I contemplate the beautiful fragility of butterfly wings upon such gale stain glass beats oscillate with silence only spectacle the dance of survival spiral pageantry of these so easily broken, I think of the single snowflake winding journey to the ground to dissipate surely into vapor and once more rise then gather then fall to travel the world over in many forms, I stare at these last rays bleeding bronze out from this day’s ending I pause, for all these things and the miracles contained of bearing witness in these soft moments of my existence.
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notes… written 4.18, last night was the first real spring rain, no, not technically but it was 70 degrees and the rain was a relief, almost clean, seemingly a hint of bleach as it gently made overlapping circles on the deck as I watched, the dog sniffing around her domain in the backyard, life is good, it beats the alternative, take a minute and breath, there is something wonderful within eye’s reach, the idea is to reach for it, I am guilty as any for forgetting this, trying to re-calibrate my noggin to ground myself in reality, I am here now, trying to enjoy the ride.
music… going soft acoustic instrumental (thanks to my bud Chris all those years ago for turning me on to this and Tori…)
the sun must rise again. for belief is life in the blood as loving hearts contend this perpetual motion resists against the gears of night, for -the sun -must -rise. to breathe life into that good hope the singular line of light to spark in the stirring of the being, of the living for again, the sun -must -rise, comfort to the children of men generations seek wisdom the good will to bend up against that death for there within is strength resident in that good light, and the Sun. Shall. Rise. Again!
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notes… I wrote this on saturday actually, it did not dawn (hah hah pun) on me until later that it could be taken in the context of Easter, this was not intentional, perhaps the muse felt she had to guide my hand, as I say often inspiration is a strange sensation, it feels like possession (in good way, not in a head spinning vomit way), this one wrote itself, this final version is barely edited from my original scribbling, one of those that you write an just immediately feel good about, which means I will probably get zero to three likes on it… lol, anyhoo, this was really (to me) about optimism, sure I could quote Annie “the sun will come out… tomorrow”, ok, that is pretty much the same sentiment, and I am not half as cute, or a ginger…
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music, I make no bones about it, my favorite band ever is King’s X, a band that was ground breaking before anyone knew anything about anything, that’s all, in this PC world of today they would be heralded as lions and pioneers for so many reasons… enough preaching, here is a song of their first album from back in 1988… damn, I was 15… the vocals, the rock/metal edge, it made me pick up a guitar for the first time, and want to sing (which I most certainly can’t)…
this brings me back to days of my youth, my father had a “provisions” route back in the day, and when I was off from school I went to work with him, in essence a provision route worked thusly, my dad (with me in tow) would travel to the meat processing plants and supply warehouses in Elizabeth and Newark NJ, pick up the raw product (whole briskets, fresh chop meat, huge wheels of cheese, snack products, fries, deli salads, condiments, you name it), and then deliver them to local bars, taverns, restaurants, and yes, the occasional strip club (we’ll get to that detail), remember there was no Costco or Restaurant Depot, it was a good business from the turn of the century forward but of course it was phased out by progress like many things, my dad had this big yellow truck, it was like driving around with the mayor of every town, I swear he knew everybody, smiling and waving like we were in a parade as he drove, he knew all the cops, all the weird locals in all the bars, “Hey Freddie K!” was just this accepted mantra, what did I know, I was a kid, I wish I was more astute or paid more attention, the amount of inspiration for character study was astounding then, some of the experiences seem so strange now that I recall them to write in these words, the smell of bars as the sunlight first hits the witness wood floors, a sort of mix of barf, beer, mold and pine cleaner evaporating, you could see dust particles floating upwards in the light, questioning drunk eyes watching, walking into a strip club before they open as an eleven year old and my only want was a quarter to play the latest video game, I am not sure why but strip clubs and bars always had the latest/newest video game cabinets back in the day, we are talking early 80’s so video games were new, hell I remember Street Fighter coming out and freaking out over it (although I am admittedly a Mr. Do man), seeing the help (ahem, strippers) getting ready (into their outfits), pinching my cheeks as I was so darn cute, but I paid it no mind, it just was, I remember Cheeques in Linden had the best damn hamburgers ever, well, they should as my dad was delivering fresh chop meat direct from Magnolia Beef, where I would see things made, you know, meat parts literally being ground down in front of me, half dead whole animals on hooks being pushed around to the various processing stations, I still remember the cold smell of dead meat, the places were cold, really cold, my dad and the workers had these white coats, and then there was the sound of the hamburger patty machine, ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk, and then paper slapped between the patties, then a case is made, rolled to the bottom and this crazy wire tie machine thing would seal the box with two ties, and then we would pack them in the truck for delivery that day, learning to use a hand truck was second nature, a wonder all these memories, someone might look at me now and see none of this, a poet, a writer, a philosopher, a nerd, who cut his teeth in the bowels of urban central new jersey’s blue collar belly, I wonder how it shaped me, or was I already there…. hum?!?
