From 2017, a few “shorter” works… not that size matters (I’m talking poems people!)

I’m particularly partial to “find”, one of those pure things you just write in one motion and it all just ‘fits’.  Comments/Thoughts/Insults and all else appreciated.

“Architect” 2017

architect,

skeleton,

a shipwreck of bones

gravity climb

on moonlight

an exercise

in quixotic dreaming mind

“untitled” 2017 (1)

the embers of my life

the flames I never maintained

suffocating

smoldering

fading

what burns brightly in a hot memory?

fantasy

lunacy

fallacy

forgotten.

“find” 2017

whilst they find my body

whilst they find my bones

was I worth remembering

I will never know.

Still catching up on some older stuff… not much else to say on this one.  I’ll let the words speak for themselves. (although I do have a special place in my heart for “rear view”… it is something that I think about often, an image I have never been able to forget to this day)

“thoughts on new years on the henry hudson” 1/6/2007

breakers on the west side

a new year is want to rise

the old man is spry in the west

broken back by bending jets

“rear view” 4/14/2007

I know not of death

for I am alive

these thirty odd years

but should I know legion

as when my mind drifts

to the day.

a passing kiss to the forehead

of you, my love,

the sleepless night

into that inevitable dawn.

rear view mirror

a lasting portrait –

of death in the first morning sun.

you, are standing there alone

but I must go

tears but a simple sympathy

to perhaps ease the mind

the heart bears the scars

not the eyes.

a portrait

that never leaves my gallery

of thought

in dreams comes to life

and as I wake,

as visions subside

the years gone in just a blink

pages turn

but a mark never leaves the edge

as I take upon every breath

wonder, fear,

I am alive

and as I am

will I always love her?

staring there

rear view

she is ever standing there.

“untitled” 5/2007

on the dew

the dawn of wake

a quiet silence

pronounced

clouds nestled between

skyward stretching branches

and light

morning light

warms my brow

I was transcribing some more stuff from my notes today.. and boy does my handwriting suck… I really ought to be more careful but sometimes these things are written spur of the moment wherever I may be (many times in my car driving!). So for what it is worth here are some more…

“untitled” 6/2017

rain on the lake
a common trope
draws the eye –
inspires…
romantic hope

smoky fog
hugs the mountain far
a road corralled by trees
all hands waving leaves
all say the same
all turn to bask in the coming rain

a voice on the wind
of a bird I know not who
the rain loses pace
almost a pause
nearly completely still
drop by drop
stopped.

“untitled” 6/2017

this dying body can provide
to other passengers by

“Traffic”  6/2017

grasping for a metaphor,
a gnarled tree?
yet nature has purpose.

traffic is perverse
traffic is a curse – spoken in rage
traffic is a treason on the soul

created in a compilation, consternation, confirmation
in a faulty foundation of political underpinnings
in other words : frustration!

DMK Note: The above poem is meant to be a bit humorous…especially those of us who commute daily here in the tri-state (NY, NJ, CT) area.

“untitled”  6/2017

fallow fields
fallow minds
poison seeds
to commit the crime

Trying to catch up to current stuff!  I do like some of the ideas here even if sort of simplistic.. not everything has to be word geometry I guess.  But if that is your thing…cool. Comments/Thoughts are always appreciated.

“untitled”  5/2017
sweet tide to kiss my brow
for me to sail
into the never ending sea

“buried”  5/2017
Broken –
Mason –
Jar –
half buried, half sane
peering through patterns
spindle of sunlight crowning
what remains above ground

“to not know the rain”  5/2017
to not know the rain
in the forest
or the plains
on the desert mars
light years span as far,
unless your vessel is a lens
to see space and back again

“you” 5/2017
is it a mood
is it blue
is it a tone
is it a hue
is it the true feeling
of who you are – ?
emerge.

Oops.. a little out of order but does that matter…  probably not.  I’m sure I will find plenty of material lying around these parts to post here and there.

“untitled” 5/2011

listening to the immutable hum of blue orchids
(crossing)
time gone by
time goes by

watching the breeze bend
over the shrub like darting wings
leaves turn to their partners
sunlight illuminates open paths
shade underneath hiding

“untitled”  late 8/2012

the wind is a whisper
the moon is a rumor
this late summer hour
masks amongst the choir
of insect chatter

and I take a breath.

Lots of archiving I have to do… I wonder if it will show progress? hmm?   Feedback is appreciated if ya’ feel like it.  And please if you re-post give me credit… otherwise aliens will come down. abduct you and do things to your bum… (and you won’t like it).

“untitled” 2011

in the quiet of my mind

ambient music numbing trance

parkway lanes parting

past my sides

late nights drive, 1 am

(eastern time)

“untitled” (2) 2011

diffused cloth umbrella

rocking back and forth like on a ship

but on a breeze,

wind placing ladies at the tables

cats and carps begging for scraps

the thoughts of travel

back to the cloud climb

in mere hours,

the constant rollick of the breeze

the click clank of metal tubing, swinging , hypnotic moving

the carbonation of flies amongst the gaze

the sheen of sun upon the pond

at last the honey suckle scent penetrates

birds, peripheral, call out their sounds,

in orderly fashion as not to arouse,

ripples die and softly rage

as stillness impregnates both birth and long age

so once again wind does rise

click, clack, click, clack

nature is a metronome devised

“untitled” (3) 2011

Ah…where is that beam of light to illuminate this darkest of landscapes?

If I might only find what my mind half spent in searching,

and divide the time in lines to seek out the answer…

Where has she gone?

Has she gone at all?

or is she standing right where I left her,

like a tree passed a thousand times before,

existing as the same as memory,

and close inspection

a flower by the trunk,

always there-

but sometimes (as is the case) the passers-bye forget to look

upon that majestic face

with eyes lost in the reflection of blue sky,

lost in the familiar intersection