rebirth (perhaps)

rebirth (perhaps)

if I could live my life over again
would I be
the only one
or given a new life
an empty page
or might I prefer
to hold the knowledge
I have gained,
to start in soil
as a sprout
without the memory
of the tree
that spawned me
and set me free upon this earth
as a plotting acorn
a cloud of dandelion seed
a coconut carried to a different shore
on an indifferent sea,
or spirit energy
transformed back to light
and reborn
from forth a celestial womb
to begin the cycle all-together
and all anew (on the universe’s cue)

notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
the why (to ponder)

the why (to ponder)

drowning in thinking
perhaps tired of inking
these inklings
epithets to
dreams from
threats of
a new whirlwind
a cascade due
an avalanche down
doubts weighted by fear
the desperate climb out
claws from down under
pulling downward’sunder
but I mustn’t-
I mustn’t succumb
I must fight
for each breath
for that reach
for life
or… or…

notes: unlike other animal life we question our existence, but when push comes to shove we do fight to survive, mostly… mostly… are we free from the same death panic ? I doubt it, I am not, mostly in daily life I am but I know I look to the stars and see light that is thousands or billions of years old, does someone see mine ?

Thoughts… from the porch.

Thoughts… from the porch.

there is something to be said to succumbing to the moment before a storm, or perhaps sitting out and sharing the moment with your surround, almost like the dimming of the theater lights in lead up to a performance, there is a gentle wave there, I am able to see each and every single leaf in detail twitching in the rising tide of wind, even leaves bathed in shadows seem illuminated with the backlight of anticipation, there is something in the lore of nature’s core when it comes to summer thunder storms, sure, this is not summer yet, on a technicality, I surely believe the mother is not beholden to the julian shackles of man and our need to define everything within and without, so no, this has the feel of summer thunder, that sudden swift whirl that comes in blazing, as if to ravage the land to the ground with a show of light and furious bellows, no, not yet, for this is the space in the calm, let yourself feel this settling all around you, no late animals stirring about, an occasional straggler of a bird’s call trailing off, the sun well past slumber, dipping below the horizon to wake another ‘sphere, I spy my first lightning bug, a miracle of bio lamination and yet another sure sign a solstice is not the only measure of a season, but thankfully the lightning bug’s cousins, the biting kind are not yet out in legion, so I may enjoy this moment quite unmolested, for a second I think that summer will be here and gone in a blink, but I need to curb such thoughts, and not even mention them, so I won’t, back to the silky bliss that is this, calm before the storm, sometimes a cliché is a proper cloak as this may be the case, this space, so wide and calm, drifting circles in pond fading out in to smaller crests until gone, each breath I draw feels like this, I can see my exhale rippling outward and as it fades and I breath in to fall into a cycle, so here I sit, on the same common porch I’ve known, a moment I have known, but since long have not felt, the newness mating with old familiar, not happiness, but contentment, a contentment of life where I wait for the first drop to drop and then I will retreat inside, to hear that song, of a million tone tons playing upon the walls – and windows – and wind.

notes… for the non readers this is me just sitting on the porch riffing, all off the top of my head, a stream of dave-ish-ness… so it is… your thoughts, impressions, invectives are all welcome, so comment away.

that, so hear!
riding on the wind,
the cry of the wolf
rises up on the moonlit night
piercing all forward and all behind
crests effortlessly over my ramparts and walls
directly into my soul
directly to my heart;

for the grey that inhabits my crown
for the once saplings now laid down with leaf
for seasons past and lives have cross’t,
that pierce of hers-
the cost does haunt;

still, might I lie mostly wake
thoughts can hardly break the lure
of that call of the earthen core herself-
nor noble sword for which I held
nor conquered foe for which I thought I felled
upon my knees can not relent
spine down my soul can not repent;

for she shall always be my queen;-
in times of youth when all was the golden
eternity was upon and nothing spent
the perfection of lying together in our bed
at night, until the soft light morn
the supple fit of our perfect form,
how insidious human works did invade that space
worldly words n’ deeds the insurrection led by my disgrace;

a guise, so easy to see with hind
so easily remembered, twice fold in kind
a fool’s errand to decide by one the best for two
rather than raze the building to see again
the gleaming foundation; (abandoned dream)
a fate of two disparate streams that became a river
spilled into an endless ocean of the unity of love
dried up in a short sighted season of my famine
the destruction of a singular decision is more than a scar
heavier than an anchor of the base most stone
a crushed trachea trained under heavy breath,
like a collapsed tunnel under a grand mountain’s ground;

sometimes there is the air of escape,
from miles, from towns, in the arms of others,
but when, that call hears out, and reaches these ears
I can not bear to wonder what else, and despair.

