a window into a life, a conversation with a soul, a gateway to a heart
Author: David Koblentz
Inspiration is a fickle muse. Sometimes empty, sometimes overwhelming. These words I write are my own but they seem driven by something else (perhaps?).
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…
(1) moon, phase shadow, fog night owl who who
(2) the calming sound of my april bamboo as the wind works through and plays each leaf
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.
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…
Photo by Free Nature Stock on Pexels.com
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
(2)
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…
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…
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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…
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.
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…
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)
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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?
Shades of My Garden 