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?).
am I just a gallant buffoon or a stark raving prancing baboon shaking my glowing red ass under the auspice of a harvest moon without the pride earned by rudolph nor the purpose with which to lead except into a tail spin speed corkscrew map points to the ground round ‘d’ round ‘d’ round the night a carousel, a bumblebee in flight for one passenger though my bags packed with thoughts all they might find, in a crash in the dark compacted into this little black box that lies, in abject presentation and so I will dance, which for the diminish, succumbs the coma of night is comfort the comfort of numb.
sometimes we all act the fool, in jest I must accept not reject this abject part of my humanity… for at best I am my worst and my best is met beyond my expectations my pet, but I bet I do not know anything yet, with four decades under belt I have felt many things and still stumble like a child learning first steps, because there are always more first steps, there is always first steps unless you live life standing still, but then you would be a dummy, both figuratively and literally… or maybe just a man named quinn…
prayer from a distance does not carry on the air nor land or on the back of a feather the ocean may rise to engulf the poles but not even a voice of thunder can span the globe in one full jump
but the voice of many may be the boat of hope to sail so, I pray, still.
there is hope, and hopelessness… and yes, none of this may matter in this matter, but you have a choice, I choose to live in the sun, as best I can (and I fail more than not, but my choice is not the reason for my failure, my humanity is, such as it is).
your thoughts and comments are always appreciated, my friends.
do you remember? the other day? yesterday? (it seems) a decade ago? (in reality) a lifetime ago- how it all seems, my love, still- still–, always-, my love, I love you, even more, now.
notes… I had a very lucid dream about her today, we went on vacation for a week or so, and we were driving back, we were in the back seat, her legs over my lap, I was rubbing her feet, looking into her eyes, and we were both so utterly satisfied, and she said “you know this was one of the best weeks of my life” and I nodded, and she said “and you know I am still not the right one for you even with this perfect time”… it was both confirmation and devastation… I can not explain how real it felt, it felt like a real test tube distillation of our whole event… I would give it all for her, but never did when it counted back then, a dumb scared kid, I can’t forgive myself, I haunt myself, time was supposed to heal, time was supposed to release me from these bonds but goddamn it it has not… I hate myself but can not hate my nature, I would give it all for her now, even now. Does that make me dumb, loyal, a fool, or who knows.. I guess death will release me from the burden, not that I am anxious to come to that regard at all… god, I miss her, even all these years later…
the proposal of the sun- (now) in our time of this sacred covenant the light does strike out from the direction of dawn down, out upon my palm (moments go, the light) slides up my forearm yes, and then I notice- the warming; welling up, as from within an upward spring, flowing toward the surface an awakened primal memory the pure instinct of response a trigger, intrinsic in all forms the jubilation- a germination- of the elemental elixir infused infused with the optimism inherent in life from the giver of- the sun from whence all life, derives (thrives).
notes… just the power of the sun hitting my arm, on a grey day when the breaks became a jail break of light later on, the feel, the feel is so visceral, something within us all is awakened by such days or moments, to remember, to recall… and carry on, with joy…
out-water on the er’ly the first slip o’r the dawn no time to downtown, Boys no time to downtown, Boys until thy work ‘st done
so man the eye, spy the cape let rigs be jigs and let the soul ‘s be damn’d for might the blessed sea- provide the bounty such we seek for skill and pride, for on luck ‘n shuck with silent words and surl’y looks pray! fill these hooks might we crown ‘t-day no time for downtown, Boys no time for downtown, Boys until soaked ‘nd milked to the full on day
toil into that twilight- under bark and bare and shipward slight a reward of’ta whiskey might ‘et prepare life in a shot (or two or three to spare) if mig’t please the mistress of the sea with her bounty bless’d one day next no time to downtown, Boys no time to downtown, Boys ’till paid is the toll the toll in full t’ rest.
notes… sometimes things just pop in my head, I love the ocean, and fishing, and the almost romantic version of the history of such just offshore from here, people don’t think of New Jersey that way but we are, as usual this was scribbled into a pizza box of all things as I was driving home tonight, maybe it was the music, I am not sure, but I stopped really worrying about all that long ago, I just post the flow of what is going down this river powered by the universe, for I am just a channel, brought to life for a reason… at least that is the hope, and why not.
