beached…

beached…

this calling, this memory
am I not still building castles in the sea?

the beach.

they seem like home movies, like super 8, or early camcorder footage, these memories, I remember them so vividly, but yet I feel detached, like this was some other life, in so many ways it was, the sun this never ending light above my shoulders, the glint off the stray bubbles as the tide retreats, standing in the surf wiggling my feet slowly getting buried in not so quicksand, the discovery, hunting for crabs along the jetty, to catch them for no other reason to catch them and show my cunning against the pinch of the really big ones, seeing the sand crabs like benign kamikazes diving into the sand burrowing like madmen between the constant brush of the ocean up against the land, an ice cold bologna sandwich, brown deli mustard on a poppy kaiser roll, so much more delicious as we stopped by the local deli as a morning ritual on such days, the turnstile and gates of bradley beach, the faded wood dressed up in white every summer like a buffed vintage car, still showing age, the swings that seemed higher than towers, or skyscrapers even, the creaking sound they made back and forth, I never much liked going on them myself, I preferred the old wabbly spin thing, did it ever have a name? I am sure there is one technically, many playgrounds had them back those days, you would try to make it fast enough to have someone flung off, probably not a thing these days, I survived mostly though, I guess, they would pass in a blink and a dash, not an iota of energy left in reserve I would crash on the ride home, not worried like I may now might, about traffic, gas prices, going to work the next day, the bills, no, those were far removed… I supposed if I could invent the greatest thing it might be that, a drug or something that could elicit a journey into that memory, that time, to feel that sun, and sip on a capri sun or three, perhaps a bomb pop if the stars aligned… I wish to travel there once more, at least, in my mind.

absolution…

absolution…

I am wired how I am wired.
I am not outwardly loving or touchy or things of that sort (even though I am obviously a deep romantic at heart). I have always believed in and acted on actions, not words, not ceremony, not circumstance like made up holidays (birthdays and such). For that I am seen as uncaring, unloving and judged as such by most. I have steeled myself against such things over these many years because I am true to myself and my beliefs. But that does not make me a monolith or invulnerable for those who can not see me for who I am and how I am (and have always been). There is some urge among “normal” people for you to act as they act. I am just not an outwardly emotional person and that is confused for lack of caring even if my deeds far outweigh the bullshit people exchange as intimate currency daily. I see all that as window dressing. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I can not be the one who does calls out the other side as they would call out me as inauthentic. But surely the masses defend and seem to bend like reeds in the common wind to such things.
So the long short of things, my mother is in old age, and I am caring for her, as she cared for me, I owe her, obviously. Or maybe that is not obvious but seems what I have to do. I take care of all her needs to keep her in her home and to keep the lights on. But somehow it is not enough. Sometimes that dyke breaks and I forget my place. Rarely though… but there is another relative taking advantage of her but she loves him, clearly, more than me, always has, it is debilitating feeling at times, to do the right thing, and be slapped back for it, yes, I go on, but at times I fail in my pillars to be the rock that I usually am, especially if the one I actually make everything for accuses me of not loving anyone or caring about anyone, when it is plain as day to me, all my actions are there, as right as you can be, the sting of words can still come as I believe that is what is in the heart of those accusing them, in the end, being right or doing the right thing does not always pay dividends but you must persevere, I want to quit, especially these days, say f you to the damn process, but doing the right thing is not always an easy way, if it was, this world would be a much better place.

Just writing this has helped me comport some feelings, maybe re-load the tank. Perhaps to point my ship right back into the storm.

Lost @ Sea Memorial in Cape May NJ

Lost @ Sea Memorial in Cape May NJ

notes… this place is tucked in behind a neighborhood over looking the bay. it is very well kept though and although I have never seen anyone there it is clearly visited often. A nice quiet spot next to some beautiful houses. There is a compass on the ground as well so you can see the direction the statue is facing “looking out into”… it gave me a feeling of being at the end of the world looking out into the cast ocean… we rarely think about how more vast the ocean is than our little parcel of land (comfort breeds complacency)

