sharpen the spires
so shall be done
as the angels fall in deluge
from the heavens won
may they land upon these reminders
of their mutiny of god
and then there are the born apples
the serpent’s tongue
coils up wrap my spine, constricting,
becoming the whisper master of my desires
and the plunderer of my dreams
and so mankind begins…
a needle’s guide, finding the eddies in everyday life, break down to now, trimming to shape one of my bamboo bushes (bamboo comes in many forms not just the tall stuff you see those ultra cute Pandas chomping on), anyway, seems so mundane, doesn’t it? but (you know a big ‘but’ was coming sirmixalot), BUT this leads to that space, a sort of zen space, my version of bonsai time I suppose… some describe time as a river, always moving (assuming no dry season, I will have to parse that one out with Einstein on the other side I suppose), there I times when I have imagined, if there is a bank, if I could swim on over, grab a branch, some downed tree, and crawl up on the shore, even if for a moment or more, to be outside of time as it were, or was, or is, or… well, you get the drift (pun intended), finding the eddy, putting your finger in, being aware you are within the counter to the norm, the space where time seems to stand at attention, or still, if you will, now certainly I am no fool (contrary to reports you may have heard, perhaps she was right in some regard, regardless), time does not truly stand still (ever), anyway, finding those activities, hobbies, proclivities, situations, permutations, active participation in the moments where time finds a way to slip your mind, to fall away from any perception of the moment in hand, or on hand, or in your hands, like a flame dancing in your grasp without burning you, because you are the owner of this momentary reality outside normal parameters, thinking outside the box that there is no more box, for you see, there are times we are virtually occupying these spaces, usually without realization, so… trimming my bamboo, slowly pulls me into an eddy of calm, I am not even dawned upon that I am gone, the world is still moving about, surely, but I am lost in a sea of my own tranquility, unknowingly, and when I realize, then, of course, the moment is gone, where did the time go? sped up? “impossible” we’re told, why? that is the best we understand at this rest area of the human mind, but surely, and of this I am sure, the road goes on, the river does not cease, but every rare once in a while, the cosmos, god, the essence of life provides, a door, an escape hatch, a slide into temporary reprieve from the ponderous heft of time, so be sure to notice and thread the needle through the loophole’s eye, and look, and breath in the free space that was created just for you…
how long
how long did you wait
for me to come home
to come back.
alone.
she is always in there somewhere, entwined with my DNA, never far from the surface, even under the weight of the undergrowth of so many years, there are times I forget, but there are more times I remember, this is a lost.love.letter.
to remember contours,
lying naked together in bed
moonlight penetrates
sliding through the window slits
onto your exposed skin
the base of my palm begins
in the small of your back
tracing upwards
curling my fingers slightly
so the tips track between your shoulders
until they breach
the rise of your neck
pausing at your hairline
turning to cradle
your head towards mine
no eyes as lips guide
and we are one
for a moment in time.
so, I am back at work physically (at least a few days a week), although I have been working this entire time from home (thankfully, I do count myself lucky in that regard)… the first week back on a flex schedule was M / W / F… and man alive the drive was easy peasy, usually the Parkway is quite verboten on any weekday during normal times so I would avoid it like I avoid people these days during this covid plague, anyway the commute is literally 26 miles so I was only on the road forty minutes tops each day… truly a pleasure, listening to tunes while cruising, all the toll booths are breezy cashless EZ pass lanes, BUT… I should have known better, I should have smelled the trap awaiting me, lulling my finely tuned Jersey senses to sleep, oh Jersey, you tricky devil, I admit it, ya’ got me, and so transitions into this week…
Tuesday: I think nothing of anything blinded by my experience last week, hop on the Parkway in the morning, cruising right along, not a care in the world, and then DEAD STOP, all lanes shut down to one, one. ONE ! one, as in singular, as in a choke point dropped from the ever loving sky, as in “you have got to be F%&*!@# kidding me” one, rush hour, this is rush hour, it had been anything but… but it is still rush hour for those who are actually commuting, infuriating… and the cherry on top of this frustration sundae was an accident at or near the point of lanes colliding into that single file crawling snake of vehicles, awesome! I was past the point of any realistic turn off, I had no choice but to take my medicine, foul tasting as it was, and swallow it whole, two hours pass (super… slowly…), yes, two hours to go all of 15 miles, just the way you want to start your day! wouldn’t ya’ say?
