related to an earlier post, I forgot I wrote the accompanying poem… so, here it is, for what that’s worth…
the silent houses
where widows dwell
draped in shrouds
for now lost spouses
every corner filled
friend and family cover
for seven cycles of hours
dishes, well wishes and flowers
for then night comes
in the familiar home
only one heart beats now alone.
the silent houses
musical … Katatonia – My Twin
oh for one solemn wish
I pine for the days of pangea
one continent
one land
no language in the absence of man
no war to conquer
no death to divide
one continent
one land
notes… just something that came to me, all of the earth, well, that above the oceans was once just one land mass, so it seems division is natural… but yet unity was the original model… juxtaposition I say ! as we were all in the womb we all meet the grave, so keep that as a keepsake in your mind’s pocket, and like a locket look upon the wisdom as a reminder when you can… that perfect picture, a perfect unified land…
Music… rock out with a good message… Warrior Soul – Man Must Live As One
thoughts, likes, comments, spam, bot activity, russian dating site links…. are all appreciated, as well as your time for stopping by with those eyes, those peepers, so…. thanks people, without the lot of you I am letters on the wind.
went unsaid
but mere words I thought
my deeds the weight of motion
so I thought
now the deepest wound
the unhealed hole
is roughly hewn by hands known
went unsaid
and never will
a numbness until my death
carried lumber unto my bed
pulled by mules on carts
wheels churned in sand
the further I go
the closer I come
all that is past
can not be undone
regardless of prayer
or passing seasons
some joyous more than some
but still
left inside –
went unsaid
notes… my weekly delve into the depths of my heart and the loss thereof, how I squandered love, true love, I am not saying there is nothing beyond, but experience tells me it will never be as easy as it was with her, it just ‘fit’, hard to explain it just was, which drives my logic side insane but adds infinite fuel to my romantic side… in other words it drives me nuts…
every passing year, I look at the photos, the faces, listen to the somber sayings of the names, listening for the ones I know, not just names on a stone, although cold black granite serves the solemn sober nature reserved, for days like these, the stone stays as still and quiet as the solid photo poses, the lost ones, the never found, buried in that ground, time stopped there, in those footprints, in moments and long winding agonies down, forever and at once, rubble, a giant cloud of dust, time stood still to watch the towers fall as if unreal, but this was real, every day, I drive by, that skyline, my entire life the twin towers were there, but they were just buildings on a postcard, nothing more, not the photos of those lost, taken from the earth in two fell swoop, photos captured in time, of lives taken too soon, a reminder of the gentle foothold we hold on this precious earth, in an instant, a moment, that will undoubtedly fade into time and history, the names will be read, and over time the numbers will dwindle, as the greatest generation fades so too shall ground zero one day, a footnote, a lost monument but not for now, time marches on, a lifetime is just a summer song in the coming wake of winter, so sometimes we must pause in the sake of human misery, so we may remember the fallen, so we may be reminded of those here, to love one another, even if for an instance, that glimpse, those photos so silent, take action now, while your breath still allows it…
Music… For My Fallen Angel….
I want to run up that ruby lined ridge line on the back of that mountain of a cloud, right up to the moon, I wish to go there but know I never will, but how soon my romantic side forgets, the moon, sitting there framed in blue, is not quite in our sky, my logical side steps in to remind that the moon is in perfect orbit, locked in the cold black breathless death of space, a dead world, echoes of impacts heard in countless lifeless craters, traces of history of billions of years as if transpired just yesterday, as magical, as mystical as the moon may seem, the man, the moon, the dream, it is the dead end of all being, and what will be, for when life retreats or is drawn to another place, a lifeless husk will remain, dust, gravity no longer caring, losing it’s grip, so weak it becomes just a globe in another’s collection, so which do I choose? of my dual nature I lean to the romanticism of the world, the concept of the eternal, but there is that constant reminder in the sky, whether a sliver, a quarter or full glory, the fact that everything dies is not much consolation for the living, more like a rationalization that we all drive down that dead end road, logic is cold, hard to argue with a stone as words do not carve granite well, or at all, but I suppose what choice do I have but to drive on, forward, with hope, for the alternative, while more rational, more reasoned, more probable, leaves nothing on the bone and in fact no bones… at all.
music? I can not resist, I am a child of the late 80’s after all… so…
>>>>> Duran Duran – New Moon on Monday
oh yeah, this post is part of The Porch Project which has no rules aside from me sitting out on the porch, days of the week? month? nah… just when I can, and thanks for stopping by, this little bus stop of my mind, I appreciate the time and eyes…. thanks.
