la mort de la magie

la mort de la magie

I often wonder, with eyes wandering, up into the sky, but I must confess such dreaming or such leering occurs mainly at night, for there is something so alluring to the night sky, the endless… …ness, and the endless possibilities, the light of a thousand, no, countless stars on shores far, and that light is only what I can see with these little periscopes I was born with, might I realign with my primitive self, around a fire of my own making, watching the embers dance into rise, twist-curling into the blackness dotted with life, to disappear, as if by magic, how those times are lost, I think, or think to much, should I shoulder back more into my remembrance, or want-to-be acquaintance to my ancestral self, somewhere in that DNA, lurking, sleeping, perhaps ignored even, a being, simply gazing up at the stars in wonder, has the magic of life died with such scientific circumstance? I think not but perhaps our gaze might shift a thought, can I fathom that light has to get on a bus to get to the next stop? such mundane things, or maybe light is just another path to sight as I survey it out, as I am seeing the twilight now, “now”… I chuckle a bit to myself now, in the knowing that the very starlight I delve to delight in is older than my self, or perhaps who knows? humanity itself… I suppose there is magic in that, time travel achieved in my own time by the bent of space, an illusion made concrete stone by scientific fact, or so I am told and read and was tested hence, no reason to doubt of course the courses, but a fairy’s wand might be a better professor instead, and by all accounts how would my life be bent, differently, as it were, if the magic of all things was once more restored as it were, just staring up art the sky with no answers but what eyes can only see, what the mind can conjure and conceive, am I projecting or is the universe projecting… on me?

(a rainbow made me ponder, for truly there is still magic at play in this realm, might I gather the dust carried from all corners)

yah… that is my actual photo from my car no less… for those that know Jersey… I say what exit to you rainbow!

lost love letters…

lost love letters…

(1)
so many years (pause)
and i still think of you
I should have been more selfish then-
realized then, not now
hindsight is a lens
a curse, a gift, fire to burn it all down to the soul
god- I miss you
nothing- since has been you
nothing- close (and I apologize to those)
so I wonder
how it has been for you
when I feel like the murderer standing over the body,
the right decision has always felt wrong
so I wonder then
what has become
our future now that is has become none;
but let you know
never a day passes
that you are not
in my thoughts, and those thoughts are love.

(2)
to you (my love):
for our paths to cross once more
once again
as meant to be
like the first go round
hopefully
beyond this world
in another
some where other
where the house we live in
is our own, no one else
no outside world to know
only each other
in each other’s arms, as one
as in those moments
we had-
that is heaven, my love
for I will wait for you there.

see, wall

see, wall

on the old sea wall…
standing in the light rain
bait fish shimmer the surface
gulls dive in to catch their prey
alone I witness, all this
not another, in long sights
the tell tale signs-
concrete, battered barrier wood
some lush green sea-grass revealed
from the tide out at sea from home
even with all the metal
and asphalt
miles of paven path in both directions long
I feel more surrounded
and humbled by the mother here
knowing, all this is a temporary dream
as wonderous as this may be
, this rampart.

(the locale)

in my travels I endeavor to find little nooks of peace in this crazy loud mixed up wonderful world… sometimes this succeeds even beyond my expectations, a lone stretch of sea wall, not another person around, no sounds but birds and the surf, the occasional plane of course, this is New Jersey… but a light rain seems to have broken all comers but yet the sunset of light purples and pinks hints off in the distance.. yeah, I would say this was worth it. (for videos of my various excursions please check out my Youtube station, thanks for reading and spending some time here).

enigma by wing, a metaphor

enigma by wing, a metaphor

as the crow
a spy
or just a curious fellow
a thief
or an enterprise

so… I am trying inflection here… something I play with time to time, not sure if it is an actual thing or something that actually works… so hear me out (in your head voice as that is what is reading this)… the first line is meant to invoke “as the crow flies” but I leave out the “flies” and add the rhyme to infer the previous line which is not there… trying to trick your brain, I can’t recall if I ever explained this to folks. and like most of my works this was off the cuff, my mind thinks like that in the moment, it is a musical/rhythm thing I suppose… perhaps I am being too verbose? nah, that’s my deal, I just write, if passer bys dig the flyers on my wall, yay! if not.. well, have a good travel my friend…

note.

note.

can I capture the picture of a sound?
with these words.
a shared memory
a specific moment in time
I am not asking for me
I am asking for-
who might ever find this note
some years from now
like some abandoned float
a message, a bottle
albeit digital I suppose
floating in the ether
of thoughts
and mine
long gone.

haiku/staccato style I suppose, not prose, that much I know, not much else though.

her eminence…

her eminence…

the eminence of rain
might I speak to her,
the bringer, the vessel, the purveyor
or perhaps understand
in some manner
the manner of the mechanism
for which I can not understand
or form the correct questions
for my bones are of the same creation
the same atoms inhabit my domain
in fact are probably cousins
or will I understand only then
when they break down
and have a global family reunion