Thursday: OK, I may not be Einstein but I am not dumb either (somewhere in between I hope, I would like to think more towards the former), I am not making the same mistake twice, so I opt for the Turnpike, “there can’t possibly be a problem with eight lanes” (I think, well, you know what’s coming…), just for grounds-work sake, and those out of state, the Turnpike is split between truck lanes and car lanes (literally separate roadways), well, in the infinite, or non, wisdom of those who run these things, the entire truck lanes portion was closed, construction? who knows, all I saw was cones and lots of empty… lovely, empty roadway, for miles, not a dump truck, not a yellow vest, not a flashing yellow beacon of some semblance of work, just vast emptiness teasing me with it’s very existence, so all the huge trucks are piled into the car side, for me, I have to say, I do not like being between tractor trailers, it is like driving in New York City with the skyscrapers dancing around you, perception? OK, my reality, anyway, this was not quite as bad as Tuesday was, but that is like comparing breaking your leg to breaking your foot, am I being overly dramatic? perhaps, either way it sucked, I was late once again which isn’t the worst thing in the world but it sure is annoying.
Thursday night: OK, so I decide to go back to the Parkway, do I even need to tell you what happened? I suppose not but it involves all the lanes being shut down save one, sometimes this is like a weird low stakes version of russian roulette, you have to guess which lane is the one you should be in to win, otherwise you are stuck in merge-hell for miles, especially since some people act as if that one car space they took instead of allowing alternate merging is worth it or is getting them to their destination faster (hint genius: it’s not), with one little bit of luck for once I was all the way to the right, which happened to be the lane of choice, at least for this Jersey traffic gauntlet tonight, these times are the times I do question my living here, I have to say, but at least when I got home the mutt was there, unaware of course, or maybe cosmically aware (who knows?), forcing me to give her some love, and I must admit, dog’s can melt anger into nothingness, if you just let them…
Postscript: Saturday AM, Turnpike, there was construction, entire sections blocked off, I can’t win, I swear, but with so few cars on the road… I did make it in, on time (by a hair). And then my manager says “why are you here, you could have worked from home”…grrr… I should have brought the dog… (and yes that is her in the photo)
the unbridled imagination and lack of restraint of children, sometimes the sweet refrain of those days swings back into my mind like a welcome coup de-tat, never as pure as before the realizations of life, the consequences, the daily race, whatever we like to refer to adulthood or post childhood, such dreary dreadful days lately, working from home and sequestered alone physically takes a toll mentally, not every minute does the bright sprite of the simple joy of living suffice to uplift the spirit, sometimes a little bump from the outside needs to meander in and plant a boot firmly up our patoot for motivation, finally a day like this, sun cresting nearly to late summer levels, rumors of eighty degrees circulate through the trees, and… the feeling is infectious, sure, there is hardcore science about vitamin d and the like, but this is not that effect I might think, this is a culmination, breached with relief, a balloon that was stretched with ill breath fed let go, fluttering about like a headless chicken sounding more like a flapping lips engine, until, without a doubt, all the air is let out, and utter relaxation, returned to form, release, just to sit being, in this moment I imagine myself lying on the lawn, and doing that angel motion, waving my arms, usually reserved for snow, I know, but it seems to match the situation, the freedom of it, a child would not think twice of jumping in, I think of grass stains and bugs, trivial but true, why not do a lawn angel? “is this a thing” I think, an internet search does not come up with much but apparently sand angels are a thing (makes sense really), but the thought of a lawn angel to just rejoice in the warming sun, silly fun, the release of a time long gone, but somewhere in here (pointing to myself), that child is still in there (somewhere), I need to just strip away all the ‘important’ things for a hot minute and listen, or perhaps just feel… did I do it? I have to admit, no, but the thought was a release in itself, and perhaps next time I will delve…
