be that some unnamed mountain peak, climbed and bent under knee, a breath on top of the roof of the world, three hundred and sixty degrees, a view for few or even a king or a queen, only here and now, on the short pinnacle, the way down, the paths crossing, somewhere down, hidden by height and cloud cover, where the under dwells, where our lives lead, the to and fro, while not always climbing, just passing, station to station, aspiration sometimes leads to inspiration, the elevation, but all of this, the lofty heights, the lofty goals, must at once, inevitably – lay down… so take the breath in, enjoy the view, and smile in the sun’s light when you can.
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?).
touchstone
to carve my name upon a stone
buried in an earthen mound
untouched by tides or droughts
to let my blood into the roots
of a young joshua tree
so I might reach into the spires
and praise the open sky
for eons
to drop my note
in a bottle
weighted to drop to depths
and remain until the earth
is once over overrun
to catapult my ash
into space oneself
to visit the earth
and all else-
on the solar winds
until the collapse
of the universe
once over
herself
to survive, in whatever form…
Talismans…
I gravitate back to this subject in my mind often, if this sounds familiar, I often think of ways I could remind myself, ground myself, to not get caught up in the usual loops, the minor distractions that cause fractions in your spirit, I am fond of things of the sea, or at least reminders there of, especially the Māori culture, certainly not of my heritage, or any lineage that I know of, but the sea faring nature, belonging to the ocean, to one day return there from a singular point, is fascinating, and calming to me, I suppose much like wearing a cross or whatever religion or symbol might bring relief to your mind and body, I think often of these things, and as of yet have not found a permanent resident, bracelets, statues, little bobbles on my desk, nothing has yet to really captivate for more than moments at a time, I guess I could put up literal signs “don’t be a lazy ass” but I think that lacks a little bit of the elegance I am going for, maybe I am over thinking this just like I seem to do everything, then I see it, a bit of leftover from take out food from Saturday lunch, a simple string, such a simple thing, such a simple solution, not twine, soft cotton I might surmise (well, I am no tailor, just a guess), one string on quick glance but yet clearly a harmony, a colony of many strings, so many metaphors flowing through the most nominal of things, perhaps for today, maybe tomorrow, maybe let’s see, this can be my talisman, the sweet simple reminder I seek…
talisman, testament… I dunno… somehow it made me think of this… classic thrash from my youth… a pretty straight forward song, the lyrics were not exactly deep but interesting to a me teen… and maybe it did make me think at the time…
postcard
the sun slowly settles
beneath the horizon line
of a european city;
I do not know her
the odor – the moisture – the flavor of-
for I have never been-
to paris
I know not her breath
inside my lungs, upon my tongue
filling my mouth, nor on my lips
for all this, I imagine;
sitting on a bare chair
sipping a cup of tea
drawn white curls of steam
rising
up into the moon
like a balloon
escaping
a child’s flight;
to know the lights
of her street lights
enchanting my eyes, dancing, inside,
to listen-
to a foreign language
in a native land
and I imagine
inherent comprehension
innately – I understand;
I pause, to gaze at my feet
reflections bouncing
down the cobbled stone street
stone by stone, skipping
as cars pass by,
as I fade into a trance
into this known, dream
perhaps a concocted reality
from a place I have only seen
in pictures and scenes
how familiar this might feel
but a great ocean between-
there and I
tells the truth of tales-
I need to see her
for myself
(one day, perhaps, my dear)
notes… as always, I try to put the fear out of my mind, the losing of the muse, catching the tail of her… sometimes the ideas are like a deluge, but with that also comes drought, and doubt… I am human after all… but sometimes I still, even after writing all these years, have to be ok with a pause… the time in between sometimes feels like life times, but it is but a blink, the trick is making your peace with it as an artist… sometimes you are on fire, sometimes you are the last ember in the furnace, until that last flicker… you are alive, so, be with it… this piece was out of nowhere for me, it just fell into place, as I drove home, listening to the above classical piece, and the words came to me from the universe… how else can I explain it ? the words came, the urge came, I had to pull over and write down the words as they came to me… been awhile, and such an exhilarating feeling,so, cheers, to the muse, whatever that is, god, the universe, the earth, star dust.. who the hell knows.. and I am OK with not knowing…
echo…s
if even I could hold some semblance of my perception
as a single grain of sand
a molecule- all that is left of this man
some miniscule consciousness of mine
in that boundary between the tides
so I might yet feel the light, on my face
left to the ocean’s gentle grace
never alone in the vastly grave
just a glimmer
a silicone sliver, of hope
under star-shine and moonlit glow
some tiny piece of this- left
to go on – and on -and on.
