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?).
I must be in a mood today… the only way I could have posted this faster is with my brain… I must admit this experiment is intriguing.
edit 6/21 12:51am… just cleaning this up for looks, that is my actual scribble there, I was in a supermarket working on a self checkout (I’m a NCR certified tech, you know, to pay the bills)… I think people must have found me weird scribbling away on paper and then furiously trying to learn the wordpress app in the maelstrom of a busy market.
Live poetry, i would say the ink is still drying but i use a modern pen not a cool antique… which reminds me i might quite like one of those… posting from my car and phone for the first time…
edit 6/21 1:02am… just cleaning this up for aesthetics, I also want to note that I think it is important to capture moments and try to convey them. Robins are ultra common here.. but not so in other places, I think we get familiar and forget things like that. Robins are very much land dwellers and territorial little maniacs (with bright blue eggs).. anyway, their behavior is so distinct, look around, pay attention, tell me about your reality.
What holds us back? Mostly ourselves. I am not claiming to be better or an authority on how to live. In fact the more I think about life the more confused I get. How in the ever loving world am I supposed to understand another person? We are all an amalgamation of very specific ingredients and experience coalesced into this singular experience. That is of course why we gravitate to our own tribes. Nothing spectacular there… so the question becomes how to break these walls? I could say it takes courage… but does it really? We all find our comfortable couch and love the familiarity… I am just as guilty but I see it, I see me… I want to burn like a hot stick of dynamite in the world, I am sure I have it in me… but what holds me back? or you ?
Here is something I wrote today… as is my usual jaunt this is a one take piece (literally, I thought about live posting the writing which I may do in the future)… I wonder if I should work on my work or just keep throwing out what I pen immediate. I know I could improve some words, some rhythm for sure… but should my poems be perfect … as I am surely not? I should let go of the fear.
“grounded” 6.19.18
I am a bird
grounded
shattered bones
feathers burned
scarred
torn
lying in a broken pile
of my own filth
dying-
-reflection
cast glint
glassy eyes
penetrated by the sadness
deadened by the masses.
Music? Yeah.. I got that… Paradise Lost “As I Die” … PL has been one of my faves for .. damn, that long now? I always thought this is the direction Metallica should have gone.. not the crappy one they have… I love Paradise Lost because of the name (obviously you poetic Milton freaks).. and they change sounds almost every album (even an electronic one! the awesome “Host“). I swear they should hire me as a publicist… well, maybe not.
Sometimes less is more (or so I have heard). I have a busy mind which runs and races. There was a time I tried to subdue this engine and be “like everyone else”… but I am tired of that and willing to release the reins to see where it goes. I used to have strict things in mind when it came to poetry… what exactly is it ? Is there a pure definition? I imagine it is alive, like people, and diverse, like the community of minds here (and throughout the known world). So even a simple form of simple words can hold the spark of imagination, the fire of inspiration, and capture the heart or light a thought… I wonder.
whimsy. I have two whole days off (a rarity) so I will be out and about here in New Jersey digging for fossils… yes, you can do that here. One of the best kept secrets of NJ (ahem, besides myself) is Big Brook Park. You are allowed to just hop in and dig (so I do). But anyway here is a silly little thing I threw together the other day while looking at my stat page (as most of us surely do here on wordpress). Surely this is an inside joke for wordpress folks only… so, find art wherever you may roam (or blog).
“login” 6.8.18
wordpress
my domain
free with a plan
upgrade
menu
view site stats plan
manage
pages and posts
counting visitors
coveting followers
as close as I come to “commercial” music… R.I.P. Shannon, saw these guys at woodstock 94 (maybe I will tell you about that sometime, I wonder where Jodi is…hope you are well out there!), they were great… “No Rain” – Blind Melon
Ah, the lonely poet contemplating the one… yes, that one. Something that seems unattainable from the outside looking back. Yet… the old adage of better to have loved and lost becomes a friend.. or a mantra, or a lie we tell ourselves. I do not know if I will (or can) have anything that pure again.. the circumstance of youth and confluence of events seem like a tale that I made up in my head.. but yet, can I trust in age and experience (perhaps a little help from the universe). I am searching.
“book dedication” 4/7/18
to my one love
she is more than light
to see the way
more than breath
that fills my lungs
she is the gravity
that holds me
to everything
I will love you until the stars fade black.
dmk honest Note: I imagined I was commissioned to do a book of my poems… and I would want this to be the dedication as she is my inspiration even if I am no longer hers.
