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?).
the four days- the cold barren the stark bare the slumber huddle survival; closed eyes; the gentle warming on western horizon land unlocked under toe slow awakening dawning eyes adjusting to the light stretching out up towards the sky blooming; hands palms wide to warming glory migration towards the water, the ocean holding on until the cooling and leaves fallen, loops on turn we then return to our station.
a scrap I wrote a while ago, I find them on various thumb drives, and I am surprised but what In find but then remember the vibe so… this is mine, all thoughts are welcome, I am a curious to find out the minds of others, it does not consume me, but it does have a sense of interest to see how I swim among my peers stuck in my same years of time…
the prison of routine, some might say the harshest confinement is the one constructed by yourself for yourself, well, this has some truth to it but the main difference in the mortar and brick is choice, when someone other locks the door and walks away with the key you are left at their mercy, for at least with your own device there is hope and light, a fight, a chance, a choice, so you should make steps forward this, however… lurking… fear is out there, out there beyond the walls, defanged, defamed, barely noticeable sliding around the edges of inevitable periphery, never fully vanquished but certainly downgraded from the moment to moment memory residing in these temples, but as most coins there is certainly two sides, a sly-silent partner, an ally, a comfort. for they work in concert you see, to relieve you of the daring of the new, with the quiet contentment of the known sold-old, so you tell yourself with conviction “What’s so bad about this, really?”, pushing down, suppressing or ignoring, that truth, the truth, what you know as the truth, what you have walled up yourself against all (or most) vulnerability, out of sight, out of mind, contentment blinds, that familiar, blanket of the finest kind, a warm snuggly atmosphere wrapped around surround, a cocoon- not of enchantment or rebirth or transformation even, but that to preserve a line of time, trying to stop the march that only goes on, a set, a play where the stage remains the same with some of the props changing, floating in and out of creation, but the base floor remains the same, so to close your eyes there is no serpent there to strike, only clean-dreams, safe dreams, the only rain- not the biting kind, the kind of quench of a summer drench to leech-instant the heat off your skin and in an instant spark steam on the heated grounds, summer scenes with not a rumor of winter, which must, of course, always come, but in this place, this palace of reinforced concrete is the con, your own prison of routine, worse than the singing of the sirens on the open seas, for at least you have heard their tale or read it so, from others lost, upon those sharpened rocks, but when upon – you crash out on to your very own, where stones and sticks to not break, but are lock and key, a willing iron mask for you to keep (in your own keep). so that is the prison, of my routine, and even scribing, scribbling, the realization of this, the seduction of self is deadly-slow bliss.
notes… this is one of those pieces bouncing around my head for days, well… the title was and the rest was like a train that followed on the tracks as I laid them, all in one flow, all of ten minutes maybe, takes longer to post and look pretty than it does to write… but I like adding the videos and such, that’s more for me than anyone else, if other people (you) dig it, thanks, that’s cool, this is more of a gallery though to hang up my art and let people walk through… except the cool thing is this is a better suggestion box than most museums have…
within the salt’on sea the sky is slates of ice cracks ‘cross of bended light the sun’s but a dream far night for the warmth is the warp of gravity deep inside the core of that, the salt’on sea
in a frozen landscape, or a floating sea of ice, is there land, is there hope, is there life, the physics still exists in the gymnasts in such realms so let it be… imagination…
(as always your thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated, even if you think I suck, that’s cool too, I do this as a posting of art, nothing more, I do not expect everyone to get it, love it, or even care… just putting a little piece of the me out there into the ether, and hey, maybe you dig the tunes.. I have a lot of thoughts about that… and I also write media reviews, so check them out, I am funnier than you think… well, at least I tell myself that.)
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 shuffling hands in a paper bag, for company more organized perhaps but much the same rouse much the same draw
and I can not control those who come who find this rest stop and sometimes a flurry a gang of rooks, 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 little ones bounce from limb to perch or a big blue jay swoops in also on the lurch
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? (in our own reality)
based on the real, just my bird feeder swinging on the tree outside my bedroom window and the implications there… life is a strange and wonderful thing. so…. what do you think ?
and for any noobs: (I promise to be gentle) I write in flash form, maybe my work is not perfect but it is a flash photo of what comes out of my mind and pen (ok, keyboard mostly)… so, just so you know how it works around here, this is all just me throwing my breath out there, so if you read all this, or any of this, thanks for your cherished time, I appreciate it.
