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?).
;fault bucket- I wonder what brigade might save as I pass hand to hand so I might learn to trust again for at the end may empty my burdens;
notes…. form in a way here, flow, like water rhythm wise, and also I meant this to look like a tipped bucket if you can see my visual clues (punctuation and it leans to one side if weighed on a scale perhaps)… sometimes I do things such as this… the funny thing is that the genesis of this thought, this poem ? researching an error in windows… seriously what more of a dork could I be… but always the muse she is guiding me, on a shoulder, in a vein… who knows? maybe I am insane… all the same, we all are to some degree, depends on the influences we listen to I suppose, I will stick by the mystery of the muse, I will… especially if it really is Selma Hayek...
of course there is always the cliché, the interview question, the ponder, whether a serious psychological expedition or some tactic to make you sweat, or a silly distraction…
if you could be an animal, what would it be and why?
I don’t know if it was the mood, or the food, or the passing breeze that deposited the idea in my mind this time, for some reason the thought gave me a modicum of comfort, for I, want to be a flounder, starting life looking like any other, but changing over time, eye migrating across the line, near perfect camouflage to allow for rest, I love the ocean as well, so that fits… but most importantly as this thought struck down in my head, I would always be looking up, and perhaps I should…this is no fluke !
I think I could make a series of children’s books on this theme “wouldn’t you like to be”… I never really considered writing a children’s book, I always liked the idea of penning a novel, but that has not exactly ever come to pass as yet, this seems natural in this case, I can picture this to be laced with positive psychological undertones now that I really think about it…
so no, this is not a music blog, but sometimes it sort of is… this struck me, so I post..
this satisfies me in so many ways, technical ability, and melody, and that is what makes this special, the technical meets the ephemeral… it moves your soul but strokes your mind, that, my friends is elevation… this wants to make me create, to elevate, to make art, to write… but now? just to sit back and listen, to be a bit lazy and let someone else make a definition, but that is ok, like admiring a sunset, not on a beach, to perfect, admiring that sunset wherever your sight may reach, because a sunset can transcend… everything… remember that, there is always a place, in your place, that transcends, may it be the light off dew on a rose, or your pose, near asphalt that shines just right from even a common street light, there is magic and miracles there, in every day sight…
(scientist cliffs, maryland, calvert county, western shore)
and so there I was, another year, another week, my fortress of solitude, or at least a rental for a time, a log cabin up on Calvert cliffs, overlooking the Chesapeake bay, I come here on vacation once a year, I wind up contemplating life, and death, no, not a suicide thing, I have never had thoughts like that (thankfully), just looking down at my pile of chips and seeing where I am in the game, this is not reality, heck, it is escapism at it’s best (or worst), I suppose it is easy to take the yoke off, work, family, the daily routine I fall into, immediately I am relieved, within a day, just walking along the beach, my preoccupation of looking for, fossils in the surf (as this place is known for), perhaps just a metaphor, as I wander looking for perfect pieces of my past washed up on the ‘beach’, walking with no direction, no time slot, no time schedule, no idea of time unless I care to look at my phone, the cliffs block the sun in a way that shadows roam and invade nearly at half a day, and the beach, in most parts is dark by two in the afternoon, while the residents are out and about with work and life, and there I wander, no destination except not being able to walk further, the broken shells rip at my feet, so I put on my water shoes, then they rub my ankle damn raw so I take them off, barefoot again, sinking into the shore, the usual chatter of a busy subway platform in my mind subsides, washed away by every lap of tide, even on days when the water was a mirror, still the soft heart beat slight roar as the waves sink into the shore, at times I just stare at the water, or the birds, cormorants preening, their black shadows standing out against the water, and the gulls, their stark white standing out against the bluest of sky, even the occasional clouds can not ruin this scene, a Chesapeake scene painted on the fly just for me, as no where else in the world is anyone else seeing through my eyes right at this time, the wonder, this patch of time to never happen again and yet will a million times more – with wrinkles, the stress I brought in, seemed bound tightly in chains to my being, melts away without any resistance, effortless, regardless of my advancing age I feel young again, full of possibilities, everything seems right, but of course this is not real life, and the mornings, as I sit in place, coffee mug to face, watching the sun come up out over the bay, I wonder instead of leaving a part of me here, can I bring this slice with me instead…
but admittedly on the exit day, it all starts creeping in again, deadlines, ‘have to’s, things to do, bills to pay… all seems to crowd out hope, but I must remember this, the view, from the house on the cliffs, and the clarity it brings me, maybe this is distillation of the soul, and maybe I should pay more attention to the unraveling of my coil…
this is my view all week… pretty much, I find this to be a magical place, to recharge my batteries completely, this is a private community, so you have to be a guest, or there is one or so rentals available (being coy), I connect to this place, I could live here happily and die here even more so… these sights and the fresh bay seafood, the wild life, watching the falcons, eagles, hawks and osprey hunt over the bay… maybe this is not the tropics, maybe this is not paradise, maybe this is to me.. and so I keep coming back and it welcomes me….