Of course I am saying “sexy time” in my Borat voice…. makes more sense that way (and amuses me). I don’t write about sex or sexual innuendo often, certainly not as often as I think about it (as if I have that much free time). Nothing pornographic… which is odd because I could care less about suggestive or out right lewd language. So here is 2 poems that just kind of happened .. the equivalent of a one night stand in terms of my poetry given what usually gets my pen to stand on end. (and I quite liked these poems as I wrote them or maybe it was dictated to me by the universe in one full sweaty stroke of my hand)
“room for 2” 4/4/18
as I stand there
as I bathe in you
the woman of my dreams
every contour and every seam
tailored for my hands
small of back
I place my hands
a burst of sweat
as fingers rise to shoulders
I pull you in
closer, closer.
“we meet” 6/1/18
our skin meets
I know your temperature
I know your scent
lips pressed
firm, wet
body lines
hands glide
slide
inside
you shudder
soft moan
drawn close
nibbled lobe
whispers exchanged
desires, explode
dmk note: I hope you caught all the double entendres in my intro… if not, shame on you.
musical selection, one of the goddamn sexiest song I have ever heard… “Minus the Bear: White Mystery”, no mystery, turn up the volume and be with the one you desire
Not sure if there is such a thing. I am trying though for what it is worth. I think deep down (or not really at depth) we all know what we should do but we actually do moment to moment varies. If everyone moved in a certain way the world would surely be better… but is that the way everyone thinks? or stops to think? or should think ? Sometimes I look around and think everyone here is dead, more or less true.. so what does it matter? I guess I am searching for the answers also. Smarter and wiser people than I have pondered these questions and will… for ages. Maybe words are my sanctuary or at least a temporary refuge.
“unfamiliar” 4/1/18
I saw a creek I do not know
I have driven this stretch
of the parkway
a thousand fold
a body of water
a basin of life
flows into a forge
becomes a river
and the sea
begins
off mile-marker 131b
dmk Note: Mile markers or more specifically exits on the garden state parkway (GSP) are a very new jersey thing. For us there is a common occurrence “hey, where are you from? what exit?”. I do not claim to know if other states are like this. The GSP runs like a spine and in a way is the spine of the state from tip to toe or point to cape (as it were).. it is a part of being from this state as much as being New York’s little brother.
“easterly” 4/1/18
my neighbor’s easter chatter
in their backyard
a letter to another neighbor
washed up on my lawn
from these late spring storms
I return the lost parcel to the plastic mailbox
filled with mail already
how odd (for a sunday)
I’ve known this place
my whole life
familiar
a woman
walking her dog
whom I do not know
easter is letting out
as my neighbor’s family disperses
to travel to their homes
“goodbye grandma” a little voice
followed by the heightened whine
of the minivan pulling up the block
the sun is almost set now
peeking behind fifteen lynnwood
I guess I had not noticed
the buds on the trees
ready to burst and transform this tract
once and again
from pale green slumber
to lush with leaves
soon we’ll have summer
there is always hope
I tell myself.
“poison” 4/3/18
a toxic house is poisonous to all inhabitants
walls pulsing seething
membrane
throbbing beating
even in the calm still of night
labored – breathing
constant – pounding
never – sleeping
doors closed, air stifles
cripples motion
throats crack
strangles the air
choking choking
4/3/18
are you a wolf?
no
but yet you hunt
are you prey?
no
but yet you are stalked
As is my custom (and my burning desire to spread good tunes) here is some music to enjoy… “Steve Morse – Modoc” … known well in musical circles (one of my favorite guitar players) but outside those circles probably not so much.
A truly American spirit. I wanted to lighten the mood a bit today (lovely day in the northeast USA). So here is some amusing musings on Bourbon. Why? I recently scoped out a cool documentary about the drink: “Neat: The Story of Bourbon“. Like a good documentary should you wind up having a good time and learning a thing or two. So with that in mind here are some booze inspired numbers for your consumption (and mental inebriation). Live life, love life people.
6.7.18
Bourbon
makes great friends
but a poor alarm clock
6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and neat
and the while later
crooked crossed feet
6.8.18
Bourbon
screams and kicks
fiery
and down the hatch
time plays
one eye opens
who is this person in my bed?
6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and slick
burns the tongue
for only quick
tap on the shoulder
from you know who
temptation bout reach for more
but one more knock
you’re on the floor
I must be in a mood today… the only way I could have posted this faster is with my brain… I must admit this experiment is intriguing.
Shades of My Garden 