bound to the ground
even with the occasional lift off
we were born with arms
not wings
but even the fine feather
are bound
to this air-o-sphere;
unless, perhaps
this is truly a heaven
and the rest of life in the universe
wish to escape
to here.
Category: Space
the traveling.
And this same wind that roars across the land, never tiring, resting at times, sure, furious in others, but humanity does not stand a chance against such an unrelenting advance, for the same wind has blown across the earth for all the time there has been such a place, in space, this space, our space, what a strange thing to consider, our little home, has made the whole universe bend around her will, the will of life, for if that is not a signal of the sincerity and sheer gravity of life, what is? Just random gases and molecules that cooked and baked in the primordial gestation of the planet, to coalesce and crawl out, for us to emerge, you and me, unfathomable time to even read the tale told on a grain of sand from the grand story that is just this one world alone, cast into the vast there is some actual finite point in that infinity so far beyond, utter dimensions when we struggle with just the perception of a mere three, like a raft we are riding through time on the universe, a river, rapids, falls, calm lazy bends, a moving planet both spinning and flying outward, bound, by chance, at just the right distance, to a sun, what was the sun, the ra, a god, now a member of a countless family, but his is our helios, or heaven, or chance at this life in all the possibilities that could have been and ever where, this exact moment in time, or this chain binding our souls to this here and now, how? For as old as the wind may seem, roaming the earth, as we do now, one day, will gasp, and expire that last breath into the universe… and dissipate…
notes… ah, the irony of life, and what is considered important in the day to day… there was a literal wind storm here tonight after I wrote this earlier… well, not a wind storm per se, a storm, with lots of wind, to let me know my temp greenhouse was certainly not boss, I fixed it up after today it came apart earlier, when I came home I put it all back together, honestly it was not in that bad a shape, I have at least 50lbs holding the thing down, just a temp space to spare some of my more new exotic bamboo the rigors of below zero temps their first winter here in Jersey… but then the real storm came, picked the whole thing up like nothing and deposited it 10 feet away… I had to run out in a torrent of rain, nearly horizontal rain, to pick up the pots (think about 3 feet wide suckers) and shimmy them over next to the house, I think one of my plants is dead, the chinese fountain bamboo, which for this plant was winter #2.. but my leopard japanese and japanese timber bamboo seem pretty happy, my planter of black bamboo looks terrible but it looked like that last winter so… (and man that stuff is expensive…). So it was like me protecting my flock and seeing a toll taken in my little world, yes, in the scheme of things this is a small thing, but isn’t everything in the grand scheme of the total everything ? it’s all perspective really. we all value our day to day lives, our hopes, dreams, our circles of reality…
legacy.
what is it? does it mean anything? might I be cleaopatra’s needle, a scion in the great egyptian desert, a sign from a supposed great age, reduced to a marker in a park here, surrounded by the accouterments of this age, from pharoahs to skateboards, all seen under a carved eye glyphs, and then some should I survive some more, but then what, just another rock, left to grind down into sand and dirt and dust, pushed to the shores and depths, as all things are, with time, as pangea breaks her shores defined…
and legacy, careening through the stars, that golden disc, how chuck berry will live on, a creation with less computing power than my phone, by far, and farthest now, although we equate nearly the same age, hurtling through space, except I am tethered, by fate, I suppose my particles one day, might, make that same journey past the heliosphere into interstellar space, not recognized as the same face, yes, that is correct, but some molecule, some morsel, some small part of this whole, this identity, this blink of life on the miracle blue marble, all we know, maybe some recognition, a thought, a glimpse, a reflection in the tiniest of dna, a strand that reaches all the way back… to me… a legacy into the stars…
day moon, whimsy…
oh dear fair moon
might I take a bite of advice
for how did you appear
in the middle of my day sky
but I suppose
you are always there
with a certain-curtain pull back
so how do you bare, then?
the view,
not ever an interloper
nor a guardian at our door
a lone-cold observer
from shore to shore,
sights from rocky atolls to fading cliffs
the observances of millennia-
maybe this is jealousy?
I’d invite you to dinner
to hear the stories of your grand tour
but can not trade for that
to bear the calamity that will ensue
so, alas, stay where you are
perhaps another lunar trip will do
oh my dear fair moon
our singular notion
our most loyal companion.
