“straight ahead half luna shines”
as if to remind us
the pull and ways of tide
the constant wax and wane
how sunlight plays with shade
and in all angles exist
where your eyes are fixed
in the moment.
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?).
restless…
I wish I could close my eyes and see the entire world, but could I? could I handle such vision? we have such a limited view master but feel like we know so much but yet we literally, by design, see so little, our field of vision, is just a sliver, our reality is so filtered, through our two little single k-cup filters, even when we look out upon a vast space it measures nothing in terms of real distance, so do we just find our happiness in this space, or like emotional colonizers do we venture out into manifest destiny, to expand our borders are far as met? to what end? does it matter if you find a home now or then – or just find one with happiness in the hearth, and be content. (I am asking, because I sure as hell do not know the answer)
notice, on the window, fleeting
beads of rain, gathered
from the night before
hanging on
the under window
ledge
waiting
to evaporate-
(and with that, some time later
I noticed, all were gone)
notes: to me, this is what Haiku means to do… form or not…
good-voyage’
best face forward-
“So may I present to you…”
on the prow, my lorelei-
extrovertial journey
so I may huddle inside
hunkered down, for the storm,
with my mirror, clutched, in my arms
with- cloistered eyes
an anchored self.
Notes… I am not broken down, to the level I should be, the honesty, no, I still wear a mask, I still play the play even if I am not me every day, and most people consider me the most open mouth honest fuck they ever met, but yet, I have my doubts, my fears, my regrets, like a cart of goods I carry around, I know I should shred all my shroud and so should everyone, but we are not babes in the woods… and somehow we let the world wear us down.
thoughts… from the porch
there does not always have to be a sunset…
sure, the postcard is nice, the dream, what we are told is the model, the perfection, but, the feeling is the same, sitting here on my porch with my brandy new torch (well, it is a lantern but that didn’t rhyme with porch – actual photo), so… just watching the world wind down, the day sounds mold into the night ones, with the occasional interloper, a cardinal that seems frantic for some reason bounding around the little branches of my japanese maple, but then the heavy humidity of the cricket chorus starts to chime in, the sun’s minions, arms, tentacles, tabernacles of light, slowly melting behind the neighbor’s house, not as spectacular a sight as a celestial glowing ball lighting up the sky with all manners of hue, but this will suffice, almost like a slow bleed, a slow retreat, inch by inch by feet, allowing the heat to escape up into the coming night, knowing in my head this is really just the world spinning in a certain direction does not distract me from the sensation of my ethereal reaction, because such things are defined and so well blueprinted out does not make them any less amazing, so it back, and listen, observe, there is wonder even in a hidden sunset.
a chase of beauty…
let not the cloud of imposition blind you from the world, the worlds, the little bindings to this world, even with the most dire daggers aimed squarely upon your eyes, look past such knives, for there is always a glimmer, something amazing, something astonishing, because at once, at one time, there was nothing, nothing to experience, nothing tactile to touch, no warmth, no breath, no grass to sway in the warm summer breeze, no leaves to shade, no trees to breach, the abundance that surrounds, is always there to astound, no rose colored glasses need apply, just open your eyes… and look around.
for the sun, is not one color, but a spectrum, even in plain sight, but when split with the prism the colors bend to unveil themselves into the horizon, the rainbow, the instant joy, but, remember, the rainbow is always there, even in drops of rain, ask them how far they have traveled, and marvel how this might be a traveler from another continent, or just around the corner, a neighbor, you just met for the very first time, alive, the whole world sighs as winds tour the globe, and then stroke your ear with stories of foreign lands, because they have been there – a thousand times, so remember, open your eyes, your ears, your nose – and your mind, everything and all things – are right there.
8 / 8
infinity on her side,
the house of eight rules the sky, tonight
of all the cycle of life
of sex of death of rebirth
under the brightest light of sirius
and the wise guise of leo;
as we peak into the sun
at least on this upper side
the downturn will come
and the cycle stays alive
in the eight of spades-
possibility thrives.
