among all this
a cauldron for we are in
thrown about the business
the veil of our lives
fueled by our eyes-
which can only see but a short distance,
only to a horizon perhaps-
even with enhanced lenses
spun out on the pinwheel we ride
all life,
all life we know is tucked in here
we wish to see a reflection somewhere
a mere blip on the radar
even if one-
a glimpse
a loch ness monster of the cosmos even
for our vast oceans
we barely know, ourselves
the strange depths do not compare
to that ever stretching cold-
spiked with stars and suns
blazing blisters as have spun
and died
to become the domain of nothing
of the reverse, a hole so black
as to swallow sight
the same sight we are so sure
shows us the world in true
but so little
so very little in truth,
when we can not even skip a jack
over to our near neighbor, dear andromeda
and perhaps find some poker partners
to freshen up our game, the river
and the odds?
oasis
if you see something beautiful, take the moment to stop and take it in… and a picture so you can go back there in your mind and share with those you are for… life is racing by, don’t just stop and smell the roses, listen to the birds, the songs of frogs, the symphony of water… (Baker’s Pond, Franklin Lakes, NJ)
birth-right?
I was always of the brand
that I was born of the castle (grand)
so unto her I felt the draw
not knowing the truth at all
but true my birth was but a flaw
a child floated down the nile same
abandoned willingly- this time,
left to bathe upon that river of chance
to be plucked up by whomever might
have fished out for a child that day-
of course I do not recall
the voyage, the arrival, anything but lore
but lore does not feed nor clothe, no
nor does a babe grow and understand the chore, so
here I am to reconcile my high born, aspirations
imaginations-
delusions-
illusions-
bedtime comfort wrapped comforts, so
how easily from a rampart look down
a tower’s stone, over the dawn
when all the while, with eye bent
just a hill or optical illusory meant
for I am no more than a pull
a push, an oxen rent-
to pull radishes with hands
soil to render under nails the black
no famed purple cloak can hide this fact
and there is no real difference then
between high tapestries and dirt linens spent.
observation from traffic…
I wish to be
a concrete weed
not for the cracks I create
but for the resiliency.
notes… (listen to the tune while reading)… so I as sitting, in horrendous traffic, nothing new, not here at least, not my daily commute, this was that times two, so I could pop in an album or two … or three, while I watched morons trying to weave the impossible weave to somehow beat bumper to bumper traffic… no, for all the weaving, and speeding stops, you are next to me again, and again, and again… as I just sit in my lane with patience.. and admittedly tunes.. otherwise I might be you, I see the non point of not going nuts, road rage is a concept I have touched, but not so much anymore, I think I have a good handle on things, I don’t like it… sitting in traffic that is, who does? but the answer is not to fight the horizon, the answer is to defuse your bomb, so that is what I do, when abused by the insane lack of planning and coordination of government, for the money that is collected, surely it could have been better spent… but apparently not, every inch of asphalt costs more here… but the populace accepts it… so what can I do as just the one guy, I can try on a micro level in my life, but that is then, this is now… crawling along the route… I see weeds… maybe that is a slur, I see plants, making it… however and wherever they can be… and what the hell do I have to complain about? these damn things will grow in the smallest crack, that inch of life, that fight… and so I wrote this (above)….
last unto piscis.
unto the clasp of talons
plucked cleanly from the realm
up into the heavens
only moments met
from fry to flight
in a cycle
better to have sunk to depths
and wallowed for the morrow
over reach
not all thieves are honest
not all burglars are noble
the taxman is a shadow
the senator a shade
let a king be chosen
from dishonest kin
wonder-wonder-wonder
how this web did spin
(and capture such insects…)
a promise to return.
a promise to return
“fools believe in such”
the fairy whispers directly
into my jaw, and under my pillow;
a judgmental gift-giver-
is resident in my chimney;
pray not that the flames of hope
burn through the flue of expectations.
darkness- and light
to-what can fend off darkness
but light?
for what can defeat the demons
but light?
so let the tales take flight in lieu of this-
and reside in places of honor, in our psyche to preserve the child’s eye
across the sky…
from sky to mile
like a solar wind in trip
gliding across the fingertips
of galaxies for my own;
I pray for the lesser-
for soon to will I bear
the destruction of a star
smoldering-
until there is no light
and only memory
a candle in a corner
washed past by the tides of time
notes… I wonder about self awareness, would I be better served not knowing anything? well… honestly the point is moot, because I am… too aware? perhaps. And maybe that is the function of religion for the masses, to alleviate this distraction. I am not dissing religion, who knows what is true, none of you can say for sure… neither can I … or anyone, and all else is hubris of the human mind. If you have your savior I am happy for your personal acceptance, it just does not work for me, it makes no sense, again… I do not hold myself above or as the arbiter of such things… I do believe in more than chaos creating all things.. there is some sense of order there… but it is so beyond us on this little orb orbiting one little star in an ocean we can not even conceive of in size in our minds, and that it fine, it does not provide me solace, but god does not owe me anything, no the universe… for the one thing I know I am alive… and that is the universe saying I was meant to be, so here I am… does it address all my concerns (death?)… no, of course not, but there is no way I did NOT exist… so there is always the chance I always exist… even in past tense.. if that makes sense, so that is where I am…
ultimate.
let me die tomorrow
for I have loved
and that is enough.
my apologies to her. I finally understand and value that purity, it hit me, so justly… but I have had the taste of pure love, and that love bestowed upon me, many people can not say or claim the same… I hope to obtain even a glimpse of that again… but it has been many years now, nothing is the same, and I think of her, and our perfection of circumstance, if that is not god, I care not to exist… but I do, and I persist… until that end which is nearer than the begin, I still imagine our life together, as it was and never was… but I feel, complete, knowing my defeat but … I do not want to die alone but I feel at peace with being me…
sometimes happiness is a photo
Unnamed pond I have passed thousands of times in my life… decided, what the heck, I am going to stop in today… technically this is a private pond in the estate section of Colonia NJ, something no one outside the area would ever know about, but one side road has just enough public space to take some pics… and I got this… I wasn’t sure in the moment if I got it all… but I did… a fish jumping out of the water… 3 turtles in the foreground (one is a head only just north of the obvious two, like a turtle triangle), the cool island in the far end of the lake which is a haven for ducks, and other turtles sunning themselves on downed trees to the right… I can not take credit here… I can only thank the powers that be for putting me here at this moment… and being able to share it with you… so, again… I implore you, get out there, show the world the local beauty of your piece if the world… there has to be some… This is New Jersey… where I grew up and reside… just a slice…
Shades of My Garden 