across the sky…

across the sky…

from sky to mile
like a solar wind in trip
gliding across the fingertips
of galaxies for my own;
I pray for the lesser-
for soon to will I bear
the destruction of a star
smoldering-
until there is no light
and only memory
a candle in a corner
washed past by the tides of time

notes… I wonder about self awareness, would I be better served not knowing anything? well… honestly the point is moot, because I am… too aware? perhaps. And maybe that is the function of religion for the masses, to alleviate this distraction. I am not dissing religion, who knows what is true, none of you can say for sure… neither can I … or anyone, and all else is hubris of the human mind. If you have your savior I am happy for your personal acceptance, it just does not work for me, it makes no sense, again… I do not hold myself above or as the arbiter of such things… I do believe in more than chaos creating all things.. there is some sense of order there… but it is so beyond us on this little orb orbiting one little star in an ocean we can not even conceive of in size in our minds, and that it fine, it does not provide me solace, but god does not owe me anything, no the universe… for the one thing I know I am alive… and that is the universe saying I was meant to be, so here I am… does it address all my concerns (death?)… no, of course not, but there is no way I did NOT exist… so there is always the chance I always exist… even in past tense.. if that makes sense, so that is where I am…

and for this scene…

and for this scene…

for this lament-
I say to you, dream-
the open fields-
the rolling hills of summer wheat-
the shepherd and his flock, roams
the shepherd with his pen, writes
to define this world again
in kind words and thoughts
and show them the way-
once more.

notes… these words came to me as is… for once in my blabbermouth personality I think I will just leave them as is totally for other’s interpretation, I have mine, surely, I was the vessel, or vassal I suppose… so it matters not what I think, it matters what touches your soul or resonates in your time.

‘lament’ is a river that drains into the sea

‘lament’ is a river that drains into the sea

suffering is currency;
means to sew in the seams, between
composed, of bloody fabric and bones
some goals achieved by joy-
but alas, humans we might love a good war
with cannon and gun
or a personal one in our own cauldron of hysteria
in our personal lives
boiling conundrums we contrive,
but the price
what might we have to hang at the door
repeating cycles ever the more
the faces of horror do little to deter
from black and white to color
repeating cycles ever to pace
the path to peace
that never seems to be- withstanding.

should I cry for the world? and lament, or put my head down, head phones on, and drone on, the fight is not on my lawn, least not yet, and not yet that long ago, 9/11 was on my doorstep, time does not heal wounds, it just makes people forget, and the farther away from events like a probe travelling away towards the stars- further each minute from mother earth, the problems seem smaller from these great distances, time is a heartless beast, all consuming, for even the joys of life get gelded in the end, I suppose that is what photos and trophies are for- and pins of stars on a uniform, how can you live in the moment when the moment is already gone… so, at times, I lament.

at the table…

at the table…

dining in the house of the lord
at the table of proverbs
might get you in the door
or… ?
a read of your inner tome,
your heart speaks of deeds
but intent is internal
only you to know
and that one other.

but pretend, in the end-
a table of luminaries
all of your choosing
eye to eye
chair to chair
all there
in the same hall as you
the same room
for afterall
in a dream
as in death
all is possible
as is none

notes… sometimes I am being cheeky and making you think… and mixing endeavors and themes… call me loki, or lucky or just Dave… yeah, that works.

purpose in words

purpose in words

prayer from a distance
does not carry on the air
nor land
or on the back of a feather
the ocean may rise
to engulf the poles
but not even a voice of thunder
can span the globe
in one full jump

but the voice of many
may be the boat of hope to sail
so, I pray, still.

there is hope, and hopelessness… and yes, none of this may matter in this matter, but you have a choice, I choose to live in the sun, as best I can (and I fail more than not, but my choice is not the reason for my failure, my humanity is, such as it is).

your thoughts and comments are always appreciated, my friends.

gone.

gone.

and this too, will end
this all goes away
with time, washed,
to a second rise
my finite resonance
among the harmony
and the chaos
of the humanity I hold so dear
my definition
my love
my fears,
all this too, will end
I pray for more
more than I am due
more than I am worth
the same as an inch of dirt
or worse, or heaven herself
but somehow
deep down
I know.

damn this song, this version, so affects so many of us, the raw, the real, the feel. it resonates because truth resonates and we know it when we are shown it. this is the real, we have an end, it is terrifying to me, I want to be some sort of pillar, but I am just a man, just me… and I have made mistakes, and I regret them… but does that make me a bad man? or worse? or less? no…

Blue Sky

Blue Sky

(stream of consciousness post, meaning I wrote it in one sitting, maybe five minutes, so here it is…)

I might appreciate the application of wonder, for a blue sky, what is it? why does it hold such sway and magical spell upon my mind, is this an ideal planted as a seed long ago from when I was a mere sapling? for today is nearly one of those, and I suppose it has some effect on me, regardless of the now blighted snow, jammed, packed down, browned, kind of sad lumps as adjuncts abutting the sidewalks and roads, the only pretty perfect parts remain framed hanging in trees, on branches, on leaves, well, at least on my bean pole bamboo stalks or the evergreens, what is it about a blue sky? even in this seasonally frozen tundra where I am currently marooned, kind of a reminder, a marker, a beacon, a little pat on the back from mother nature, like a giant exhale that makes everything feel right, a release of sorts, I could dwell on the science, the cold, the reality and measurements of the actual, but that is bereft of emotion, of this feeling at least, I know the why, intellectually at least, but I would rather cuddle up and snuggle with the old cozy afghan of hand-knitted-human wonder, to close my eyes, and remember-recall-relive-revive those perfect days of past time, clear blue sky, maybe a cloud visiting once and by, but that shining-inviting-hypnotizing clear blue sky, like the world smiling, a cover, a mask, a solid illusion bolstered up against the sheer vast darkness just beyond, our fragile bubble just spinning along in such, invisible forces all at work that create a cradle of our daily harmony and ability for life, the miracle of just to be, and that little reminder, the flag up on a mailbox, a squirrel’s pause to look at you and still chew in puffy cheeks, your dog’s jaw resting on your leg with a beg for the simple pleasure of a scratch around the ear, a hug where the warmth of another becomes your own together shared, yes, the clear blue sky, reminds – and informs.

confirmation./of life.

confirmation./of life.

Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com

under the harvest moon
upon my common harbor
for I embark unto that vessel of sleep
the voyage to the portal of dawn
for I awake unaware of the miles spent
that certainly lay behind me now
onward to a new world on the morn
with time, a hunt, in the yarn
let the first light confirm again
the miracle of first breathes and tell
the joy of open eyes
the sound of life
of my beating heart
like the ever waves
the sounds of life awake

/angel

/angel

shallow focus architectural photography of angel statue
Photo by Archie Binamira on Pexels.com

/angel
as for days marked as these
I was not meant to see
but there she was anyway
a lamenting angel
a casualty of war

just in her eyes –
read like history
so far down
forlorn skies gather clouds
as my mind crosses hers
o’ ancient one, accursed
how long should you be punished
how long to be trapped
to dwell here
between death and dawn
knowing neither
knowing you were wrong

notes… so something caught my eye, the corner, like a fish hooked I suppose, I saw into the soul of an angel, a fallen one of course, I have to be dramatic right? but in all seriousness this is a blink, a wink, something that flicked the switch in my mind, there is a bunch of themes in there for you to digest, so… enjoy (and feel free to discuss, because you know, I encourage such things)… and I did see something… didn’t I??