“scraps we hold” 8.28.2018
a scrap of paper
a scrap of words
a scrap of film
is all you’ll have
when I’m gone
(and these electrical impulses).
I circle my index and thumb
together
as if searching for a grain of sand
or
of a trace of man – so soon gone.
life is a tenuous lot, be thankful for what ya got…
12.26.2018 “goodbye”
not from the stars do I think judgement comes
as the sky changes by forces rung
but as I examine the sky tonight
I notice one missing, a closing light
as in stars we might not know
the light we see or how old
but eventually with distance lens
even the brightest must meet an end
and all folds back to cosmic dust
to return to life on the cusp
and once again form another
from the same constructive endeavor
but only once ever a star is born
never the same as it was before
materials remain but have no soul
for that we turn our inner eyes
to find love, the eternal sign
notes… strange to think we are stars, but surely we are, more important than the hollywood ilk, we are surely cosmic beings in construction, and all this we have built around us,the distractions from all that, these little things that are chains of amino acids walking led to candy crush? who knew… do I overthink things? probably… but I am fascinated by how we got here, the process is almost overwhelming to ponder (almost… 🙂
the first line is a call out to some guy named Shakespeare (specifically sonnet 14), I like the old classic stodgy poets as such, just my thing, I enjoy the ring of their cadence (Milton, Shelley, Byron, Dylan to name a few). just my thing.
Music… Minus the Bear – Last Kiss (live acoustic) “I can’t believe it ends this way…”
12.25.2018 “generations”
so, the wave has begun
the first domino has fallen
a generation has come
to begin an end.
I have seen the wave coming
off on the horizon
everything seems so far off
in the inevitable ocean
but so soon crashing upon the shore
this is the way of things
for we are mere pillars
rock fashioned of sand
drawn down and back into the surf
from which we once rose
in and out the flow
just life
for us to suppose
and follow, as if we have a choice
but we pretend
to have some modicum of control
ever looking at the horizon
and the coming waves
as they come for me
surely, some day
might I be aware
and enjoy the warm rays
bright bouquets to grace the peaks
one more time
upon the waves
that carry my soul away
to some other place
I hope
to some other place
I pray
notes… as I stated in an earlier post, I have been spared death more than most, but that will not be so anymore, and I sense it, I hope I have the strength to relent it and continue on, in the pattern of such things it becomes difficult to reconcile self worth, or more plainly my life’s worth upon this earth, there is no accomplishment any of us can make that will satisfy my view of the world, so I just have to fall back on faith, and fate, and the two combined will be my future, I know what that is but do I accept it ? do I quit? or do I fight and meet the same outcome? these are the thoughts that cross my mind. There is so much to life, so much, that needs to be the focus but I must admit, I struggle.
from the porch (continued series, tonight, is of course, some xmas holiday or something, I am told…), and without further fanfare, popcorn commercials or coming attractions (or an oddly sticky floor and just awful cup holders)…
Mustering up the muster to sit and write, on a xmas night, none the less, not a very xmas feel, at least in these parts (and I am not referring to my legs), cold enough but not quite cold enough, somewhat clear sky, not quite a full moon, everything seems just a bit less than it should, I guess the bloom comes off the rose at times, there have been those Rockwell scenes, the fire blaze, the cozy afghan blanket, gently falling snow where you could read the stories on the flakes themselves as they fell, no, not this year, and no saint nick, no jolly old fellow, just a myth, but not such a bad imagining, not such a bad thing, in a world sometimes grim, marred by pain, a jolly old fat man to bring presents mysteriously in the night, there are worse things to believe in, surely, no reindeer, not certainly in this metro shadow, we see the odd deer (or four), mere cousins of the north pole dweller reign, and no little laborers either (with their busy little hands), the only ones here are garden gnomes and they feel less genuine than their brothers (especially when said gnomes are busy trying to book me flights all the time), where is the harm in old saint nick? has he been reduced to an app just yet ? (I’m afraid to even google that to find out the answer) well, at least Norad stays in step with the season, tracking the sled even if just an exercise for Joshua, where is the harm in this quite affable fellow? maybe we should just tell the kids the truth, the truth that it is not the myth that needs belief, it is what lies underneath in the fabric of the thing, no, not the felt red sack or silly hat, or even the contemplation of a stranger sliding down a chimney (surely worse than a coal miner’s dime), what drives the sled? good tidings for the ride, the idea of giving with nothing in return (well, perhaps a tray of cookies in trade, fair enough), the idea, not the man, and children can know throughout the land that morning comes and gifts exchanged, they have the power within… to do the same.
be well everyone. and to all of you a good night.
(re-post if you like just link back, alright?) all eyes on this or anything I write are truly appreciated, thank you (yes you, that reader thing out there)
music? OK, I will be guitar nerdy and holiday-ey. (a new word damnit)
12.21.2018 “upon these fields…”
upon these fields of lore
where the dead shall walk no more
where the perilous battle fought
when all souls they will succumb
under sword and under feet
their blood remains within this earth
upon these fields of lore
those before me shall walk no more
nor haunt these fields
with voices still
ghosts only in the eyes
of those remaining here
as another shall pass
from this ground to the greatest of halls
I mourn for this one I know too well
for walk this path we all shall know
and mourn the death in the time to come
dedicated, with love, to my uncle, Samuel Goldberg, may you find a righteous endeavor in the next life.
I knew, in the back of my mind, somewhere (in that dusty old space), among those piles of clutter, old magazines in a digital age, piled up like ancient grave markers but not as grand, more or less memories, piles of them, lying around, I figure I might use them one day, what day? probably never, but there is comfort in them, the familiar things, places I’ve been, they surely are not stepping stones, so I knew, back when this started, this experiment upon reflection, sitting out on the porch seemed like such a harmless predilection, so I knew, I told myself that this would one day (soon) seem like not the smartest endeavor, given the weather, I don’t mind the rain, but the cold, I tell myself it isn’t THAT cold, only 32, c’mon man you grew up here, be a man, toughen up, is it brave or tough to sit out in the cold? surely not, but was it worth it? for these thoughts.
notes… hey, it has been a while, I looked at my pay stub and I did 73 hours last week, sure, I don’t have kids, I get it, but 73 hours is a pretty rough week, and weak it made my writing, I have been remiss, but things ebb and flow, and so do I, I was inspired enough to post, and that is enough, for now, winter is the time of slumber, to burn lumber for warmth and more likely comfort, I am skating out to the end of the year, I just learned tonight that my uncle of age 91, fell, and is most likely done, he broke his neck, a man I worked for and respect, an intellectual (sharp as a tack), reduced to a bed ridden individual, I am not sure what will happen with my uncle sammy, that is his name, I didn’t plan to post about it, but that is what it is, I wrote the above earlier but my mind is now particular, at times like these we measure our lives against those, those who are passing, surely a life lived, but a life gone? still, it stings home. I will miss my uncle even if this is not his final night, but at 91 with a broken neck, facing surgery, do I pray ? I hope, but I know the outcome if not in this day, this is all from the cuff, my apologies, I just have to post.
Shades of My Garden 