note… we all do it… the search for meaning, the meaning of our existence, to square the circle that we can never… but we do it any way, it is in our nature… I can not shake the fear that one day I will disappear, and not even know I existed, my consciousness scattered to the winds… is that greedy? is that shallow? perhaps… in the grand scheme of things I suppose… I suppose I should just let go…but… this is all I know, and the idea that I will be essentially erased, while I have no control, is terrifying… so I hope and search for more… and even that seems shallow, for you or I will never know until that time when we can’t come back here and inform each other… in a blog…
expiration date
for some reason looking at a tomb stone or a grave marker, does not seem as personal, or direct, or maybe stark as a death certificate, a literal start date and end date on a piece of paper with a fancy embossed seal, such a final formal non personal but about a person statement, a summary in two lines of an entire life, a simple one line map from here to there, point a to point b, period, it seems so… small, so miniscule, so- non human almost, it has been a couple years since my father passed, but just looking at photographs, or trinkets, or something on the TV that reminds me, nothing is as jarring as this is, this piece of paper, a start date… and a final date, no details to carve this life out as different from any other, just a range of years, numbers, on a paper, it seems so short in this form, an 84 year time frame – seems like nothing, almost like it never happened, so… undeniable, we have a start date, such a strange concept to fathom as all we know is THIS, this right now, this existence, this is our forever, our endowment from this universe of incomprehensible age, this now, so many days removed from our born on date whether that was yesterday or decades, inching ever closer or speeding towards the expiration date we truly have, maybe, like a product, if someone examines me close enough my expiration date is somewhere encoded on my person, if only we had the means to read that code, we are a creation, surely there might be a clue or glyph or a sign that points to the moment in time of our demise, or at least exit stage from this particular performance? for now, it does not feel real, that there is a definite date time stamp out there with my name on it… but there surely is, my expiration date. (and one day my paper will trace my life as a range of dates)
concrete hits (truth)
life is about redemption (often)
I am amazed at the sheer number of opportunities I have been offered, how often I have failed or those taken for granted, I looked not quite down at the so-common sidewalk this morning, in front of my office, the shadows skewing in just the right direction to etch every inch of every branch of the leafless trees upon the surface cross, the sun exactly where it had to be for these steps, for this exact moment to capture my sightline, even the bus stop bench seems pristine somehow, a miracle? why not… a not so subtle jab to my psyche “hey dude, wake up, look around”, although in my mind I would hope nature wouldn’t talk in exactly that tone (or with my jersey accent), but the message, the same, either way, nothing spectacular about today compared to… many… or any… but somehow, I feel inspired just the same, there is always hope while life remains.
gravity, to our home
and in many a day
or years past then
I will succumb to gravity
the calling back to the earth
and so, all creatures
some great, some small
will transform me back
unto the shore
forever more.
prey and eventuality…
if I might be a steely wolf
lone stalker of resolute proof
natural instinct
draws the lines
scent to sight
combine
no malice for a meal
no compassion for a life
a trade in fair for now
on earth
for this- is life as been
and those who pass
those who persist
within the lock
of these steely eyes
exist;
the sucker trap… (a short little story)
I should know better… I really should, but sometimes, it only takes a pebble to send the wagon wheel off kilter, at least this time, I caught myself, before careening off a cliff into a miserable hell of my own making, how little a push it takes, just a subtle breeze in one direction, but in some way I am not wrong (perhaps my reaction…), today’s pet peeve you may ask (certainly within your rights, should you be reading this), where I work, the lovely and mystical Hackensack NJ is an unerving magical maddening maze for street parking, sure, my office has an ‘official’ parking lot but it resembles the opening of the simpsons where everyone is trying to get on the couch to a limted number of spots (and damn if I always get blocked in as well), add into the mix the constant flooding patterns when it rains (we are a block or so from the Hackensack river), well, it is a fun time trying to find one of the limted amount of street spots within a decent block or two from the office, so when people don’t pull up to examine all the potential sign to sign, it burns me, like one thousand suns colliding (a bit much?)… I guess because such a simple gesture, such a simple thing… is so.. well, SIMPLE… to me at least, apparently the people in this area did not get the memo(s), I mean really, how hard would it be to pull up four feet or even two in some cases so that someone else could park legally… now, one spot amiss, perhaps I could have tolerated that this morning (a slog of a commute in the rain where drivers seem to lose their minds), two spots? … perhaps, perhaps that would not have cut my edge so gruff, but after spot three I was losing all control and lobbing F bombs at inanimate objects (after finding my spot of course), Friday is an alterate parking day, supposedly they street sweep, not that you can tell on a good day, or any day for that matter, although, it has been a nice change to see fallen leaves (and standard garbage) instead of face masks these days… so on with the walk to the office (longer than it should have been)… contemplating leaving a scathing note on windows, contemplating confronting the drivers (which frankly I probably would never have the balls to do), halfway on the walk of rage to my office door I realized… what the hell are you winding yourself up for man ! letting that negativity rise like a geyser, definitely old faithful getting worked up on such a less than handful of a matter, I took a breath, calmed myself down, still muttered one more “they are still assholes” and opened the front door…
Shades of My Garden 