a fathers day

a fathers day

this was a father’s day, no not that one, a real one, a day my father would have loved, the sun out in full force, humidity half hung as not to oppress, yes, this would have been a day for him, to sit out on the deck behind the house, like being a king of your own kingdom earned from 40 years of taxes and work, soaking it all in, smoking one of those awful cheap white owl cigars, his only vice (besides snacks), only on occasion in the summer, except for the magnet of the sun, basking like some ancient reptile laid out on the banks, for sure I thought that would have been the thing to do him in, some sort of skin cancer or something related, but no, of all things covid was the thing, of course he was not so perfectly healthy at 84, heart issues for years, heart attacks spanning back 20 years, but those things seem to live with you or you live with them, unfortunate companions of a sort, they keep to their side of the room mostly and you tend to yours, no, the sun, if ever there was a sun worshipper it was he, on the beach in those ridiculous beach chairs that are much more like hammocks outlined with cheap aluminum bars, your bum supported more by the sand under than the strength of the fabric stretched, the low rider of outdoor furniture, on a day like this, he would have been truly happy, a monolith, a solar panel, his old black ray-bans reminding of his youth in the 50’s, all the things you see in cliches, the white t-shirt, the sleeve rolled up with a pack of smokes even though he didn’t smoke, the convertibles he had, the caddies, the thunderbirds, I might imagine that is what he was thinking about on day’s like this, as he sat there in the sun, reliving those memories of cruising down the neighborhood, in those big old long cars, the wind in his hair when he still had most, piling in the seats with his two younger brothers, the king and his chariot, blazing across the summer sky, yes, a day like today makes me think of him more, he has been gone a year plus now, a toll of a war we did not win, just simply survived, I hope wherever he may be now, he has days like this to enjoy, as a perpetual memory, this is your day, father, father’s day, a day like this.

notes: I am not one to lionize my father, for he was human, he had his flaws, but some days, in his glory, I got it, I got him, I could see what he lost by settling down and having us kids, not that he would have changed anything, but you always leave something behind, and the things you do in youth can be so pure that they resonate through the rest of your life, I love my father, flawed as he was, the only one I had, he never abused us and always provided enough and more, so what else can you say, as the time goes by the warts and the humanity wash away, and there is only the love, the light, and I wonder if I could live in this moment with those in this life right now, that is the challenge I suppose.

lights…

lights…

lights in the tunnel
by chance
by circumstance
the nexus of all history in a fleeting glance
through one doorway that led to a singular path
so two lights – became a pair
to navigate the darkness – as a binary star

long straight and winding foot on bare
a litter of babes with which to bear
and so once the road came dark fork
a separation aimed to dim such spark
(for a time)
for even death will not restrain (for all time)

the pair once ordained to be as one
reunited now somewhere gone
from this world – somewhere beyond
these lights in the tunnel
at once-more one

notes… this poem is dedicated to my late aunt and uncle, they died apart in some ways, but in some ways together… nothing was the same since my uncle passed, not just in my house I might guess, I hear things come in threes, maybe this was three, my uncle, my father, my aunt, more of a trio that might be a tornado for my mother, I wonder, she knew them all longer, and closer, and the family has not recovered, covid has sapped whatever ‘together’ was left it seems, I hope I am wrong, but I have more faith in being right on this one (but I still hope), it doesn’t seem worth the fight if you are the only one fighting the dam breaking, especially since you are not the one who built it, you are just downstream from the cemented choices others made.. and the guilt and grime… the weight of that, unable to shed, even after death… the past can never be won, sure, you can fight it all you want, but you can never win, we all do it, myself included, but looking out a window out onto the broken meadows of others makes it so easy to see…

the music, this is always about timelessness to me, orbital was ahead of their time, intelligent and evocative in a genre not always known for such things, they were different, an amalgamation and inspiration… one of those bands that I found at the right time and also a glaring reminder of my failures, they came around in Miami at their peak and I was pissed at the missus, I opted not to go, in principal, and being a stubborn moron, willing to die on my cross of principles rather than give in for an evening, and they were really good tickets seat wise, but I had my pride, my dumb pride, now I have a great memory of not going, with the one I loved more than anything, just out of spite, a dumb fight, and yes, retrospect is so easy, but so is level headed thinking, I could have a hall of fame of regret…

I also wonder how many people even read this far, these are my true thoughts, not just my art, I just hope with all my babbling I have helped a person or two to realize their own foibles, maybe then this is all worth it, until then I will keep shooting spitballs into the universe…

a taste of spring…

a taste of spring…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

(stream of consciousness posted prompted by a spike to 70 degrees today)

a taste of spring, a little bird on a twig, a series of chirps evolves into song, the sun, not quit strong enough to completely thaw, nor to make my face have the brooding fear of a tan, but a blue sky and a bright sun can lighten the disposition of gravity, still snow survives, around the edges, under the hedges, melting tides reveal masks strewn about in the gutters, a grim reminder of the times we are emerging from, less a tunnel and more a moratorium, a pause, a break in the norm, all holidays vanished along with those lost, a year seems gone, lost, like this never happened, but I do sense this, a taste of spring, seventy degrees seems like the last mile marker on the road to a vacation destination, a little finch, just inches above me, I swear he is dancing a jig, or at least bouncing around, and the snow’s retreat, even the dull green of the lawn is a treat, a feast for the eyes, lonely stark dirtied snow has a toll, like walls, the glow of the setting sun, behind the everyday house across the street, somehow looks more regal, so I will soak this in for now, into my skin, trigger memories of better days, of hope, of waves gently rolling over my toes as a I stroll down my favorite sandy venue soon enough, I have not come out of this time as whole as I once was, but I still am, so hope is resolve, in this – a taste of spring.