guaranteed a seat at the table however, with this game of poker the odds are stacked the player never wins the question is who is the house? (and who let you in)
just a quick one that popped in my head… so what do you think? about a rigged game? but the house exists so…
if I could live my life over again would I be the only one or given a new life an empty page or might I prefer to hold the knowledge I have gained, to start in soil as a sprout without the memory of the tree that spawned me and set me free upon this earth as a plotting acorn a cloud of dandelion seed a coconut carried to a different shore on an indifferent sea, or spirit energy transformed back to light and reborn from forth a celestial womb to begin the cycle all-together and all anew (on the universe’s cue)
notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
learn to dwell- dwell in happiness dwell in love for let these be your valleys to guide you to that above look not to the road of misery from you know where which it leads
drowning in thinking perhaps tired of inking these inklings epithets to dreams from threats of a new whirlwind a cascade due an avalanche down doubts weighted by fear the desperate climb out claws from down under pulling downward’sunder but I mustn’t- I mustn’t succumb I must fight for each breath for that reach for life regardless or… or… what?
notes: unlike other animal life we question our existence, but when push comes to shove we do fight to survive, mostly… mostly… are we free from the same death panic ? I doubt it, I am not, mostly in daily life I am but I know I look to the stars and see light that is thousands or billions of years old, does someone see mine ?
there is something to be said to succumbing to the moment before a storm, or perhaps sitting out and sharing the moment with your surround, almost like the dimming of the theater lights in lead up to a performance, there is a gentle wave there, I am able to see each and every single leaf in detail twitching in the rising tide of wind, even leaves bathed in shadows seem illuminated with the backlight of anticipation, there is something in the lore of nature’s core when it comes to summer thunder storms, sure, this is not summer yet, on a technicality, I surely believe the mother is not beholden to the julian shackles of man and our need to define everything within and without, so no, this has the feel of summer thunder, that sudden swift whirl that comes in blazing, as if to ravage the land to the ground with a show of light and furious bellows, no, not yet, for this is the space in the calm, let yourself feel this settling all around you, no late animals stirring about, an occasional straggler of a bird’s call trailing off, the sun well past slumber, dipping below the horizon to wake another ‘sphere, I spy my first lightning bug, a miracle of bio lamination and yet another sure sign a solstice is not the only measure of a season, but thankfully the lightning bug’s cousins, the biting kind are not yet out in legion, so I may enjoy this moment quite unmolested, for a second I think that summer will be here and gone in a blink, but I need to curb such thoughts, and not even mention them, so I won’t, back to the silky bliss that is this, calm before the storm, sometimes a cliché is a proper cloak as this may be the case, this space, so wide and calm, drifting circles in pond fading out in to smaller crests until gone, each breath I draw feels like this, I can see my exhale rippling outward and as it fades and I breath in to fall into a cycle, so here I sit, on the same common porch I’ve known, a moment I have known, but since long have not felt, the newness mating with old familiar, not happiness, but contentment, a contentment of life where I wait for the first drop to drop and then I will retreat inside, to hear that song, of a million tone tons playing upon the walls – and windows – and wind.
notes… for the non readers this is me just sitting on the porch riffing, all off the top of my head, a stream of dave-ish-ness… so it is… your thoughts, impressions, invectives are all welcome, so comment away.
that, so hear! riding on the wind, the cry of the wolf rises up on the moonlit night piercing all forward and all behind crests effortlessly over my ramparts and walls directly into my soul directly to my heart;
for the grey that inhabits my crown for the once saplings now laid down with leaf for seasons past and lives have cross’t, that pierce of hers- the cost does haunt;
still, might I lie mostly wake thoughts can hardly break the lure of that call of the earthen core herself- nor noble sword for which I held nor conquered foe for which I thought I felled upon my knees can not relent spine down my soul can not repent;
for she shall always be my queen;- in times of youth when all was the golden eternity was upon and nothing spent the perfection of lying together in our bed at night, until the soft light morn the supple fit of our perfect form, how insidious human works did invade that space worldly words n’ deeds the insurrection led by my disgrace;
a guise, so easy to see with hind so easily remembered, twice fold in kind a fool’s errand to decide by one the best for two rather than raze the building to see again the gleaming foundation; (abandoned dream) a fate of two disparate streams that became a river spilled into an endless ocean of the unity of love dried up in a short sighted season of my famine the destruction of a singular decision is more than a scar heavier than an anchor of the base most stone a crushed trachea trained under heavy breath, like a collapsed tunnel under a grand mountain’s ground;
sometimes there is the air of escape, from miles, from towns, in the arms of others, but when, that call hears out, and reaches these ears I can not bear to wonder what else, and despair.
notes… I shall never forget, I want to, I want to find that next love, but it has not materialized so far… I feel I am wired different, time and years feel like nothing to me, although not everyone is wired the same way, today could be yesterday or the day I left her, it all feels the same, regardless of time and space…
Shades of My Garden 