Lyrics to the song, poetry if you ask me…
“I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you and I sing you a moonlight serenade Let us stray till break of day in love’s valley of dreams Just you…“
forgive the reiteration, this disclaimer is for those unfamiliar (hello) with my particular iterations, I don’t like to write in form but I like the idea/feel of haiku as it were, so here are a couple of little observations (sort of) I wrote today, sometimes I just am in the mood to write this way, and so I do…
(1) moon, phase shadow, fog night owl who who
(2) the calming sound of my april bamboo as the wind works through and plays each leaf
that first dandelion has appeared in my yard, sure enough to be followed by more, is this that produces the roar of the coming season with that golden mane? the transition of land, the prey shall inherit the earth from the predator, I quite see all the harbinger’s of spring in their many forms, the golden locks of golden rods, the marked pinks and purples of cherry blossoms, daffodils ranging on ‘scaped frontiers, even as I count these happenings the shift seems an instant, is the world a touch greener every minute, each moment, or are my eyes just adjusting.
I watched a cardinal below my window, in the bush, hurriedly and meticulously crafting a nest, flitting off like a bolt to gather more building materials, placing them with expert instinct feet and beak, then sitting upon them, shaking her tail furiously about to settle the lot down, shaking her whole body with decided fury, and settling down to check the foundation, over and over and over again, I watched the process, careful not to disclose my perch, or my intrusion into family work, and on I watch, wondering, wishing, wishing I had such singular devotion in my own daily pursuits.
Part of this post is from a poem I never finished, but this post and that poem have been rattling about my mind as of late these days, here is the unfinished work:
the harbingers of spring o’ soon upon the gate announcing the guests arrivals golden locks of golden rods rows on rows of cherry blooms sunlit hours stretch ’til moon the flowers of narcicus peak the boughs
I kind of like sharing the truth, or unfinished work, I am not some robot or perfectionist anymore, I want to let people in to see the inner workings, I do not have much free time so I write when I can and spur of the moment most of the time, it prevents me from posting everything I want but also holds me to the reality of what I got… any and all eyes on this post, thanks, that’s all for tonight folks.
Heck, I admit it, I am on Game of Thrones overload… I binge watched season 7 all day Sunday (man so much happened). I posted a review of the new season on my media review page (shameless plug here), I thought my brain would just shut off, but just when I think the well has dried up and I am the Sahara incarnate the muse lets me know she is not quite done with me yet (for good, for bad, for worse ? I don’t know)… so I literally wrote these tonight in a fever, well, OK not in a fever, they came to me, one when I was walking Samantha (the dog, I will post photos one of these days), to be fair, she walks herself, she is 10-ish, and the second as I was washing my face, seriously, I started the second poem in my bathroom scrubbing the old face, ah, the muse, she is her own thing and she owns me…
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you are my constellation bright upon that sky even in the coming storm I know your coordinates your pulsar a string of light always close ever far from my touch but always there when I look, for I hope when I pass to transform to light and join you in that nightly retreat
(2)
tethered by a chord
into this world I did descend
lives and loves, my time is spent
so here I am at the end of such road
an appointment due with no one at all
for you have taken all my friends
I hope that with this single coin
might bear passage
to see them
once again
All looks, likes, comments and the such is greatly appreciated. Criticism is welcome, how else can one grow ? be well, spring is upon the land, at least mine, still waiting for the iron grip of this winter to relent… but there was a single dandelion on my lawn… a marker toward the march of summer’s dawn…
so, the wave has begun the first domino has fallen a generation to come – to an end. I have seen the wave coming for some time off on the horizon off in that inevitable ocean but so soon crashing upon the shore this is the way of things for we are mere pillars of rock hewn of sand drawn down and back into the surf from which we once rose in and out the flow of this life, we pretend to have some modicum of control ever looking at that horizon and the coming waves as they come for me surely, some day
