips, emptied gallows dance in to the light when there is none rejoice in revelries within this darkest night and a fool’s cap let luminary rent a jester’s smile, rapt with content or even captured, guile of ill intent, tip the toe on a razor’s blade the slightest touch, the nimble cut on the turn, bloody serenade all in this performed in taste, all the players a macabre play in these, these hours between and hidden, from the very saint of day, a lover’s glance, brush of cheeks sneak a kiss or steeling grief, embraced, entwined vines wrapped in blooms like braids silken hair so fine and frayed across strands lays to the shore in tides, moor to the harbor for the night is yet young and the dance macabre, under new moon has just begun, to spin to spin a yarn, to thread the needle seduction the seamstress weave connect, bring two people as sirens out on the open seas for better a lure to trap a heart dashing, upon these hidden rocks shall wreck upon and apart gladly takes upon the dance in this land without a moon sinking ships blithely find their doom.
notes… I might revisit this one, I write off the cuff but I think I can smooth out some of the rhythm here…. but overall I was happy with the way it spat out of my big dumb maw so I posted it anyway as is. I don’t torture myself over my work, it ‘happens’ and maybe it isn’t sparkling perfection, I’m just not that guy and have not been for some time now, there are some double meanings in there and about, catch them all ?
and as always, thoughts, prayers, comments, likes, diatribes, and pot pie recipes are always appreciated…
Music ? to go with this… yeah, I got that (scrambles to the back of the shop, you hear rustling, pots and pans crashing, screaming in some foreign language, some TV or Radio blaring)… and then shuffling hurried feet back toward the front…
I sit out upon my porch, my usual place, do I wish to write about the birds, the coming spring, the buds on trees? I’m simply not in the mood, while all of those things are certainly true, instead, I close my eyes and imagine everything is slowly fading into nothing – revealing, phasing back to the way the world was, before this land was torn about and put upon, all to meet our needs as a species, assigning and asserting our assumptions upon the landscape, but now, in this dream, I am sitting on a rock, viewing out upon a chain-o-never ending hills, golden grasses swaying in unison in the breeze, local fauna in all manners of splendor, maples and oaks left to roost in their own glory, a world certainly alive with the madness of squirrels and chipmunks, tides of birds flowing in and out of frame, deer in packs like herds roaming in thousands, lynx on the prowl in the shadows, and bears the kings of all they may see emerging from their winter burrows.
Photo by Creative Vix on Pexels.com
I was digging once as a child, in the backyard, as children do, well, at least before smart phones, and came across what now I realize was clearly a river bed, perhaps river is a bit strong, but surely this was the work of water, perfectly smoothed rocks aligned in a basin, a sorted bed, harsh rock edges worn away by the constant water flowing over time, I even found a fossilized fish inside one of these rocks, so perhaps my (this) projection will not be historically accurate but no matter, this is a mental exercise not science or archaeology, I can put them away for today and dream, such as this, so I imagine this brook running through what was once (or now) my fence line, how the water must be clean and clear like the finest crystal in liquid form gleaming in the warming sun, yet ever cool fed by a natural spring, and this dream, there are no sounds here, for whatever reason I can only hear the visuals, the calming water, hypnotizing me, in this dream… and with that, shatters, in comes actual sound to break this meditation, the gravely churn of a big wheel approaching, a car screaming down the street at speed for no reason, and the quibbling of the robin who was patrolling my lawn but had to run off across the way to avoid human interaction, sigh, at least for a moment, at least for a time, I lived in a dream of what once was, not that I mind the now but I certainly didn’t mind the escape. so I withdraw back inside and bid you a good night, my world, thank you.
“now that you are gone I have nowhere to go not a tombstone nor a site or a place to be by your side in this life I dwell alone in a funeral in late fall sliding into the cold I call (I call)”
“I am the April fool although I left in June regardless of time and prank of this I am quite sure of all the empty times and all the empty laughs have left me here in jest in all but quite alone”
the clown cries alone, I am reminded of the line from Watchmen:
“Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor…I am Pagliacci.
notes… I started this blog one year ago, on April Fool’s day for a reason, I am trying not to be the fool I was for so many years which led me to leave the one I truly loved in a way that broke me in more ways than one, I wrote this poem just now completely in whole cloth, earlier today I was questioning my creative spark, I suppose all writers do, sure, I have been nutty busy with work, 12 hour days back to back but yet I feel I neglect this blog… silly really, I know that in terms of knowing but in terms of reality, maybe not so much, if I wilted away in the next hour into nothing the world would not care, but I should, and that should be my focus going forward, and going forward is the point, I need to drop this yoke of my past, but I am just not past it yet, I worry for her and the life I left, it is not my responsibility nor has it been for some time, but… always the damn ‘but’, I am a fool, people move on and could care less about an ex, but something about our love has hooks in my heart that I have not been able to remove, guilt, shame, regret, all players, hard to shed but I know I have to. I have grown this past year, so solace in that thought, not enough, I am an impatient lot… I know myself well, but still frustrate myself.
Just the side street next to my office, a day moon, a night moon (happened to be one of the blood moons we had this year), and… the street light masquerading as a moon in my view. I find some pleasure in the aesthetic of mundane things, ‘finding beauty wherever I may go’ has become sort of a motto for me, or a mantra, or a mental exercise that really helps, walk outside, regardless of how urban your situation, there are birds, squirrels, bugs and all sorts of life making a go of it with no self reflection getting in the way, I am jealous of this purity and aim to inject it into my daily reality, it’s simple – to say but like all else the bones are in the execution of same.
Shades of My Garden 