on the way to work.

on the way to work.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

a seagull-
stoic
on one leg
on a highway
light post
a-waiting.
a portrait
of this age

Driving to work is sometimes just the worst. Sure, I am not dealing with anything that awful, but some days it seems to drain me, to pound down on me, to chisel at me like a hammer on rock, I try to ignore the ping of the hammer’s head… as best I can, some days it works, some times not, but then some days it seems the entire world is in conjunction to thwart my morning, to divert my intention, to bury my usual positive mention, I would love to tell you I win every time, but no, like all things, there is no firewall strong enough, no light bright enough to burn within all the time, as much as we try and learn, so I was driving in, on one of these miserable winter days, sky grey, days ranging from bitter cold to not pouring but very reminding rain, and just I saw this, which I have seen before, but some how it hit me more, at least this day, a seagull, sitting there, as if to say, as if to speak to me, sitting above the fray, quite literally, and then I was awash with OK, well, at least for a moment, at least, that this bird who really reminds me of youth, because of the sea, just standing there like a sentinel, a stalwart, a bulwark, a symbol of what I needed at the moment… even if it all went to fade as soon as the next jack ass rolled up on my six practically parking their car up my ass to where I could taste their bumper (and dumb bumper logo stickers). … … … But that looked down upon scavenger, the dirty bird, a seagull, able to elevate and stand above… alone and against the scrum… so that is the feel I was going for here in this piece.

absolution…

absolution…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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.

soil.

soil.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

(close my eyes to the ground)
I bend to ear
the song of the soil
for surely there is language there
the earth has a voice
from within a molten core
daring to whisper
rumors to roots
to rise above
to see the sky, once
the blind light of sun
to only return
to the soil’s song
once more

the drab

the drab

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

…when the traffic is like a box of sardines, I mean, we all have our colorful box we are in within the box of the lanes of the road we are all funneled into, this was one of those mornings, I was actually in decent enough mood, got out early, but something about the combination of a grey autumn day, no leaves, barren trees, feeling eyes baring down on me even though, where the hell am I supposed to go? god forbid I leave an inch of pavement in front of me for the car behind to see, you have the weavers who think that mystically or magically they will find a path, as you pass them sitting in your same lane time and again (and the little inner laugh there in), and then there is the drab, surely made worse on days like these, maybe it is the general consensus of consciousness of the melee of drivers on this path, maybe some public pathos that permeates and amplifies the dread? why are our roads and bridges and barriers so bland? so barren, so utilitarian, so matter of fact, broken cracks, barren sand, scraggly weeds entwined with garbage lagged on the edges, I wonder, if even only for a moment, or just some break in the haze, if these non monuments could be given some aesthetic artistic arch – perhaps funded by a local business or such, to bathe these like-artic shores with some inspired light, some architectural flair, something to lessen the obvious blight, would that make a difference in this daily flight? I think of European cities and all the ancient machinations there, perhaps a dream, or a dumb American’s idea of Europe I suppose… but I propose a splash of dash, is that too much to impose on our dreary roads?

and the rain finally came.

and the rain finally came.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

commiseration and misery, not the same thing, on this rainy day, how soon the tides sway, a grought they say, yes, and I can attest to such lack of rain, these many days, no, months, as I could almost feel my lawn leech and pray for moisture, I am not a slave to my lawn (like my neighbor who labors over his constantly for a green state admittedly better than mine, so I guess the grass is truly greener on his side), but, a beige carpet is not the most inviting thing, although my passion is really my bamboo babies, nine tribes (varieties to you), some people collect stamps, me? bamboo, and how they have shaded me these long days, an indian summer dragged on, and more poor babes looked forlorn, against a sad canvas of dried out lawn, so of course I fight, this natural cycle of life, hosing them down until yesterday, when blessed rain finally came, of course though the rain was not alone, it came home with a chill, not enough for frost but enough for bone to chill, and now, after praying for such relief, a mere 24 hours later the drought seems like a better mistress, how the tide sways, how soon the grey drapes drag on the psyche, but I look to my bamboo, to see the subtle glee, and quite imagine the relief my plants must feel, they speak to me from their finger long leaves, perked up with what must be a chlorophyl full hope, from dire droop to upward slope, so matter my human doldrums I must look around, to see how the earth now soaks up the life, the water, a gulping sound inaudible to me, but with which I am surrounded. and I smile at the rain drops now, some still suspended on the window still, waiting to gather or just evaporate.

stain’e

stain’e

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

‘I could change my name, you know’ he said, internally
a face, a place a time a place
for what would matter then
a new thread to a new garment hence
but then, no cleanse can absolve
that warrant written on the soul
scarlet red
the mark
for none to see
and all

let them eat cake.

let them eat cake.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

a mental exercise, why? just popped in my mind (as most silly things do)…
what if I was cake?
would that not be a wonderous thing, the joy, the trees of light, a forest of a number, a name in script applied with sugary frosting ink across my brow, like those temporary tattoos you can get for two quarters, the smiles, the songs, the merriment of it all, the gathering of friends and family around-
but then, that first cut, then some more, the once flowing name now smeared on lips and napkins, mere crumbs of your own reflection, your body doled out among the ravenous minion, candles blown out, a quick rise in the sun but now you are devoured, lost to a gut, the only remains a photo on a social post.
perhaps you are lucky and were born a wedding cake, with sentimental figurines adorned, not completely torn apart like most, you survive like some white ghost, in a freezer perhaps, like some ted’s head, hoping with all frigid hope, for no divorce.

upon the found

upon the found

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“upon the found”

for what ever we might know
from that first moment
with literal life line cut-
eyes wide open cried
to that light of experience-
crawled,
for now upon what we have found
we always knew
we were always bound-
upon that fate does ride our book
words written, time to took
to this journey now
upon the found-
we have always known
what to do-
sheathed in this shroud
of the world abound-
naked in a mirror then
such is now, should we look?
the complications of age
just make shores seem distant
but we have the means
to ever cover the distance,
so may I lay my temples down
in this foundry spent
ah, the forgery of the now
for ever we have not changed a single beat
removed from that bathing hollow
to eyes wide open cry
inner counsel does indeed
sew our truths from our own seed
betrays to trust to quick ends
while stark facts lurk in our descent.

musing on Miranda

musing on Miranda

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

dearest Miranda;
might I reside in your tides for a time
to bathe in your other-worldly light
to concede the life outside of mine
might I float-
upon your swollen plains
to the hypnotic din of alien waves
and breath-
whatever air has developed there
to become
a member of life unseen
from our distant peeking sphere

the inspiration… ‘Study shows Uranus Moon Could Harbor Alien Life in Subterranean Sea‘ (nerd poetry, go with it eh?)