notes: for a while now I know a certain portion of my family is at the cliff, at the precipice of that final step, it is a generational thing, I have been admittedly lucky that death has not visited my doorstep too often, my grandfathers both died before I was two, my grandmothers died at advanced ages not suddenly, that is pretty much it, but now… it is only a matter of time where I fear (know) they will be dropping like flies, I can not imagine what it is like for my parents who have lost friend after friend over the past couple of years, death is not a fickle beast, you can do all you want but she still comes for you whenever she wants, my folks are not in great shape, or of particularly long DNA stock but they are around to witness the deaths of all their friends, it is a strange thing, one we all do not want to imagine or even live in, but it is always there,the horizon seems far but is always approaching. So this poem is about that, my uncle who is gone now, some months, he was an intellectual in such a way that he ordered no funeral or even memorial, I understand that from a logical/scientific perspective, but maybe those things are more for the living than the dead… a moment in time to bring together a family to remember they are indeed family, maybe even if just for a moment, and perhaps bonds can be reborn, or remade, or started anew as the younger ones in the family are transitioning into the elders and having their own children, the conveyor belt runs better with connectivity, and that requires time set aside to be together… just a thought or thoughts…
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I know, not my usual Saturday lighter musings, and the weekends are where posts go to die, I don’t care, I post what is on my mind, maybe it is because I had to wake up @ 5:30am today to go to work, Sam (the dog) gave me that look like “really dude? you are never up this early”, and of course she’s right, starbucks lasted until about 6pm then I passed out, back up again and writing this, so maybe my mind isn’t quite the same as usual, that’s ok, sometimes you gotta’ shake the tree and see what happens.
Music???? sure… not that you asked but damn I am a persistent mofo pushing what I love…
Simple and sweet, the vocals are just so friggin good, if you like 3 part harmonies and the Beatles.. well, this should be up your alley (except Doug has a better voice than any of the Beatles individually, I know blasphemy…). My cousin Renee worked in the city @ the time and sent me the CD with this track on it along with a signed poster, that had to be 1994, it made my year (thanks cuz!), and later I got to meet them many many times over the years, great peeps.
upon glorious victory! let my men take me from this field hoisted up on heralded shield a procession commence to great fanfare the songs of this day for long they share let the choirs rise high from those survived chapters now written in the tales of scribes, further look back in peaceful times the fallen are gone and shall have no lies
Notes: not to glorify war, but, war happens (one of those inevitable things), there have been many commemorations and such in literature, for some reason the topic hit me and I wrote this from the perspective of a dying commander in the wake of victory, maybe I was listening to this… (hey, I am an old school metal head after all), all comments and such are always appreciated, well, unless they aren’t well thought out, I am a busy guy…
I sat there, in too much obviousness, sometimes when you are trying to meditate, or clear your mind, you try to hard, in fact you try, that is the problem, there is the confine of time, I get it, I am the same, I have this confined space to get into my right mind during my lunch break, I like to think of music as a trigger, to allow my mind to linger and then fade into the background, I did not do a good job of it today, I was thinking about an upcoming wedding, a young cousin, the same age when I fell madly in love without the groundwork I have now to understand and worship the ground, I thought I might dedicate a poem to them, some wisdom, from me, the fool, but certainly weathered and known, of course I will cut a check to them as is custom but I would rather do something memorable outside of candelabras and the usual like… I wrote this, perhaps a start, it was my thought at the moment, in the moment, so, why not…
love is two stones in a brook where over the water perfectly flows shared experience coincided time fate in a window of all that could have ever been in billions of ever gone and since two stones in a brook side by side
notes…. I hope it makes sense to them, or maybe the ramblings of an older man who may understand or may be reaching for once what was, and perhaps what will be, once again, I hope