the lost moments the bullet train that blazes ahead the day at work, all aboard, the pace is something to behold, or to dread, or to embrace, or to blink, and it ends, I try to take the lost moments and make them mend or at least carry, carry through like a photo or a token of a memory, or of something pleasant, the moment before I get in my car in the morning, before I hit that commute, throw my arm over the window and gaze, before that usually awful drive like bumper cars that never meet, except some do and that just causes delays for the rest, the sick game of in and out and the rush and brush, the lanes, the change, the tolls and the toll, so no, before I get into my torture capsule, before that trap, I take a moment, whether the weather permits or not, to soak in the sounds and sights around my humble suburban life, there is always something around, a least a squirrel, or a robin or two, something that moves, the tops of the trees in the backyard swaying perhaps, the smell of fresh leaves or grass, something, something is there to be grasped, a refuge from the iron clad and concrete monsters that await my fate, so take those lost moments, give them a home in your mind and heart, for even an instant can be the start, a mental locket and so store them there, and when the human jungle begins to encroach, fight off the inevitable with those lost moments.
this was a father’s day, no not that one, a real one, a day my father would have loved, the sun out in full force, humidity half hung as not to oppress, yes, this would have been a day for him, to sit out on the deck behind the house, like being a king of your own kingdom earned from 40 years of taxes and work, soaking it all in, smoking one of those awful cheap white owl cigars, his only vice (besides snacks), only on occasion in the summer, except for the magnet of the sun, basking like some ancient reptile laid out on the banks, for sure I thought that would have been the thing to do him in, some sort of skin cancer or something related, but no, of all things covid was the thing, of course he was not so perfectly healthy at 84, heart issues for years, heart attacks spanning back 20 years, but those things seem to live with you or you live with them, unfortunate companions of a sort, they keep to their side of the room mostly and you tend to yours, no, the sun, if ever there was a sun worshipper it was he, on the beach in those ridiculous beach chairs that are much more like hammocks outlined with cheap aluminum bars, your bum supported more by the sand under than the strength of the fabric stretched, the low rider of outdoor furniture, on a day like this, he would have been truly happy, a monolith, a solar panel, his old black ray-bans reminding of his youth in the 50’s, all the things you see in cliches, the white t-shirt, the sleeve rolled up with a pack of smokes even though he didn’t smoke, the convertibles he had, the caddies, the thunderbirds, I might imagine that is what he was thinking about on day’s like this, as he sat there in the sun, reliving those memories of cruising downthe neighborhood, in those big old long cars, the wind in his hair when he still had most, piling in the seats with his two younger brothers, the king and his chariot, blazing across the summer sky, yes, a day like today makes me think of him more, he has been gone a year plus now, a toll of a war we did not win, just simply survived, I hope wherever he may be now, he has days like this to enjoy, as a perpetual memory, this is your day, father, father’s day, a day like this.
notes: I am not one to lionize my father, for he was human, he had his flaws, but some days, in his glory, I got it, I got him, I could see what he lost by settling down and having us kids, not that he would have changed anything, but you always leave something behind, and the things you do in youth can be so pure that they resonate through the rest of your life, I love my father, flawed as he was, the only one I had, he never abused us and always provided enough and more, so what else can you say, as the time goes by the warts and the humanity wash away, and there is only the love, the light, and I wonder if I could live in this moment with those in this life right now, that is the challenge I suppose.
the binding profundity of the dark; a governor’s call rings grants a stay from decay pretense/ see-saw \reprieve this puppetry of light until that dire hour from which no noble or vile traveler has been seen or heard from since.
.one of those that just popped into my mind… the profound coming of the dark, the unknown, I know how to hope, I know how to dream, but… how am I to battle that, to survive that, the prospect of never being is natural, yes, but it is almost worse than the alternative, I try to wrap my head around, the universe made me exist, all history united in this, me and you, but yet, given my chance, it will be all over in a glance, it is maddening, it shakes me to my core, there is a time past fear, and this is it, which makes me question everything. and then I fall back and wonder if it is better to question or just live on every breath, even if that makes no difference it makes a difference now, even if that is all we ever will have, I hope, I pray, not… but as my poem says we have not heard from those who have moved on regardless of who they are… and I will be much the same…
bound to the ground even with the occasional lift off we were born with arms not wings but even the fine feather are bound to this air-o-sphere; unless, perhaps this is truly a heaven and the rest of life in the universe wish to escape to here.
Shades of My Garden 