Thoughts… from the porch…
the approach of summer rain, the scout, the sentry comes first, the breeze, testing the landscape or warning same like a sliding war drum, the beat of the maelstrom to come, there is palpable anticipation, clouds racing to get away, or ahead, I can not tell which, as I do not speak to them, at least not yet, the distant rumble, lurking there, hiding somewhere off in the not so distance, not sure of the direction- but close, even the street lights seem quiet and hunkered down, and me? I have a love for thunderstorms- perhaps more than I should, the first drops are now on this page as I write, soon I will be forced back inside, but- until then, a sharp flash, the first real one of the night, lights up the entire yard, the drops come closer together now, and then the call and response, yes, the low rumble of ready thunder, as if snarling on the next block, the only natural sound now, above the breeze, is the hum of crickets, and then the drops start to ping on the metal railing by my front door, the wind does not come in waves now, a steady-steady beat if one, a second flash and he growl is sooner and longer- more immediate, closer, and the drops are nearly becoming rain, I can hear the heard approaching, marching, now the wind stands up grown – gusting, last warning, many storms are fair in this manner, a flash again, and now the voice shakes the ground under me, what sounds like an approaching car is actually the tract of wind carrying rain down, moving up the street, in full breech, there are barely any breaks in the racing clouds now, one more giant flash followed by a ten second slow rolling rumble, my lesser trees bend and dance, that is all it can do my precious bamboo, for there is no standing up to this, but rather bend and pray to make it through, am I being teased? this wait? the anticipation, will this just flit on by in the other lane?… Well, no there goes that thought, here it comes -the rain, and there I go, to watch from a window now.
float…
I often dream of having the psychic ability to float, or detach from gravity with my mind, the sensation seems- as real as falling, as we have all had that dream to then wake in fright, not having mover more than an inch, I wonder what the underlying root is for all this, for there has to be some impetus, especially in mass consciousness, yet we remain quite tethered to this spinning disc, gravity, not gravity boots like in stories or movies, if only we could uncouple from laces and roam freely, what is this desire? I do not think this is an urge to fly likey a bird… but perhaps, from a common ancestor, when our hair was wings, or nails as feathers, could that ancient memory still be a story in a book of our DNA library? float… but then of course comes the other fear… besides falling, of floating off into nowhere, of course logical rationale is not concerned in dreaming realm, well, at least not for me, surely we could not just float out past the various stages of atmosphere into space where nothingness reigns, well, at least the nothingness that would deprive us of life in a very short instance, thus revealing our fragility, no matter how hardy, from the frailest among us, to the strongest that ever was, neither David nor Goliath would stand a chance in that space of space, we were not designed for such a place, just here, terra firma, good old Earth, how many billions of years in the soup to get this mix, how cosmic a recipe for us just to exist, but yet, we seem to want more- at times, not all the time, but we have dreams- and mine is to float, above the ground, to feel untehtered but yet safe, perhaps orbiting a star, maybe our dreams are a conduit? into the very soft conciousness of the planet -herself?
so… what are your dreams? what do they tell you? pay attention… they are real… because, what separates that from reality? really? your mind has created things, so they are… created, how do you think books are written? or screen plays? a mind devises and births them into existence… so why not… gather in the fields of dreams… ?
the flag of land.
the flag of land- I can only imagine a voyage on the sea, when the maps had no end just rumor and conjecture, months of sway, the up and down, the only landscape that changes would be the clouds and the sun herself-
the flag of land- the source of all hope and all despair, the romance initially, the salty air, the detachment from the doldrums and table crumbs of polite society, but this is this own civil entity indeed, another womb that can breed all things, depending on what shall inhabit said room and ruminate there, I can imagine that even the largest vessel, ship, at some point becomes finite and closing in, mutiny must start in the individual mind before infecting the hive at large, but we may never know the true circumstance, we can only glance at what the the probable cause and effects were in such a situation, just as many years from now, perhaps centuries, others of us will wonder how we used these, words typed by keys, instead of just pure thoughts free flowing out, so what is our voyage of discovery? what flag of land do we seek out in this vast sea?
I often pine for the pirate life, well, at least the romantic notion of it, or at least sea faring… but the reality is so much further from the fantasy…my common comforts, well, back then, not so common… and how much would it take to push a modern man… mad?
Shades of My Garden 