I look up, to you.
notes… the day moon always gets my eye, I call this style stop and start, like letting the words flow and then turning the faucet off suddenly, not a staccato like I do sometimes, this is deliberate to show chain of thought, or at least that is what I am going for, kind of like a fence, a smooth line and then a post… if that makes sense, if it does not, I suppose you will just move on… as always, all comments are appreciated.
particle evolution… (probably a bad title for a post, but accurate)
so then,
I am of so many leaves
when my winter makes the call
even me, a summer’s child, after all
I am so, just a grain of sand
lost in great swaths
moved by airs and seas;
I am just a lost fingerprint-
in the generations of humanity
a molecule of a mind
once mine
destined to rise again
but never to this form
myself, this again
so then,
will I travel the universe
as a particle
burst out when our sun’s end sets
to coalesce, perhaps
to exist, perhaps
once again
so then, I wish
to become
I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
origins… -*-
origins
cruel perception
the trick of life
am I the culmination
of thought of dream
my parents decision
cosmic reconciliation
into being
the universe quite decided
for I an now
sometimes my view of life takes a turn, or perhaps perspective shifts. is this all a dream? how would I know, how would I really perceive it, and conversely are dreams real, are they reality, we think of something so it does and did exist because of that thought, it did happen, at least somewhere, in some space, in our mind, but yet we may dismiss this as not reality, what is reality, what brought us forth, a thought? perhaps, it is all a circular firing squad from there, a never ending loop, are we in the act of creating merely by imagination, or is imagination the cauldron of truth, of life, all determined by perception, a house looks much different from the inside than from the out, a mountain looks different when staring at the base than when peering from the summit top, and that is a matter of mere feet, not a cosmic mile like looking at earth from the moon or taking a ride on neptune’s 165 year orbit to look around the solar system from another view, these are the things swirling around my brain this day… how about you?
moon musings.
So… you know, the moon, that thing, in mysterious ways can do mysterious things, some howl, not me, not this soul, but my mind does wander and wonder at it all...
(1)
from pine tar to the bore
forgive me my grace
a bit too comfortable in my grave
on shadow moon
and misty tides
a rider appears
a delivery, a note of handwritten dour
as we prophesied
in this late hour
for the signs all gesticulated in blood
nurtured in the knowledge
that the past has returned.
(2)
with a somewhat lazy eye
climbs upward the ladder
rung by rung up hazy sky
for an obscure moon there
on this late february night
a caged celestial bubble
lost in the pool
cast in the night
phrase… (or phase) a moon enchantment…
under the glance of the wax for I
sentinel of grace, in this- frozen- field,
a garden they say,
whispers of the fruit- hang
all this from the gate that did pour out
filling the mother burst with life
and all that adorns,
“choose, choose the light”
whispers on shade flight in the ancient tongue
woven,
in dna, in instinct, into cells as pathway ancestral lines
even on this cold stark barren plain
a sign, a scion of the daystar stands
for generations of man
for the furthermore
a fellow that travels, bags unpacked
a beacon, the only celestial within our reach
I pray,
give me warmth on this coldest of the nights of this life
make my hearth dance in joy and with fire’s delight,
whirling smoke swirls, a tribute
in chimney speak, rise up- spiral into the night,
let my dreams ride such a caravan
and visit with you- for but a moment
to press your shoulder- in a tender embrace
bask in the presence of long far and such past
eyes that have seen countless spin
a night, and day again, over
I wish to listen to your chorus
and lay
ear to, listen to, your chorus
as I become a phrase.
note…to those who don’t know, and a nod to those who do… most of my work is off the cuff, meaning instant, and so I do, I am experimenting lately with form and type, just feeling out the world with words, that is my hands molding the clay of the world around me… so, that’s it… and I thank you for the visit, all comments are appreciated, and I do mean all…
in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–
in the presence of the sun
among the heavenly bodies we round
cycles
orbits
life rises, drowns and rises again
all in this procession
far flung on the flight wing of a galaxy
cast out in an endless ocean
can this be the only outpost of hope?
of life?
