the fall-in
this slow slide
as leaves shuffle by
again, my friend
so here we are
like parting dolls
at a bus stop set
sewn mouths to witness
the world as she went
glass eyes to record and surmise
another chapter written
another goodbye
my friend,
I will see you again
on the other side-
just something that popped in my head
the eyes are not a window
the eyes are the truth
and I see
in hers
what I know
from body movement
from a smile
the ease of time spent
and lament
but rejoice
wandering in the forest of my mind
for so long
you forget in moments
memories seem like a movie you saw in the 80s
or someone else’s life
not your own
a spectator
in my own skin
for too long
and in an instant
in her eyes, I see what I know, what I lost
my pulse quickens
the subtle hum of joy trembles below
not trepidation as once might have informed
no, I just want to hold her
head to my heart
to feel her particular warmth
and sit there as one
for a time,
cherish the moments, write them down on your skins.
(and a note to any and all… just a reminder I write and post, very rarely do I edit, not that agonizing over every word was not my thing ages ago, but as things go now, this is just my bulletin board, if it comes out great, great, if not, also great, that’s just me, throwing out bottles into the sea, some have messages of worth.. some might sink into the sand… so be it, in a happy way…)
things change, even in a small lifetime, I can only imagine the ripples of time over long periods, like eons, not here, in this urban town, the burbs, the typical jersey suburb, parcels of land measured out, a lawn, a driveway, the american dream, it seems, with gusto and plows, concrete and asphalt, light poles strung like christmas decorations lining the parade route of the daily back and forth, I heard this was once farmland or even a chicken coop, but that was a different lifetime, before mine, but in my short observation, I have seen a shift in some and none, most of the birds remain the same, cardinals, jays, robins and the like, the rabbits of jack in spades have been a main stay, nervous little critters, then there are those canadians who really love to stay here year round these days, you would think they might explore the further south, and move to florida in waves, but perhaps compared to nova scotia this is like miami down, maybe they were there when I was younger, but I did not much notice the curious minions of northern parkway dogs like I do now, little watch towers looking about but oddly they seem smart enough (unlike a chicken) to cross the road as I can safely say I have not seen a flattened one, and least I forget the slyest of them all, the slinky foxes that skate along the hedge rows and meander in the shadows, to think all this life swirling about in just this tamed space, all it would take is a blink, and nature would roll into place.
under the basking moon
the cool tide shifts
for sweat hides swiftly now
leaves tremble and turn
squirrels bury their treasures
the mother is tucking the edges now
the silks of spiders grows vacant
there is no door
there is no key
but yet
I am the warden
of my own destiny
Foote’s Pond Park, Morristown NJ… sometimes a wordsmith can use pictures to invoke imagination… so… what words can I set on you that can encapsulate the beauty here? instead of just share the experience… (reminder: I park hop all over NJ (and NY/PA/CT) and post clips of the places on my Youtube channel for those interested)
only the vastness of the ocean can make us aware of even the taste of space, the magic of glittering water in fading sunlight, each wave curling around it’s own shadows into the break, a constant, steady heartbeat, the never ending rolling, the sound of what we can only master a piece of, infinity, just sitting here trying to inhale a memory, to breath in, take internally all the masterful ingredients of this intoxicating brew, if I might sample forever, or tickle infinity, or just cozy up with eternity for awhile, but alas, time does not allow me such luxury, or anyone for that matter, in that way we are all the same, a thousand years from now or ten thousand now behind, time, almost a stranger here but ever that hand on the shoulder, but dreams can cover over the sobriety of reality in this endeavor, so surely the sun does finally log off, ending my journey, as if I am the only one on earth at the moment, not a lonesome feeling, but the ever calming presence of the ocean, pulling and waving, breathing in my ear, speaking a language older than man, but somehow the ear adjusts and understands.
this is where I was while musing… the closest beach to my house, about 15 minutes, sure, it is not like the sugar sands of south Jersey, or maybe not that pristine (but recovering), shame on me for not going more often than I have in the past, the ocean is cleansing, it is a reminder of the vastness of the world (and beyond), our small part, and the tide is therapy… at least to me…
I wish to enter my summer dance
but alas she has already departed for the ball
so I turn my intention, to the fall
a last bounty
a sun’s retreat
the leaves relief
the carpet
so yet the grass may sleep
upon brash and darkest night
of tides roaring to the hum of all else;
I see the light
from the shore
in the depths
of her eyes
sparkling-
calling me home
in this storm
a whisper wisps of false hope
but these long salted years
have worn me down
so even if I broke
upon those rocks
the last thing I will see
before I drown
is the light
in her eyes.
(and I can lie peacefully now
at the bottom of the sea)
as a child, or young adult
I used to not know this undertow (so well)
this current current
but now the flow-
so familiar-
regardless of time spent elsewhere
on other shores
on other endeavors
looking to not remember
the truth of the universal
and how this brings up my soul
wraps my heart in hope
to sail this path once more
with another-
I wonder
always the toe dip to concur the temperature
so sure-
but never
to be sure
one must endeavor
once again
those waters
to see if they flow together
(for a time or forever)
for I hope for the latter?
until the never – I shall
until that golden ring
an ending and a beginning
to be bound
once found – again.
Shades of My Garden 