notes… I shall never forget, I want to, I want to find that next love, but it has not materialized so far… I feel I am wired different, time and years feel like nothing to me, although not everyone is wired the same way, today could be yesterday or the day I left her, it all feels the same, regardless of time and space…

the path of our own foolishness

the path of our own foolishness

am I just a gallant buffoon
or a stark raving prancing baboon
shaking my glowing red ass
under the auspice of a harvest moon
without the pride earned by rudolph
nor the purpose with which to lead
except into a tail spin speed
corkscrew map points to the ground
round ‘d’ round ‘d’ round the night
a carousel, a bumblebee in flight
for one passenger though
my bags packed with thoughts
all they might find, in a crash in the dark
compacted into
this little black box
that lies, in abject presentation
and so I will dance, which
for the diminish, succumbs
the coma of night is comfort
the comfort of numb.

sometimes we all act the fool, in jest I must accept not reject this abject part of my humanity… for at best I am my worst and my best is met beyond my expectations my pet, but I bet I do not know anything yet, with four decades under belt I have felt many things and still stumble like a child learning first steps, because there are always more first steps, there is always first steps unless you live life standing still, but then you would be a dummy, both figuratively and literally… or maybe just a man named quinn…

purpose in words

purpose in words

prayer from a distance
does not carry on the air
nor land
or on the back of a feather
the ocean may rise
to engulf the poles
but not even a voice of thunder
can span the globe
in one full jump

but the voice of many
may be the boat of hope to sail
so, I pray, still.

there is hope, and hopelessness… and yes, none of this may matter in this matter, but you have a choice, I choose to live in the sun, as best I can (and I fail more than not, but my choice is not the reason for my failure, my humanity is, such as it is).

your thoughts and comments are always appreciated, my friends.

do you remember?
the other day?
yesterday? (it seems)
a decade ago? (in reality)
a lifetime ago-
how it all seems,
my love, still- still–, always-, my love, I love you, even more, now.

notes… I had a very lucid dream about her today, we went on vacation for a week or so, and we were driving back, we were in the back seat, her legs over my lap, I was rubbing her feet, looking into her eyes, and we were both so utterly satisfied, and she said “you know this was one of the best weeks of my life” and I nodded, and she said “and you know I am still not the right one for you even with this perfect time”… it was both confirmation and devastation… I can not explain how real it felt, it felt like a real test tube distillation of our whole event… I would give it all for her, but never did when it counted back then, a dumb scared kid, I can’t forgive myself, I haunt myself, time was supposed to heal, time was supposed to release me from these bonds but goddamn it it has not… I hate myself but can not hate my nature, I would give it all for her now, even now. Does that make me dumb, loyal, a fool, or who knows.. I guess death will release me from the burden, not that I am anxious to come to that regard at all… god, I miss her, even all these years later…

the source of optimism, well, at least one…

the source of optimism, well, at least one…

the proposal of the sun-
(now) in our time of this sacred covenant
the light does strike out from the direction of dawn
down, out upon my palm
(moments go, the light)
slides up my forearm
yes, and then I notice-
the warming;
welling up, as from within
an upward spring, flowing toward the surface
an awakened primal memory
the pure instinct of response
a trigger, intrinsic in all forms
the jubilation-
a germination-
of the elemental elixir infused
infused with the optimism
inherent in life
from the giver of-
the sun
from whence all life
, derives (thrives).

notes… just the power of the sun hitting my arm, on a grey day when the breaks became a jail break of light later on, the feel, the feel is so visceral, something within us all is awakened by such days or moments, to remember, to recall… and carry on, with joy…