so she appeared
in the now. brilliant room
time stops. spotlight on. traffic parts
these usual cliches. catch me off guard
this does not happen
not to me, at least
hence my confusion
frozen. in a situation
I was not expecting;
so has. halted breath
and eyes lock met;
I have to have her
when of course
she already has… me.
The green night-
the dawn will come to pass
the sunset will come to sleep
(as always)
a day’s peak, a night’s keep
for humanity shall perish from this earth
in the time allotted by the mighty clock
no matter what writ or ruin
or great constructs that bind the land
the green night will come
for return, to give back the same in hand
the very same blow
from which this world was wrought.
And this same wind that roars across the land, never tiring, resting at times, sure, furious in others, but humanity does not stand a chance against such an unrelenting advance, for the same wind has blown across the earth for all the time there has been such a place, in space, this space, our space, what a strange thing to consider, our little home, has made the whole universe bend around her will, the will of life, for if that is not a signal of the sincerity and sheer gravity of life, what is? Just random gases and molecules that cooked and baked in the primordial gestation of the planet, to coalesce and crawl out, for us to emerge, you and me, unfathomable time to even read the tale told on a grain of sand from the grand story that is just this one world alone, cast into the vast there is some actual finite point in that infinity so far beyond, utter dimensions when we struggle with just the perception of a mere three, like a raft we are riding through time on the universe, a river, rapids, falls, calm lazy bends, a moving planet both spinning and flying outward, bound, by chance, at just the right distance, to a sun, what was the sun, the ra, a god, now a member of a countless family, but his is our helios, or heaven, or chance at this life in all the possibilities that could have been and ever where, this exact moment in time, or this chain binding our souls to this here and now, how? For as old as the wind may seem, roaming the earth, as we do now, one day, will gasp, and expire that last breath into the universe… and dissipate…
notes… ah, the irony of life, and what is considered important in the day to day… there was a literal wind storm here tonight after I wrote this earlier… well, not a wind storm per se, a storm, with lots of wind, to let me know my temp greenhouse was certainly not boss, I fixed it up after today it came apart earlier, when I came home I put it all back together, honestly it was not in that bad a shape, I have at least 50lbs holding the thing down, just a temp space to spare some of my more new exotic bamboo the rigors of below zero temps their first winter here in Jersey… but then the real storm came, picked the whole thing up like nothing and deposited it 10 feet away… I had to run out in a torrent of rain, nearly horizontal rain, to pick up the pots (think about 3 feet wide suckers) and shimmy them over next to the house, I think one of my plants is dead, the chinese fountain bamboo, which for this plant was winter #2.. but my leopard japanese and japanese timber bamboo seem pretty happy, my planter of black bamboo looks terrible but it looked like that last winter so… (and man that stuff is expensive…). So it was like me protecting my flock and seeing a toll taken in my little world, yes, in the scheme of things this is a small thing, but isn’t everything in the grand scheme of the total everything ? it’s all perspective really. we all value our day to day lives, our hopes, dreams, our circles of reality…
do not fear the snake
if you are a snake
be aware
to bite first
notes… semi haiku, I mean in feel, I did not count the syllables and obviously this is not 3/5/3 of 5/7/5… but no one owns the rights to the form… (or at least I am not aware of such a copyright claim), and in terms of the content of this post… heck, this is almost laughable… these words popped into my mind while watching Conan the Barbarian (the original)… so art from Arnold.. yep… I was thinking of the snake scenes and symbolism (which is all woven throughout that movie)… so keep your eye out as to what inspires… thoughts?
one can never tell, for we all tend our own land in our own time, in our own way, a hodge-podge of native plants, mixed in with various varieties, maybe foreign by design, others we are informed to plant by the agrarian hierarchy, some thrive, for a time, some wilt, some sneak about like vines, others bear fruit, quite the menagerie when you have some age to till your acreage, a simple stroll reveals the years, the sparkling blossoms, the empty half rotten stumps, some only peak in seasons, to sleep for some time before a return for a short burst run, others are marathons, ever-green even against even the coldest sun, yes, these are the shades of my garden.
once I did walk these paths with another, some years ago, where we built our own little section together, certainly distinct, intertwined, more vibrant than just mine, but again, that was many years ago, a pathway I can not even find anymore, and the memories, well, they are all in pictures as the physical representation has disappeared into the earthen past, even to the point where I question if that was real anyway, who was that person, back then, not these same two feet I think, or would like to, so I tend to my own now, again, but I am changed like a river that meets a fork, or perhaps a dam, I would hope to be still flowing out over the open land – exploring, planting as I go, in my own way, perhaps to find another, to share, an eve, for if there is one might I find such a union again. (stream of consciousness post)
notes: so what are your thoughts? can you picture the garden you have created? beauty, beast… and all ?