thoughts… from the porch.

thoughts… from the porch.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

hello my old friend, been awhile since we spent some time…
the relentless tide of cold has relented, and the world seems to be stirring from her slumber, some number of months now since I sat here, for this simple pleasure, inhaling and sampling the entirety of my immediate native surroundings, to sit and unpack my thoughts, a bird burst from a box, here I am again, alone, outside, starry night, full moon bright stained with a wisp of haze, a furrowed cloud line struck at a twenty degree angle beneath the face from right to left, as if to add an underline to the moon itself, “what a silly thing to do” I quip to myself, in a voice only I have ever heard, yes though, sound has slowly found a way back in to this since empty hall, as the blanket of snow retreats, lawns revealed peeking groggy gates, “ten more minutes mom”, “well, you have ’til march” (which is coming soon, certainly the next number to come up at the deli counter for order), what a strange year this has been, could I have prophesied such an entangled ride? no, for surely not, but here we are, on the promising precipice of another spring, as my family still mourns the king, and there is no natural ascension to the throne known, no writ of delegation, time will take care of that coronation, I suppose, so I wait, I have learned to have more patience these days but time still seems to roll over at break-neck pace, I can feel the itch and twitch of the hand moving, listening closely I can hear the gears turning in ever-forward motion, there is no pause, no rest, save that- one, there is no pause, just little valleys like these moments, like these when I sit among the trees pretending to be, waiting for them to bloom again, to show me the way, as ever seasons to better days – ahead. and this brings the calms of psalms, to the house of my residing soul.

rebirth. a dream? a thought?

rebirth. a dream? a thought?

into the bosom of warmth
might I curl up
drawn in
like a new born
fern leaf,
sleep gently in that calm sea
amniotic womb
echo heartbeat in tune,
for a time-
escape the looming specter,
floating-
drifting in the dreamspace before rebirth,
may I forget the world, for a time,
inevitability to deliver me again
into the world fraught
fraught with perils
from the separation
into a single core
vulnerable as one
separate from the mother,
for a time
until I return to her
once more.

Notes… I often think of the end of life and what may happen (or not), I imagine making a bargain for reincarnation but I can not have my current conscience… sometimes I take solace in that nothing (matter) is really created or destroyed, there is a finite amount (which contains me), and other times I find comfort in knowing I DID (and you) exist, for I surely am, and my final fantasy has my soul released into the universe (or a parallel one) for we are electric beings at some level… maybe that lives on… This is something on my mind often, the unsolvable question, but I must admit, since my father has passed, I have had some calm, I feel like I can still speak to him, and he hears me, and I know the answers but feel his hand guiding me. I can not explain it rationally but I feel it. So the logic side of me shuns but the emotional tugs… and so it doesn’t matter in the end, but I grapple with it anyway…. your thoughts and comments are always appreciated my friends.

in honor of my father…

in honor of my father…

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

in the presence of the sons
in the presence of the brothers
a long witness, my mother
a wife for five half score and two;
all of us here, under the all-mighty eye of g-d
to return this vessel
these building blocks
into the earth herself
for today –
I buried my father.

I did not inter love, nor thoughts
nor a lifetime of memories –
for even death, can not purge those
safe, in the deepest corridors of our hearts

those standing, those left
those knowing
for a piece of him resides within you all, now
rejoice in this, take solace in this
in time you will know this to be a guiding lantern
to purge any darkness

so I wish him farewell, for now
until we will meet again
in some other place
a dimension we do not quite yet comprehend
of this I am certain
a calm of peace has settled in
within these thoughts

goodbye, my father, for I will see you again
and thank you for the gifts you left for me
the ones you taught, in imperfection
in perfect humanity
I say goodbye to you, my father
with love – your son, always- your son.

notes… this post is one of my toughest on a personal level (obviously), I thought about not posting it, but this is what hit me @ 4am this morning, I rolled out of my non sleeping bed and wrote these words, before the funeral, the nervous energy I had was overwhelming, or was it dread? I do not know, I have not lost someone so close to me, as I have said in the past I have been lucky to be so untouched by the craven hand of death, but not so, and I knew it was coming at some point… but nothing prepares you for the reality, the customs, the going through, the physical steps to the grave site, the hole, a literal hole with a casket, the dirt in a dominant pile, the cold grip of it all, as if this was a fantasy burial, the sky was mostly blue, there was a cold wind, we were in woodbridge nj but might as well have been in the middle of anywhere, vast and wind swept, I could not speak, I thought it would take forever but as over too soon, but there is nothing you can do, except release and accept helplessness, and just turn back to those you love…