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?
conundrum, my ear
flummoxed, my dear
for I do not know how I got to- this place
so far from our start (so long ago)
but close like a star –
in perception, of course
seeing the old light
as if new to my oldborn eyes
a trick of the mind-
but indelible creatures laid out
in that procession (of imagination)
so I may still look up at night
in wonder, with wonder
in the glaring love of that light
and see you there
or what once was
but does that matter
when you still shine above (after all these years)
note… for anyone not familiar with my thing… I write, maybe it is not all great, that’s fine, I write what I write and post it, rarely is there editing, the point? just being me… and that is no indication on anything, I just decided as such, my thoughts, here, period, as best I can with no filter or such, by no means do I think to tell anyone else what to do, how to write, or how to express themselves, save this… be you… find you… damn, I have been on this globe for fifty years already and I barely have a clue, just be you… as much as you can, first stick a toe in the water, listen to yourself, you know who you are, if not, have patience to figure it out… none of us get out alive, so be you, coming from someone who knows better now but should have found that path long ago…
torque
does the universe provide
the moment, the bend, the twist
as we, the center axis
or are we, the ones in motion?
I feel the weight of a week of seven days upon
in mere hours-
of inhumanity only imagined
in books, in tales of horror-
that seemed lost
lost to someone else’s life
to some other time
to history-
to a shiny stone with a brass plaque prone
and flags waving silently in a park I walk through;
grainy film with non descript faces- I view;
but no,
for as the gates of pure hell flung open
the rampant slaughter of animals for pleasure
dancing-rage blood in the streets rejoicing
for we will not see the end of this
our shame
for we will not see the end of this
in our days here,
but we must, persevere
even in ,that, face
of that which brings the ends of the earth-
RISE!
on the tongues of trees
for now I might understand
bound by root and circumstance
to this very particular parcel of land
a love, a matrimony of the earth
a cradle, a home, a monument
and then the movement into dust
the trust, in the slight of fate.
so, reach to the sky
offer your accoutrements as sacrifice
I am sure you can tell
twenty four hour stories
in the quarter wagon wheel
within a time lapse wooden memory
written for long in your storage device
the circles of life-
the spiral within so told.
notes… sometimes being brief is fine, I was really thinking of linking “this mortal coil” to the rings of trees and DNA.. not sure if I accomplished that or not, but that is what was on my mind, among other things…
you should be the gatekeeper of your own house, your temple, as is said, but how often are the boughs of caution lowered by the siren’s seductive lure of convenience or sneak-ease in the harbor of your ears, the gauntlet to the brain even if you close your eyes to turn away, how the infiltration or indoctrination or just the “in” begins, ‘in’ocently enough, and then breeds with needs, climbs to heights with likes and little pictures as we revert back now to hieroglyphs, the need for an audience has grown into contagion, how much poison is enough to stagger the host? hard to tell…
looking for the golden ticket, the powerball, fifteen minutes of fame seems a lifetime, perhaps the measure these days is fifteen seconds of video, and a blink, a swipe, a new rage, stories swept away at tornado pace, there is more truth to being viral than just the name…
trusted dissonance
algorhythmic waves
all the AI same
battering storms
familiar shores
becomes the norm
soon calm is not appreciated
ostracized as the bore
‘do tell poor boy’
the chore, the daily grind
a spark, a fire
a raging inferno
‘now that’s entrainment baby!’ exclaims-
for a brief moment moves on
a rage, lunacy on a plane
looting on the streets
rinse, repeat
all for a cause, or none
world’s end
how cliche, ‘oh the doomsday’ (yawn)
perhaps I will just sit here
on a bench, in a breeze
listen to the ancient language
of nature, biding her time
and mine, ‘well, to be honest, my battery died’
notes… maybe I could wag the finger, but I am no better but do wonder about the price of admission… I tend to think things will work themselves out, but at some point, there is a point which is an end of the line…
the last fall of midas;
for he gathered all the gold
there ever was-
within reach
so gather round
the deathly bed now
gather round, these vast mounds of gold
instead of pounds of kin to comfort
instead of those-
a mountains trove bridled with cold
but! the tall measure of such wealth
beyond all compare
beyond all ever told;
so yet alone-
and none will come to pick the bones
but mine the ore first and last
and there a legend will then pass
into mere hearsay lore
a real person for gone
who valued more
of gold-
than the warmth
of a loving hand
in hand
or the simple gesture of a hug
a gathering round
of family-
a treasure, worth so much more, tragedy.
sometimes I wonder if anyone gives a rat’s ass about the music I post… but to me, music is life as is art, it is my thing, I am passionate about both so… I think I will always pair the two, but one always questions one’s decisions at some point, my point has to try and get away from all that and just post my art as pure as I can, I very rarely re-write or even make second efforts, that is what works for me (or not), but I just have to lay it out there as is, the comfort has to come from within that with the billions of people born and dead, there is just you and me out there right now, and if one person gets me, or somehow I touch that person’s life… well, that is enough, if I reach 1000 that is fine too but in 1000 years will that matter ? probably not, I am not exactly building monolithic monuments of stone here, just thoughts from this monolith in new jersey…
dining in the house of the lord
at the table of proverbs
might get you in the door
or… ?
a read of your inner tome,
your heart speaks of deeds
but intent is internal
only you to know
and that one other.
but pretend, in the end-
a table of luminaries
all of your choosing
eye to eye
chair to chair
all there
in the same hall as you
the same room
for afterall
in a dream
as in death
all is possible
as is none
notes… sometimes I am being cheeky and making you think… and mixing endeavors and themes… call me loki, or lucky or just Dave… yeah, that works.
blue disposition-
after many greyer days
thanks, my friend ophelia
parting ways
I say adieu
and merci
for your water’s fall
for my soil
now come to brew
a leafy stew
in brisk whisk folds
as the sun sets sooner now
and tapped with cold
(on my shoulder,
so I turn around).
Shades of My Garden 