Do I dwell in the house of my own sins… seems I can not extricate myself from this neighborhood, or perhaps I can not even escape my very own skin, I feel I wear my shame as if they are tattoos, I feel they are seen even if the ink is invisible, because this is still perceptible to me, this is what haunting is, how can I throw up a mask, and never see through eyes looking at the construct – from the other side, outside, how would I know if my game, my rouse, my trick, my defense – is an adequate fence, but on the inside, the strength ebbs and flows, I wonder if the cracks there do expose, these are not just skin deep, they are buried in the dirt of my soul, just under the surface, markers mark, like gravestones, a sinking feeling when to atone seems fruitless upon those stoic stones with slight passages, like a leafless peach tree alone in a field, ever dark, even in the sun’s glory, seemingly not suitable for even an inhabitant, or a rodent at that, and the roots still staked, snaked, into that fallow foul ground, so perhaps these are not tattoos I see, they are stains, once ingrained can not be pulled from the grasp of frame, much like my flesh can be separated from bone, until that end, until that end I wear these, or am tagged by these, yes, I can not change the past, but it is forever changing me, perhaps even holding me back, and no my sins were no mortal wounds, but transgression is in the eye of the beholder, and the mind of time that loops in such a place. (stream of consciousness post…)
upon that ghostly domain
soldiers thrust out upon in waves
left to die face down
and drown and drown the days
even after breath has passed
foul tide and stench has raised
the war sounds rise
to cover the noise
of the dead the dying and injured stead
can the shore open forth and then absorb
the horror of the last moments of men
boys, men soldiers sent in
thrown against the walls of iron cross
with pure luck and harsh determined lock
who might stand at last
who might retain humanity,
bound forever within these sands
of the sights, the sounds, the thoughts
of this calamity at hand – of man.
notes… this one was written after I saw Dunkirk but mostly I was thinking about Normandy, but war is war, the same applies whether the line is on a beach or a street, war is as old as humanity, sometimes there is no choice, but there is always a price. (plus I am an old school metal head who grew up on slayer so… there is that…)
searching for the ruby cobbler-
(for I certainly don’t fancy heels)
a whirlwind rises, a dog barks,
a picnic basket quakes,
might I procure a pair of my own
to gather up from here
and take me on home
notes… one of those that I have no idea why it popped into my noggin, but it did, so, here it is, such as it is… sometimes you just let the creek of words flow as it must, a spring, bursting from stored up rain, running from the mountain top, filtered through rock, so clean…
surrounded;
celebrate the beauty and bounty
of the common miracles
of every day
life.
notes… a talisman, a reminder, I am reminded of inception, they had their own little totems to tell the real world from dreams, and what of us? we should be the same in some way, something we can see that is an instant reminder, a grounder, a soothsayer whispering in our own language in our own ear, may it be a cross, a bauble, a photo, who knows? but find something, and revel in each breath as best you can, smile, yes, we all get caught up in the rungs, myself, as guilty as any others in this regard, but I am trying to be more aware, of the literal air, every breath means the universe wanted me to exist, here, now, the why? well… I am still working on that one…
‘on lucid shore’
a parade at night
under waves
of moon light
on this
this feral equinox;
distant shore
a subtle roar
of diamonds
shimmers… (in the light)
the breeze
a tease
slides over hands
cold sand
insulates feet
toes dig in
underneath
shadows dance
a slow sway
back and forth
a hypnotic stray,
I have found this place
to stay lost
as long as might
my grace
my sleep
with eyes open
on this beach
of or in
-my dreams…
notes…. I imagine a Cast Away scenario… of course without some other guy from Sex in the City sleeping with my Helen Hunt (especially at that time, although she still looks great especially in the movie “The Sessions” (great flick if you have not seen it) ), I just love the idea of being alone on some far flung beach with no one in sight, at night, in the tropics.. I have had this experience, or a close proximity of same, a couple of times when I was in the Florida Keys, alone on a beach, just me, the waves, the clouds, distant lightning lighting up the scene, I felt alone but part of the whole thing, fulfilled, I can not tell you how I miss that feeling, it was like I was part of the molecules of the ocean, as storm clouds came in, in formations, like floating city-nations, the tropics are like that, thunder storms are very localized mostly, cells you can see and track, rain on one side of the street and not the other… I always go back to that, that peace, that moment, a passing moment as all are, I wish I could describe it better to you, the water glistens and smiles, and literally shimmers, the sound of the waves becomes your own heartbeat by proxy, they flow as one, for a moment, under the sun reflecting off the moon, bent light that gives life, even at night, the barely hanging on palms that look like you could poke them over with a finger, bent over the horizon, leaves provide some strange shadows like stripes of a tiger, but nothing is fear, there is just being, I wish I could capture that… and share that… to all, and most of all to myself, but just the recall now… does help… and I remember.
Shades of My Garden 