in all this, just a drift
an arm, a wisp of stars
our star, the one
the one we call, the sun
which has defined our direction for all time
such as can be counted and summed
in the presence of the sun
gives us a center
a ballast
a balance, with focus
a singular form in the form we always have known
our nook, our den
our private fortress
this little blue marble of life
a miracle boat afloat
in just this time
in my eye
to our minds
tethered to a galaxy drifting
our fate
lie and awake
open and closed in mother’s eye
all in this –
the presence of the sun.
are we a marker, an outlier, an anomaly, can we be? just this little branch, this dash, this splash of hope dangling off a limb of one of endless-countless galaxies, can we be alone, even in our own stretch of these woods? the possibility, yes, the possibility is there, but I choose to believe otherwise; why? I could argue the numbers, the sheer amount of possibilities that lay forth with such numbers bound out into infinity, but something inside, a gut, a feel, an instinct, maybe foolish pride, maybe I want to believe we are not just dust on a mere wind blowing by, sure, that is a fair assessment, but what else? can we pretend to know everything, in our little stint, our production run here, the perspective is almost hard to fit, not long ago this was it, terra firma, just the earth, and now the discussions turn towards mars and beyond, but these are just the closest neighbors, there is so much more, where the voyagers have now gone, barely a scratch off the heliosphere, can this twist of tiny now fate be all? the trinkets on my mantle tell a story of a life that will be swallowed and gone, blink, and yet, we live on, multiplying, generations like a constant beating heart of creation, our self importance tethered to a rock, rolling around a common star, ours, as if the sun will blink when we are gone, or just continue on, until she too runs out of the gift, the surge, the power, the sheer will of chemical interactions will cease, and then what of these, these stories, these lives, what will survive if not beams, remnants, something beyond what can be held in hands and hearts, something more, something higher, and how will we know this transformation or communicate with the others? or is there nothing, just nothing, perhaps. but I would rather invest in the wavelength, the energy ribbon, the promise, of hope. of life. for we are alive now, nothing can change that, not even the stoppage of time, so I believe, choose to believe, we survive.
thoughts, from the porch…
the moon is in league
and so it descends, frozen invisible prison bars, a brisk cold, hints dropped like falling petals scattered earlier in these past weeks, the crisp bite of fall I called such, but now, full teeth bared gleaming white, the ring leader, the pied piper, reverse reflecting the sun’s light to dominate the sky of night, the stark dearth star, a cold dead desert hypnotizing our hemisphere into submission, sleep… a full moon, of course, conjured up’for hallow’s eve, just as the leaves have been stripped from many trees, that inescapable gaze blazes down on this landscape, no clouds, no shroud to hide in, no, open resistance, a brazen demonstration of barren isolation, Winter; that which slows life like a vice twisting in a thimble, at barely – a – pace, the feel has a beacon, a symbol, a scion, the brightest object in the sky as the world turns cold and colder, twist once more, snow, yes, snow, this morning there was snow, not the type to warm your heart on a christmas morning viewed from a cheery warm window sipping hot cocoa, no, dead falling, falling heavy wet white wolf pelts slapping on the windshield, letting you know the summer you once knew is quite gone, and certainly I did not outfit myself in the proper jacket to deal with this early assault, but no matter, I will not linger here, being stared at, examined, scrutinized, by that dead eye hanging in the sky, the cold isolation, the green of the world has peeled back in reflex, but I was watching, I swear I was watching this time, how did I miss this, the coming loud tide of the cold wave, my breath rises out up into space, drawn up by that nocturnal beaming thief, as I walk I feel the presence of being followed, stalked, tracked across the sky behind my shoulder, just over my shoulder, footstep by footstep by footstep, I notice my feet, the fallen, the fallen leaves are a patchwork quilt, in the day a beautiful sight, but night, now, wet and soaked, dank slippery wetness, the kind where you want to rush inside and peel off your drenched clothes, sit wrapped blanket by a fire, the brand of cold that turns skin blue, the body shrinks back into a shell, yes, the chills, run, run up the spine and through the teeth, chatter, I must devine that my ancestors were not of alpine stock, not if this is my evolved shock, even now, years worn down, years documented on my paycheck to this universe, still, some nights, the moon is a sinister beast, dead reveling in an earthly feast. (and so I retreat, cuddle up with my dog, and sleep)
Shades of My Garden 