‘the lone dandelion’
as I look all about my yard, thinking of something clever to say, or some universal truth to transmit, I have to remind myself, the whole purpose of sitting out here, is, none of these things, to let the world flow, and go from there, I suppose that is my humanity tugging at my strings, sometimes I feel like I could pen a novel in an afternoon, or other times I struggle to write a simple line, maybe this is one of those times, so I pay more attention to the dog, perhaps as slavish as I to routine, yet I know her senses are much keener than mine, or at least more overt, maybe mine are buried by human arrogance, I look at all the leaves scattered on the lawn, a chill I know but since left long ago has snuck back into this room, alas, where did the summer go? I suppose that sentiment loses some significance as we get older and are saddled with work, the days of youth – the summer was this singular freedom, long days, beach days, peeling skin, neon colored buckets, hiking in the catskills, scraped knees, everything seemed possible, now, just the nicer drive to work, waking up with sunlight and coming home with same, a delight on it’s own, and it is coming to a close, as everything does, I suppose, I look off to one of my bamboo bushes, and oddly, totally out of season, there is a single dandelion, no, not even in the flower phase, in the hair is white spread the seeds phase, how odd, and how quite late, I want to tell the little guy he is a bit out of sorts, but why cut short the singular joy this little weed might be channeling, a single dandelion spreading it’s wings, futile, I know, but the singular notion of it is in a way inspiring, a singular bloom out of season, but a bloom just the same, for a second, there is spring even in the face of the fading shadow of summer.
(part of my ongoing series, oddly called The Porch Project, ok, maybe not so oddly)
musical accompaniment: Warrior Soul – Children of the Winter
“tell me, tell me of the moon
a paramour
who never moves
closer always
always remains
at a distance
remains always
at arm’s length”
notes… I was listening to this (Cellar Darling – Rebels) and these words popped into my head as they often do, I suppose I was playing with words, and repetition on purpose as we all tend to do the same things so often, myself included, breaking the mold I guess is a habit, one I do not have quite down, quite yet, but I endeavor the goal, I endeavor it so, so I depart in that direction even when sometimes lost…
Goffle Brook Park, Hawthorne, New Jersey
So… this park was built originally as a work project after the great depression, it was designed by the same architects as Central Park NYC, and oddly it is like an oasis in the middle of bustle, just like Central Park (it stretches miles along) , I have been trying to show off my state, my home, and honestly explore all the nooks and crannies here in New Jersey that I don’t know, so this was one of those days, I figured the hurricane would have cleared out most of the weather, not so much as it was a mixed day but… a good one, just the same, great walking park, great for families at the southernmost end with tons to do and a dog park !!!
post script: I did bring my trusty journal but no inspiration, which is typical, sometimes, ok, many times when I am out and about in nature I am absorbed by it, so I rarely write when I am on vacation or exploring, I must have looked like quite the odd duck, all dressed up in my work clothes hiking all along and peeking over the brook banks for those perfect duck shots, one woman asked if I was with the survey team (for the trees) and another asked if I was that nice young man who took the photos for the newspaper, I was neither, just someone determined to show that New Jersey is many things, yes, we have our down areas but for a small state we have more than people know, and being a homegrown joizee boy I should highlight all that because even I am unfamiliar with all the amazing things here, but I will show them off, or that is the plan, and maybe write some interesting things in the process…
“don’t speak dead of the ill.”
note… just me playing with words, these things pop into my head from time to time, so, I will post them sometimes, not everything has to be a novel you know… and this little line is a little deeper than you may know on the surface, if you ponder such, think about what I am saying here by flipping the usual translation…
a birthday candle
made upon one selfish wish
a moment with her
notes… and so the pining does muster on, I’d like to pretend I don’t think about things, and how I might make them different, and all the other fantasies in my mind, but I will always remain hopeful, as the random tide of the world brought us together once, maybe there is sequel in there somewhere (and not a rewrite with bad actors), I am a cork in the river in that way, letting the universe work things out, I am not sure if that is the right approach, when it comes to such things I am not sure about much… at all…
music…
underrated… much like me… my humor is subtle, you have to trust me on that front, these guys almost made it, like a lot of bands, they had the goods but just didn’t “hit” enough for the label to push them at the time, they are still around (the guys, not the band) in various forms… or so I am told…
Shades of My Garden 