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.
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?).
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…
sold,
dark invitation;
your wispy shadow (salvation)
coils w’round me like a storm cloud (damnation)-
my eyes not blind
just short, bereft of sight
robbery, is not a crime
with a willing participant;
follow, (I do) the lantern of your voice
a guide
through this night
and I trust
like a child in hand
where’o’ever you might lead
for in this
for all these
at least you will not, for the moment,
leave (me).
notes: the things we do for love, the things I would do to get her back… if I could.
a simple prayer for parents.
let you not lose
that which what you brought into this world
a collaboration of souls
a miraculous combination of two;
let you not see them in the grave
before your time has come
let the natural order
of parent to child overcome
please, god, love
note: have I said to much? nah… I am not religious perse but there is all the time we pray for something, call me a fool for belief, that’s cool, I don’t care anymore, I have to believe there is something more, if my belief offends anyone.. who cares, it won’t matter and does not matter in the hundreds of thousands of years of our species, such as it is, a blink in the universe, I want to believe I have a part to play in it all, delusion ? perhaps, but who does it harm if I keep that fire lit for myself?
conjecture.
Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
Just a wonderful juxtapose to propose to your mind for a tumble, a rumble, a thought bubble, how to explain this axiom, this conundrum, this wonderful proposition, how to explain to the layman, the everyday man, the lap dog or his friend, simply put, you eat a peanut, and nothing happens, so therfore you are well put to think this is a harmless treat (could use a dash of salt perhaps), so your evidence is of no ill effect, because of the absence of said non effect, but this conclusion, while correct (for you) might not hold true, for another, with an allergy, who’s evidence, upon encounterance (of said nut) might lead to a dire circumstance, of sorts, so, if someone approached you, after you ingested (said nut) and said “that might kill you”, you might scoff, because of the evidence of your hand, but then you might consider the absence of another’s hand in the same matter.
so. does life exist out there? amongst the vast unending ocean of stars? for me I think certainly so. we have no evidence of this but the absence of evidence does not preclude the truth… or the persistence of life on our little cube… or … hope itself, perhaps the biggest foil to evidence itself.
notes… files this under word food for thought… your thoughts ? or food thoughts? I still think orange habaneros are the tastiest hot peppers flavor wise but I do love trinidad scorpion peppers…
grind.
each street light
like a pulse, throbbing sides
blazes!
like a hostile sun
to burn out my sockets dry
as I swing, perch to perch
pole to pole
on the drive home
after a languid day
of work
notes… sometimes work grinds you down, regardless of your outlook and good intent… I was driving home the other night and every street light felt like a sun burning into my tired eyes, light by light, almost like I was traveling on air but ready to fall, I just wanted to get home, pull in my driveway, dive into my bed, melt into my pillows and… rest from the world for awhile…
drawn.
the ocean
nearly as old as time can tell
perhaps
on a scale
that is why
I am drawn here
to the subtle simplicity
of the waves on the shore
much disregard
to the politics of man
notes… I have always felt drawn to the ocean, maybe it is the imprint of my youth and fair times spent there, the exploration, the boardwalk, the wildlife, the white noise of the earthen tides… but I do not need to distill it, or understand it even… that is the shade of age, you can just accept things as they are without having to understand the blueprints or plans…
bustle.
doorways
gateways
windows;
all around us
surounds’us
in the all, this house;
cities, towns;
paths that lead in all directions
paths forgotten
paths remembered, paths in backwards, paths tempered;
stone steps into a water
ethereal steps into a plane, the same;
lately, I have been more akin
to sitting and staring
out a window, plain
to give my travel, my heart
a rest- a break-
and just watch, for a time.
and I know in my reaction, a fraction… words.. music.. thoughts.. all of it…
the sensation…
flying. no, more terrestrial, have you ever really sat in your car and thought about the sensation, of what is actually happening, such a mundane activity would be incomprehensible to most generations of humanity, only the dare few, he flew, but now, as a rite of passage of some version of your teens, you drive, your body, strapped into a machine, essentially becomes one, as the miles per hour go up, your body is travelling at this speed, but you do not have a true sense of this, unless you pause to pay attention, your body is off the ground, moving at speeds you can not understand, if by foot you would be cooked, but with a pulse of your toes you are blowing by cheetahs at a pose, but do you take in this truth, this sensation, like flying, for indeed you really are, in a car, but your feet are not on the ground, you are cruising on a surrogate, zipping around at speeds unimaginable just a corner past a century ago.
so try this. next time you are driving, embrace the feeling of flying, the sensation of covering ground at pace with ease, even easier than a bird gliding on a thermal, you are whisked along full throttle, take notice, and you will feel, the sensation of flying.
Shades of My Garden 