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?).
castle walls.

castle walls.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

so do I? stand in the face of the inevi-tsunami, hold up the palm of my hand as if to stop the flow? the instinct, the urge to do so, seems to command me, should I build sand ramparts to the sky, each more impressive than before, only to see them withered and washed, once more, and will each stone of my bones be also ground down, into grains of sand, to use as future armament against future circumstance, or do I stand here, to be washed away, without a fight, without flight, swallowing whole just as jonah might? to what end is the struggle, to what end is the plight? even the most stalwart castle walls will fall, tunneled under, siege towered over, for there is no impenetrable dome or domain as to which I might be aware, but that gleaming dream still comes, still plants, still grows from false soil, or lying soil, or comforting ground, to germinate such foolish a child that might stand with such pride against the tide, from where does this hubris hide, for even fear will not subside, this futile task, to struggle against the vast, against any and all odds, as the house always wins, as ours falls, for just a glimpse perhaps, of our alabaster blinding walls, built with all the muster, the end written far long before done, but just the same, just the same we blaze forward for that brief moment in the sun… before we succumb.

notes… do you ever wonder if it is worth it? life? what else do we have? but the fight… and we all lose.. or do we? what is this hope that is still a lantern in the utter darkness for me? humanity? the will to live? the foolishness? the knowledge that given the vastness we (me and you) do exist… even for the briefest of moments… and a whole world is built around this…

adoption or adaptation

adoption or adaptation

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maybe we don’t think of this often, but for some reason I have a clear mental picture in my mind at the moment, words that sound close, in proximity, perhaps even in deployment of use, but the differences, while subtle, can be miles between hills, in my mind this seems like a cosmic battle of luminescent bean bag chairs, adoption is almost like an amoeba, you are taking something in, almost akin to absorption, the forever change occurs within the mass and stays part of the whole, packing a suitcase for the journey forward…
adaptation? on another hand, is the outward reaction to a stimulus which changes you as well, you need not necessarily absorb the stimulus in entirety but rather bend your ways or grow to deal with the difference of reality, more like finding a nice wind breaker from llbean, this also carries forward with you, each of these altering your truth, but in a much varied way, the subtle shuffle of just a few letters in a word or situation, can be the determination of the path of survival or thriving or neither…

contemplation, on vacation, hurricane remnant

contemplation, on vacation, hurricane remnant

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I can understand the stories,
the lore
here at the shore
when the wind howls like it does now
something beyond man
a power like that only of god
for what else could whip the seas
into a tempest
such as this?
such fury seems aimed
such fury seems personal
we need to aim animus to understand this
such as this
and somehow I am too enamored
hearing the wails of wind
and the crash of waves
like an other world orchestra
even if I understand the underpinnings of the stage…
no, there is still mystical corners
in our defined world
and so I wish to be a sailor
of the olden one.

https://www.facebook.com/100025033805573/videos/1083596298994671/

notes… so here I am, the remnants of a hurricane have come ashore here in south new jersey, cape may, no shortage of storms I am sure if she could tell me the stories, I have been through worse here, this one is now all wind, no rain anymore, wailing, constant wailing coming through my third room floor balcony, I have only my imagination to think of how this must have been ages ago, to hear that deafening wailing, on a ship in or on the shore on, I find it illuminating… fascinating… hypnotizing, and yet I can understand the fear such a wailing demon must have seemed back only a hundred years or so ago… really not that long… and I appreciate my station, to be able to be here to hear this, so I wish to recall this when I can, when I am in the throes of the doldrums of daily office life, to recall this moment, this sound, this experience and how tied I feel to the ocean right now, right here…

contemplation over a cup.

contemplation over a cup.

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sometimes
there is nothing clearer
than having a cup of coffee
on what seems to be
the edge of everything.

notes: this is what popped in my noggin sipping a lumberjack espresso looking out on cape may harbor this morning. being at the edge of the ocean, is almost the same as being at the edge of space, at least with this getting older model vehicle, there is something ancient and infinite about the ocean… and maybe that is what draws me here, maybe that is the calm I feel here…

conjuration.

conjuration.

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7 days.
conjure.
I wish I could conjure my every whim but would then boredom set in – after a time I surmise, would I want a clear blue sky every day? or would I miss the rain? how many blazing beach sun days in a row could I go? or would I miss the snow, the enviable snuggle of an old quilt and hot cocoa? would the tree leaves forever be green, I would leave some evergreen but would trigger a fall into colors that match the dawn, and then perhaps to see those branches bare, to see buds appear and grow into all fair shades of green again, and some days I might like to lie in-between the snow and sun, a harvest moon’s mission or the blooming march of tulips across the lawn, maybe I might even miss the roar of a thunder shower with powerful drops parading on the roof, drains over pouring like personal waterfalls, new rivers coursing through the streets, washing away the sweat and grime of the modern pavement mongers, temporary public pools with no dues forming for all the not so wildlife that calls my near home home, bird-s a bath, doe-s a nose, might I think to cycle through these things in some semblance of order, to create some semblance of order, some semblance of anticipation, some semblance of wonder – and create…

notes… if you might imagine… if you could imagine everything you wanted… all the time… where would that road take you?

observational (as I am known to do time to time)

observational (as I am known to do time to time)

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driving along-
riverside park;
an old couple
I wonder-
if I will make it that far
or alone;
surrounded by leaves
yellow is the favorite color
of this autumn
so far.

(work brings me here)
(nyc)
(in passing)
(I do believe I am far but)
(and I fear this)
(the yellow was bursting)
(soon there will be nothing)
(in passing)

Contemplation… composition… hence the mission, earth to houston, me to houston… is there anybody out there ?

the malaise

the malaise

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summer seems like a passing thought, as the days wind down into longer stretches of shadow now, subtle and sudden this seems, the decorations strewn about my driveway, my windshield, my mailbox, a myriad of the colors of dawn signify the cycle is moving ever forward to the end, yes, the sweet smell, a hint of decay, upon closer inspection the age spots tell the real tale of this festival on eyes, one last glorious burst as the sun slides out of reach, for a time, the now feels like a lingering but will soon be the past, as all things, time spins forward, hearts beat, children grow into grand old age, and the world spins away, sometimes I wish to be the cleverest man alive, and capture all this, harness all this, hold all this, a moment, in my mind, my belief out-paces reality, somehow I know this, but I would rather reside in the beauty of hope, of the other side, of another spring.

star light.

star light.

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when all the stars fade
and are gone
for we will not know
that the end
has already come;
left to linger here
for this news
in this bath
of our own unknown-
with that end
speeding towards us
an end already ordained
for us;
nothing to do
nothing can not be as done.

These words came to me as I was driving in twilight, the minivan in front of me I noticed, had a custom license plate
THNKUGD
and a handicapped sticker, I smiled, maybe I will enjoy this a bit longer, tonight.

shadows cast.

shadows cast.

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shadows cast
where they may reside
measures the distance
drawn out from the sun
intoxicated by spin

so here I am
on the days where
they pull longer

notes: do shadows influence us? subconsciously? I was driving to work and this revelation sort of washed over me… I mean I had the time to think about it being stuck in traffic.. but noticed how the shadows have been creeping one way, it all seems so sudden if you pay attention, the pavement is nearly a mirror, the earth does what the earth does… shadows are like anything else of matter, they want more, or is that our own protection, a backup drive for our bodies from the sun ?