is the world off kilter? is the earth spinning a bit off axis? or am I just paying more attention lately (or running out of things to do indoors), this evening, winter temperatures laced with spring intentions, all signs pointing in the blooming direction, there was even the occasional peep show of seventy degrees last week, or am I embellishing my own memory, the trees are now fully clothed, the dandelion’s time has crested and fallen, the breeze has a louder voice among the leaves, like occasional waves breaking on the beach, no discernible undulation or pattern, but much the same sound as waves crashing, I feel I am in the eye of the calm, this corner of the world is quite quiet now, the sun setting rays readily highlight the various tribes of leaves on the stage before me, all with the same function but a different design to achieve the same destination, I imagine humans are much the same…
notes… this is monday felt like sunday, or was it sunday, or is this monday? after seeing snow in may just the other day, not today near a freeze?? these are strange days… indeed… (this is part of a series, sort of anthology, the rest is HERE, well mostly, I have a day job you know…)
in this life
on the beach
at the end of night
this is where I belong
notes… just popped in my head now, that is all…
in the distance I can hear children faintly playing, yells and screams evoke alarms inside instead of joy, in these abnormal times, my instincts, reactions, daily actions, all come into question now…
Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
I wonder if a simple child’s rhyme will outline this stretch of death one day, that, of course will come after, not in the teeth of the pathogenic strife, I have always believed I was a patient person, certainly not a short fuse bomb waiting to happen, just when I do reach that limit I feel like I am up on the absolute edge of a cliff, no other side, no bottom, no turning around but leap… I picture that my candle was great and tall like a fortress castle wall, but burning down for so long now, my wick surely has not much longer to go, and the dawn, I am not a candle-maker, maybe I have to be, or learn to be, I do not know, or should I strive to deprive the flame of bright oxygen, I can not cap all the air, even if I tried my subconscious thoughts would betray and supply, a traitor I harbor inside.
This is much easier, today, sitting here on my porch, no mask (aside from the ones I always wear in that other life), no gloves, no one around to be socially distant from, I suppose Fear is taking a nap, he had a busy week with me back at my office, and certainly he plastered my inner walls with doubt, but all seems calm now, with a deep breath, I exhale as much of the negative as I can muster, I envision my candle now, small flame flickering inside my sanctum, the wax of the worn melted drawn out onto the wooden table, the newborn pool of spent liquid wax reflecting a dancing twin, “slowly, slowly” I mantra, “this will all end” with a hope wrapped in a prayer
onward goes, this strangest spring, awaiting the salvation of normalcy to arrive into these harbors overflowed with a cargo of hope… and renewal.
I saw an older man
sitting straight on a bench
hands in black jacket pockets
facing the cold lake
solitary confinement
for being outdoors
on this coldest day of may
notes... (haiku feel, ya feel me?) this was a record breaking day here, granted our weather records do not go back that far really but anyway, it was cold, I was driving to grab some dindin after work kicked me in the ass and head (you would think I would learn to be able to zen it out by now), and I hit… a squall, as in snow, seriously, my car read 33 degrees, that is pretty low for may in these parts, I was driving by one of my favorite spots in my local little world and listening to the recording below… (classical music is good decompression you know, well, at least for me, and that is generally who I am concerned about, go figure…)
the gallery of the cherry blossoms
hung among this, the haunted spring
for if march showers bring promise
we can not await their offering
in the quiet of april
showers quarrel more
prayers wait
for the arrival of the summer sun
notes… haiku feel (for me), sort of, one of those as I say ‘wrote itself’, sometimes I feel like the words come from somewhere else, I could take all the credit, but when I think about it the universe has collaborated to create me at this instant (and you, incidentally)… so, a lot had to happen for this little post of words, and it actually did…
Shades of My Garden 