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?).
barriers; throwing random letters at this chain- link- fence- investing in the cosmic madness that somehow- my efforts might spell the word- entrance; but then I pause- what if the answer is really the word: exit.
notes… in my head I was picturing that bridge in paris that had all the locks (there is one in Bay Ridge NY too… not as scenic, over the belt parkway, and probably a host of other imposters the world over), kind of a shame they took the locks down, they should have put up a fence adjacent to the bridge for the purpose… the sentiment was not a bad one… and this world could sure use some nice sentiment locked in…
for this lament- I say to you, dream- the open fields- the rolling hills of summer wheat- the shepherd and his flock, roams the shepherd with his pen, writes to define this world again in kind words and thoughts and show them the way- once more.
notes… these words came to me as is… for once in my blabbermouth personality I think I will just leave them as is totally for other’s interpretation, I have mine, surely, I was the vessel, or vassal I suppose… so it matters not what I think, it matters what touches your soul or resonates in your time.
suffering is currency; means to sew in the seams, between composed, of bloody fabric and bones some goals achieved by joy- but alas, humans we might love a good war with cannon and gun or a personal one in our own cauldron of hysteria in our personal lives boiling conundrums we contrive, but the price what might we have to hang at the door repeating cycles ever the more the faces of horror do little to deter from black and white to color repeating cycles ever to pace the path to peace that never seems to be- withstanding.
should I cry for the world? and lament, or put my head down, head phones on, and drone on, the fight is not on my lawn, least not yet, and not yet that long ago, 9/11 was on my doorstep, time does not heal wounds, it just makes people forget, and the farther away from events like a probe travelling away towards the stars- further each minute from mother earth, the problems seem smaller from these great distances, time is a heartless beast, all consuming, for even the joys of life get gelded in the end, I suppose that is what photos and trophies are for- and pins of stars on a uniform, how can you live in the moment when the moment is already gone… so, at times, I lament.
this is cape may beach proper, across from the Marquis de Lafayette hotel (the first 2 pics are from the 6th floor, they allow pets also!), of course I ate a few times at Oyster Bay (fantastic) and you have to visit the famous (open 365) The Lobster House if only to take out from the insane fish market (or go out back for takeout/raw bar). I threw in the last pic for the day moon… if you like these I take vids and post them on my Youtube channel, and if you have any questions about Cape May or the area… go ahead, I have been going there for literally decades…
perhaps seasons are sins, but only where there are four of them, northern then, for the run up to the ball, the merriment in the sun, to lose all your plumes, to dive depth into the blackish doom – of cold, to hang on as the night goes long, pumpkins rot, trees are scorned, and for the transgression of just possession the sun’s light strays, a matter of degrees on the mother’s face, a number of degrees below the pace, of a slowing heart, hibernation into that night, to turn over a new year, to be taken from the light, a candle in cage to survive the trap, to burn away until that comes the next season, the light of day – back again to begin the sin again, and so comes the April’in rains…
I was thinking about how the seasons are like the cleansing of the earth of sin, which seems clever at first, but then I am slanted both figuratively and literally by my hemisphere bias… but, what is a jersey boy supposed to do? I can’t be you or someone else, I have to put forth my experience .. so…
This first set is from various points around Cape May: Corson’s Inlet in Strathmere NJ, the night photo is looking out from Harborview Park in Cape May Proper, the rest of the photos are from Stone Harbor Point, Stone Harbor NJ. If you have any questions about the area or anything feel free to ask, I have been going there for basically my entire life – but always manage to find something new to check out! This is the REAL Jersey Shore…
and I dread this, last night on vacation, moreso the separation, all week I almost felt ownership here, now, on a friday night, with quite the unexpected temperature, the land is over run, humanity gone amuck on the precipice of pure natural beauty and energy, I don’ts blame them, or hate them, but somehow it creeps into my week, perhaps I too, should revel, the sights, the sounds, intoxication of so many senses at so many levels, is his happiness and I just don’t get it? I would rather be alone on a pier with my peers the gulls and fishes below, let alone to listen to a breeze, a tide, the wild calls of birds, all week this place has been a shell, an almost ghost town, traffic regulations are swept aside for the locals, traffic lights only blink gold, and tonight, like a light switch flicked on, this is more of a carousel, I can barely hear the crashing waves over the din, kids kicking frisbees down the promenade, elderly couples walking, perhaps their last miles, all under the fabulous reign of a full bright moon, am I living on the same earth as them? I wonder. cover bands galore, one on every corner, every bar, mostly good, I feel like a stranger in a town I have been coming to for 40 years now, what is the measure of success or happiness? and when is it spent? I can barely hear the ocean when all week she was within ear’s reach window open, the 6th floor of the hotel I am on, to neatly open the sliding glass door, and that dynamic roar was there as if on my balcony itself, and barely now can I make it out, a block seems to be miles now as I struggle to make out that tide from the tide of humanity, descended upon, how can I blame them, we just have differing ideas of this place, who am I to say I am correct and not them, so then, my last night here seems to claw back the calm that inhabited my mind and consciousness, perhaps this is a good primer as I merge back into day to day reality, my normal routine, the work, the grind, but I wonder what my daily life might be missing when I am not feeding the goodness of my soul fulltime like I do on vacation, even in this last day into a last night, well, there is always tomorrow morning, and breakfast at the pancake house, because that is the way I have always done, before my ride home, from this familiar charging station, one more time has filled me with life…
notes… I have not posted much this week, I was on (am) vacation in Cape May NJ… for videos and such check out my Youtube channel, maybe that helps explain this post better… this is one of my happy places, I come here every year, and have almost my entire life
in the slip of cold so goes- I can not say the world fights fate for we know- as time pulls another breath another beat from this machine, in slips the cold making the open sun a rallying cry a setting sun to slumber sooner days shorter, nights linger in slips the cold as I curl up in a warm blanket my dog, curled in a ball lies next to me, and sighs
wrought iron ancient tower in look sold and bought at a garden center in years I might have forgot some winters to fill you up going bare barren for an entire season no good reason, just the passing forgetting to refill the silo forgetting t’was even there, at times the nature of gravity and consumption in the wind, swaying
a common winter night not an occasion to stop- so filled to the top and spilt over not a delicate affair no, certainly not like an old man in the park shucking for the coo more organized perhaps but much the same rouse
and I can not control those who come who find this rest stop and sometimes a flurry a gang, a jail break frenzy romp rather than the gentle sweep and peck the subtle moves of anxiety the back and forth with caution of those who might be prey or at least garnish so
sometimes I wish to script upon the seed with the breed I wish to attract oh, silly me haven’t we all done this very same act?
Shades of My Garden 