and I looked up, so there it was, literally, a window, is this me? fate? you? a blank slate? it just seemed… to all fall into place, and my hand moved, or did it move me? to watch this natural TV, this parade of, well, what is, no fake production could produce this so perfectly, or CGI could mimic this to a tee, no… just me, here, allowed to be in audience, lucky enough to capture this…
The setup… so I was driving over the Verrazano bridge the day after Hurricane Ida came rumbling through, it was a glorious day weather wise (some wind), personally, eh, not so much, not bad but tiring, so this was all stuff that floated through my head as I drove over the bridge, it is an awesome sight, especially on a clear day like this, you tend to forget the fact that the water is not exactly, um… clean, especially from that vantage point, so it was more like being a bird flying over the span from Brooklyn to Staten Island (the narrows as it is called), the phrase “breakers on the narrows” is the trigger and what popped into my head, after I wrote the 1st draft I thought I missed the point by trying to make a point rather than make a picture (or share the sensation/feeling/moment)… so I included both drafts here, I don’t fret over my work, I don’t strive for perfection, I just wish to be me, as much as I can be (no one is pure imo… we all filter @ some level so I am not going to preach about how honest I am, I’m not 100% without filter… is that the goal? you bet… but I ain’t there yet…)
(1st draft) breakers on the narrows as I am passing over might I look over and from here, this is almost mystical this structure, seemingly bifrost made real this gleaming span, many thousands roam, daily and I, one of those turned into spectator by spectacle as ida has departed, the sky opens wide blue a boat’s wake, turns rows of wind swept, rakes breakers on the narrows peak frozen in motion like marching saints as I speed by this scene hundreds of feet up above in the comfort of my driving machine wanting to dive right in I imagine I can hear the sounds above the din seagulls, waves breaking onto themselves and the shore- a horn breaks the trance I am transported back to this land the common asphalt, ezpass flash transported back
(2nd draft) breakers on the narrows, tailwinds whip up clone-peaks angled on-towards the beach I can not hear the roar but do imagine as I pass above them such a scene from afar a sky wide open blue and the cleansing sensation as this flying by calms- breakers on the narrows.
the song has no link to the post other than allison was a tropical storm that ravaged texas a decade or so ago… sometimes rain is the worst part… as was the case with Ida, except super south jersey which got tornadoes (mullica river area, I love tooling around down there when I get the chance, it is like a different state)
;there are times when I look outward, reveal inward, and I lose my way, my hope, as my dreams both nourish me and deceive me, and my words – they come – so I write;
counting down the days of the sun counting down the days, to our reunion counting down until there are none because in my heart I know – this, will never happen
sun – shower – light – rain – (beat – long breath) I smile
so in utter simplicity I tried to achieve depth like haiku impact, that is what came to me in my head, all this when writing this… all this was swirling in my noggin, well, maybe not swirling but actually coalescing… and yes, I meant “light rain” as the sun (light) in showers (rain).. 2 lines of the same but not, it was pouring, I thought/wrote this in the midst that is the nature of a sun shower… the strangeness of the phenomena always makes me smile… comprende ?
your thoughts ? (I mean you did get this far, right?)
how I miss you, the taste of your lips – my, my only love, for you are, this(thought)
sometimes I wake trembled in the corner I made myself where none had yet to exist
I have painted my own portrait determined, my own fate my inner demons the mask, now is my face
years, and I am still here staring, looking out at the world sometimes I dance along most times I walk alone and so-
I can not escape, this box not by will or by smarts just the end, determined by none if only I could really know, someone- inside through and inside out like I do, this house
gathering storm clouds come the wood floor planks speak with age my hands shake, with anticipation or perhaps, just age again so here I am locked in this made hollowed cage, sometimes, sometimes my mind escapes a hand turns the knob of the door up into the sky, from the earth into the stars, then I go eternal, as light from fusion flows forth; may I burn, like our sun and provide that warm feeling, once more on a child’s cheek or provide the power to raise the truly weak- or fall, to split a glimmer, of a tear and may I find glory in the unfold transform into all the colors as rhymes are told- for a moment
but so returns the astral dreamer back locked into, into my cold dark corner; hope is stoked by both sides in this dreams may be the epitome- of murder
notes… I wrote this from the cuff, all tonight, raw, maybe could be more polished… I went over it maybe three times… but it makes sense to me, if it does for you, please comment, I am curious if my thoughts make sense to anyone, I post to make my art public, and my inner life public, because we are all alive right now, we owe it to each other as artists… maybe that sounds like bullshit or lofty, sure, but we are alive right now, together, for we truly are… and one day, one day too soon, we will all go away, my friends, we will all go away… why do we not live every minute of every day as such… we are caught up in the game… because, we are human… and I wonder how to express that and share that… with you…
Shades of My Garden 