you have never left my residence there are times I wish for forgiveness times of regret- times to remember joy at the times that were in some immaculate light sometimes I wish never sometimes I wish always and forever all these rivers the source and destination always lead back to you. (my love)
decades gone and through there is no one else’s eyes I long to look into- then unto death I will stray or headfirst, who can say but at that moment as in most my once and only thought -will be you.(my love)
I wonder- if the anchor is still there for I know the shipwreck is
down by the simple river for just a sample of a spring time song wash away my thoughts down the river drawn- wash over me with the sound as old as there on sky. held in mothers arms now comfort of the ground. the ever-sun, a companion now shine on- on my shoulders- on my cheek- a tune spun by a hundred tiny birds lulls me to hear her now.
surrounded in a dream a menagerie of green for allow me to rest under one of your trees to bathe in your shade to interpret the breeze from mountains, valleys, swamps and seas to know the pulse of your lava veins coursing under the lakes, fields and plains all to come to grow this sapling thus so I might have this moment of ultimate trust resting upon olden trunk older than me but younger than some that the grass might be my bed the sun lazily smiling over head for yes, sweet mother spring is the summer’s dawn; so here I am in wonder- of this quite wonderful world.
let me introduce you to my friend, if a bridge could be one, if a place can be one, nearly 100 years young and still holding her own, the constant pounding and tone right down to her bones, buried in the nitty grit and dirt and sand swept nightly in and out from the Navesink to the Atlantic, countless souls have crossed the span and just if not more underneath, and maybe not so many with feet across, but that is my way, my way how, the way I know her, subtle curves if you ignore the cracks, art deco touches if you ignore the construction cones, sure a cracked wrinkle face shows wear, so would you, in service to meet lands of two, from Red Bank to Rumson bound, how many think to thank the under load bearer, might be none but me who thinks this way, maybe we should, this old girl is due for replacement, by something more modern, but same function, I wonder if the flair will be there, a placard from 2030 doesn’t seem to have the gravity of this aged one from the 30’s… but with time I guess, unless they make a soulless span, with the only purpose – purpose, so drab, like so many bridges without personality, not this old girl, so enjoy such things for now, as they all pass to gone, shadows, memories, stories, old photos, a span of 100 years, under foot, with the magic of carrying you over the ocean way, or looking back on the bay behind as the lines of ships at night trickle out for nightly trips.
This piece of art and history is slated to be replaced soon enough actually… all things must pass… I would hope they keep the original motif and as much of the style as they can (the guard houses? the original plaque?). So when I am absent from my blog this might be where I have been lately… or some other spot in my state learning my surroundings that were always there but I was unaware… stupid me, don’t make the same mistake, explore every corner you can… I bet you find surprises…
I imagine the ploy the tease, the fate in this gene pond at this time mandated for my existence the randomness of significance how would I know the hook but from experience but from living these waters from travel, from stories from the tales of others before me from trial and error in this trial of errors- so I might I be tempted by a shining beacon as if dropped from heaven a lot of star cast dropped down into these depths how do I resist?
as this pen rests, if, perhaps death is sleep then might I- dream a little dream for all time and then, never die in my sleep
dreams are something different, something that resides in our mind. does that make them less real than our waking moments? I am not sure actually. We have those experiences, those simulations if you will… so do we not learn … from dreams?
Shades of My Garden 