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?).
may I stay and sway forever, in the lands beyond like a frond of a perfect palm hand drawn stark outline in the setting sun, shadow on sand dancing, to the gentle song of the waves sliding, into the shore.
notes… if, no when, I go to sleep, for in this life, I wish to be on the shore, water is the force of life, and I want to be at that shore for all time, if I can be, or least that is my dream… I hope this work conveys that sentiment, for it is my sentiment before I become sediment for I will… all my love, all my consciousness will be transferred to that, that golden shore, of my dreams, and so will I be, for the immediate eternity, a dream along the beach, so I hope, so I dream….
dear, my dear born again? must be september but I can not seem to remember musket balls to remote controls I will not swear fealty to cross that moat nor believe the stories you untold over brook and crooked back banish me then from your impossible lands where to tell time I had to face the dire clock’s of dali laced no, no mad hatter for me then I’d rather fare the lion’s den so I might now exit stage right (to all a bow to all a good night)
notes… my notes, have this as “jumble” because… well, if you are privy to me I would say it is obvious… but I always am speaking on many levels… well, ok, often is a better description of assumption, this one has levels to it, I am referencing things in nearly every line, I do that often but not always, see how I can weave a maze of my own post? that’s fun for me, words, thoughts, a playground in which I bound about like a kangaroo hopped up on speed, g’day mate let me kick you in the face like a joey in rage… man I need to cut back the caffeine … or not…
the trees of lynnwood road old photos reveal saplings – carefully planted a family yard laid out in planning a landscape of new houses for miles eyes, the generation that planted them nearly gone, and mine, surely not many decades to go but they will remain the trees of lynnwood road
“how time passes differently from man to tree to moon, from thenear eternity to the nearer soon“
notes… lynwood road is where I grew up, probably not where I will die but a good a place as any… since my father died I have been going through his things, and old photos, seeing the neighborhood in it’s original form and all… houses like homesteads dotting the plots, all equal apart, trees tied down because they were so young, one flood or storm and they would be done, now it all seems so familiar, because, well this is, they know me and I know them…. we don’t talk, we never did, but we understand each other just the same…
“by the time we figure everything out, we’re dead maybe time is meant for living so it’s time to forgo the figuring“
so perhaps I am guilty as most, or maybe it is the way I am wired… I just over think everything, but how do I overcome my own nature? I guess we are all in that box, that conundrum… but we must, we must break free of our own mental bonds, does it matter in the long run ? probably not, but I would rather go for it if possible, to imagine the impossible for me personally… I’m trying, certainly before I am dying, maybe it will amount to nothing but damn I want to make an attempt at the exploration….
can it be all blue skies? so dare I dream, and even consider such things, to know better, but wanting to forget that sentiment in the all-together, even if in the temporary transmission of that delusion, there I may seek to dwell, my perfect self, my perfect body, my perfect mind – all aligned, even if for a brief-breath, can whisk me away to dream land, a sunset over easy on the ocean, the temperature just right, the kiss of the sun just warming on cheek, water curling up on toes just cooling on feet perched in soft moist sand, for a minute for a mile, might I stretch into this thought island of mine, a breeze that wraps all around, not a sound but the steady heartbeat of soft fading waves slipping into the shoreline as far as this mind’s eye can see, to this blue sky, a photograph, to live in, to escape to, a postcard never mailed far from my soul, a destination for only me to know, held inside those most inner gates, an escape, from the every day, in plain sight, might I take this flight, to regain the trust, my trust, in the beauty of this world, unfurled, a collection learned from reality, to build brick by brick this fantasy, so may I endure and stay a minute more...
first light ‘ning bug, tonight for spring has truly gone, fuzzy lantern dangling hovering flashing signaling, a hazy bulb with a halo wavering in the humidity- a diffused lens
notes… the air is like a hot towel, more like the hanging days of august than the late hours of june… but this is now, so it is, even night does not bring rest, or a reprieve, the air wants to sit like a moist heavy sleeve, just soaked enough to cling to your skin, just enough to let a breeze be revelation – for a moment’s notice that is…. and then I see them, through the mist of watering my plants, little bells of light, a delight in other times, a child’s mind, bio luminescent beings floating in the ether, either I am dreaming or summer has arrived….
‘submerge’ at the end of all time I will be there standing waiting awaiting our intersection once more hand in hand to walk off the infinity plank into that depth, vast eyes locked with yours mi amor mi amor
note: this is all about form, fast haiku maybe, maybe something else, my own version of verse… but it makes sense to me rhythmically….
this song, this feel… damn, it always takes me back, got an album like that? the first time I was back in Florida after leaving her, I was in the Keys, the beautiful Keys, Islamorada, with my little Ipod mini, remember those, full moon night, my toes, dangling in the transparent azure ocean waves swaying, the only soul at the end of the straight out dock lined left and right with lights like a photo, watching thunderstorms come in like castles of invading nation states, floating battle stations in their own single space, separated and yet almost in wave formations, sparks of lightning- emanating, a show, just for me, just for me to know, she was listening…
notes… this is something I wrote on Facebook in one moment, one time, because it is true… and it really is… I thought I had video of it back in the day… it was surreal, and so transcendent..
a blink and a wink and summer will be gone am I just dragging me (and be extension you) down? to think of such things… for it is not ‘officially’ summer yet but who relies on such things? to me, this is summer already, or at least the flavor has dropped in enough days to accompany me to that place of actualization, relation, maybe I learned a little more this year, for some reason, like a dumb or stubborn squirrel I would save up my personal days like acorns made of gold, a fool’s errand to be told, so this year I took a dart board approach, looked at the big board calendar in all scope, and shot for random gaps in these coming and current months of warm, and so far things have turned up for the better, two days off three weeks in a row now… I am pacing the walls of the asylum with free time, and also (more importantly I can tell you) my days have aligned with the weather, mostly, the odd day of rain, good pounding thunder rain does lull me into a sleep, I would not equate to sleeping beauty, just the sleeping end of it, but mostly, and I am jinxing myself here, the climate has smiled on me, allowing me to traipse the wilds of new jersey (yes, there are wilds of new jersey) in pursuit of one of my passions, fossil hunting, not only are we graced with superior pizza and bagels here in the garden state, not far from my domicile lies in wait an open park where you are allowed to scavenge the brook bed (‘river bed’ sounds so much better but I don’t want to cast illusions as to me braving rapids, where I am braving perhaps my knee getting splashed), so you can actively look for fossils, yes, actual fossils, I have made a plethora of finds over the years, and even a piece I donated to a local museum due to it’s rarity and importance, but just being out there makes me wonder, among the nature a conundrum, where is the line between hobby and calling, or is there a line at all? this is my tuning fork or a place, we resonate, I feel at home, ankle deep in silty mud, spying a tray of gravel looking for millions year old treasure that is only really worth as much as stone, the exhilaration of the find, regardless of size, smaller than a dime, or smaller but still the thrill, or is this juxtaposition merely glaring to my position, here in my office, banging out the service calls and sorting through code, I can see out the window the sun, and how green the leaves have become, and I know I will blink, and the leaves will be gone, what about me?
notes… this is more of a diary post, still stream of consciousness about being… in a stream… go figure…
in the awakening might I tread lightly on as the sky explodes with dreams spread tethered out on cotton streams a requiem for a thief, for I am- a consumer of all things until I become threadbare, myself a baron of composition bereft of fruit to wither into the aether to claim my time to cling to life I, survive.
notes… we slide in and out of this existence to fast in cosmic time… I hope this is just a train stop in the converging line of time and dimensions…
Shades of My Garden 