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?).
upon golden sunshine might I lay my hands or walk across to the dreaming lands
to know the score of infinity humming along with as I walk the path laid out by god before me
in all encompassing light as I merge with the peace on the other side
notes: I had a visual in my head… like a literal vision… not like a religious experience but definitely a clear vision of walking on a road of light, so I wrote this, in the moment, as a response, is it perfect as to what I see in my head… maybe not, but I can’t grant you total access to that… so… I do the best as my limited human form can command…
I would like to believe that the birds sing- (for me) to pause, to stop (dead tracks) from running to my daily flock to hear their voice and stop for surely they announce (and I can feel) spring is here spring is about even if the clouds doubt or the temp flounders down as grey as this day may be the serenade- tells me (all I need to know)
cliche, but sometimes there is a reason for such things, I swear some birds are singing just for me, maybe it is all the bribes of rye bread crust, or leftover tortillas, or actual bird seed in the feeder, I would like to think they make mind of me, of course not, but why not dream it anyway, maybe I will wake up one day as a bird… I’ll try to remember and reward good stewards, but … I will be a bird so…
(and sometimes I am remiss to admit or post that this endeavor is truly just a corner where I post little notes, these are unedited one offs, and if not… I will tell you, not that it matters, I could tell you I worked on them like tilling soil for a week, same difference, but that is just not me, this, whatever this is, is just my thoughts in the forms they come to me, any questions or comments are of course appreciated, thanks for taking the time)
I just walked outside, 3am local my time, how many times, more of this, do I have, and it hit me, the unique scene pasted over this same scene, how different every day is, and the same, but sometimes, like tonight, we are thrown a curve, a swerve, nothing so different that we panic, but yet so different we take immediate notice, so tonight was that, just now, a fog descended, a fog I say which is a rare thing in these parts, it makes lights resemble spotlights to handle the on stage talent, but nothing is there, just perfect lines, angles demarked, perfect cones strobing down from the street lights, closer lights are just as bright but do not have boundaries like those down the street, holstering their own fiefdoms, it is amazing to witness, and this is usually among us, by moonlight or streetlight, take a pause, for the miracles among us, like the universal cartographer is asking us to pay attention.
{set scene: a solitary ivory candle wide enough to be cradled by two full hands, on an unseen table in a room with no window, a cup raised in the hand of a shadow arm cast out upon the wall, flickering, larger than life blazed through a grainy projector}
“to the known end of” the known how to tinker with creation while feeding pigeons bellies full of stones
I am a deadman for I truly am. whether I roll snake eyes or nines or pull a royal flush or wind up face down in the dust, I am dead man truly am so what to do wait for that line to pass or pass the line until my last (breath)
under the basking moon the cool tide shifts for sweat hides swiftly now leaves tremble and turn squirrels bury their treasures the mother is tucking the edges now the silks of spiders grows vacant
things change, even in a small lifetime, I can only imagine the ripples of time over long periods, like eons, not here, in this urban town, the burbs, the typical jersey suburb, parcels of land measured out, a lawn, a driveway, the american dream, it seems, with gusto and plows, concrete and asphalt, light poles strung like christmas decorations lining the parade route of the daily back and forth, I heard this was once farmland or even a chicken coop, but that was a different lifetime, before mine, but in my short observation, I have seen a shift in some and none, most of the birds remain the same, cardinals, jays, robins and the like, the rabbits of jack in spades have been a main stay, nervous little critters, then there are those canadians who really love to stay here year round these days, you would think they might explore the further south, and move to florida in waves, but perhaps compared to nova scotia this is like miami down, maybe they were there when I was younger, but I did not much notice the curious minions of northern parkway dogs like I do now, little watch towers looking about but oddly they seem smart enough (unlike a chicken) to cross the road as I can safely say I have not seen a flattened one, and least I forget the slyest of them all, the slinky foxes that skate along the hedge rows and meander in the shadows, to think all this life swirling about in just this tamed space, all it would take is a blink, and nature would roll into place.
when was the last time I felt a woman’s lips upon my own as almost forgot I see movies and jealousy ensues but do I pursue this in my every day life do I assume this will come to me.
the smartest of us may be the dumbest of the heart.
I have been single for… damn 30 years now, I have dated but I have also insulated… I do not feel worthy of a mate as I am a fail, and I realize we all are but I don’t want to subject someone else to that, I see it, I realize it, but I also live it… I see I am wrong but feel empowered to let it go on because we all die alone, I don’t know… I don’t know… it fucks me up, I see the inevitable but I also feel empty but strong… I deserve to be happy and mostly am but not complete… how the fuck do you communicate that to someone else who wants to be a part of that and their that… if that makes sense… just venting, it matters not it matters not at all… I wish it did… but what the fuck do I know… tons now.. but it will all be lost in 50 years or so after I am gone.. so why the fuck… is the question.
a diamond inside? no. perhaps- diamonds are cold a light? a lantern – a voice both entwined for I know you know all that is right to escape this hole but worn as clothes (on the outer skins) the comfort of fur to spurn the world to flash color when there is none.
we know the clock ticks for the real clock has an end not a loop not a circle but a cliff into- but then looking back where might that origin be back there darkness- then a crawl then a dance then a life perhaps romance, and there here alone on that edge as that light moves to the next.
1. look into my eyes I can not imagine life without you but here I am without you. 2. the adoration of men is fleeting intoxicating but as all does not last what does? love.
Shades of My Garden 