remaining where the mountains go
to tender my inner soul
capped with snow, a hot iron strike
upon my back, the solstice glow-
a balance struck
a deal in hand
as heaven ducks to bow
and kiss the land.
one of those where the words just popped in my head, I was driving just looking off in the distance, not even mountains, just where the sky has that appearance over the tree line off by the horizon
as I rise-
detached- and upwards
toward the terminal sky
I wonder why gravity has abandoned me
or was it life?
either way, my mind writhes
with the puzzle
as always as everyone and some none
the key, to that doorway
above;
the terminal sky-
encircles our world
a womb, and beyond-
the obvious tomb but yet-
the apothecary of life eon
and all ingredients-
as I drift higher
each layer is thinner
like an ocean to a shoal-
no, not much distance now, no
I drift-
soon, into that darkness
that absence
only via the sail of a soul.
Spring Lake NJ… you would think staying across the street from such a place would foment the creative (writing) juices… to the contrary, I am infused with calm, sure, this time of year there is only a smattering of people here… that helps, being near the ocean ain’t so bad either… I walked around the lake last night and was the only person doing so… I couldn’t write anything superior to what I was seeing and taking in… so instead of words sometimes I post pictures…
barriers;
throwing random letters at this
chain- link- fence-
investing in the cosmic madness
that somehow- my efforts
might spell the word- entrance;
but then I pause-
what if the answer
is really the word: exit.
notes… in my head I was picturing that bridge in paris that had all the locks (there is one in Bay Ridge NY too… not as scenic, over the belt parkway, and probably a host of other imposters the world over), kind of a shame they took the locks down, they should have put up a fence adjacent to the bridge for the purpose… the sentiment was not a bad one… and this world could sure use some nice sentiment locked in…
for this lament-
I say to you, dream-
the open fields-
the rolling hills of summer wheat-
the shepherd and his flock, roams
the shepherd with his pen, writes
to define this world again
in kind words and thoughts
and show them the way-
once more.
notes… these words came to me as is… for once in my blabbermouth personality I think I will just leave them as is totally for other’s interpretation, I have mine, surely, I was the vessel, or vassal I suppose… so it matters not what I think, it matters what touches your soul or resonates in your time.
suffering is currency;
means to sew in the seams, between
composed, of bloody fabric and bones
some goals achieved by joy-
but alas, humans we might love a good war
with cannon and gun
or a personal one in our own cauldron of hysteria
in our personal lives
boiling conundrums we contrive,
but the price
what might we have to hang at the door
repeating cycles ever the more
the faces of horror do little to deter
from black and white to color
repeating cycles ever to pace
the path to peace
that never seems to be- withstanding.
should I cry for the world? and lament, or put my head down, head phones on, and drone on, the fight is not on my lawn, least not yet, and not yet that long ago, 9/11 was on my doorstep, time does not heal wounds, it just makes people forget, and the farther away from events like a probe travelling away towards the stars- further each minute from mother earth, the problems seem smaller from these great distances, time is a heartless beast, all consuming, for even the joys of life get gelded in the end, I suppose that is what photos and trophies are for- and pins of stars on a uniform, how can you live in the moment when the moment is already gone… so, at times, I lament.
this is cape may beach proper, across from the Marquis de Lafayette hotel (the first 2 pics are from the 6th floor, they allow pets also!), of course I ate a few times at Oyster Bay (fantastic) and you have to visit the famous (open 365) The Lobster House if only to take out from the insane fish market (or go out back for takeout/raw bar). I threw in the last pic for the day moon… if you like these I take vids and post them on my Youtube channel, and if you have any questions about Cape May or the area… go ahead, I have been going there for literally decades…
notes… pics from Carol Nicoletta Park – Shellbay Avenue Pier
perhaps seasons are sins, but only where there are four of them, northern then, for the run up to the ball, the merriment in the sun, to lose all your plumes, to dive depth into the blackish doom – of cold, to hang on as the night goes long, pumpkins rot, trees are scorned, and for the transgression of just possession the sun’s light strays, a matter of degrees on the mother’s face, a number of degrees below the pace, of a slowing heart, hibernation into that night, to turn over a new year, to be taken from the light, a candle in cage to survive the trap, to burn away until that comes the next season, the light of day – back again to begin the sin again, and so comes the April’in rains…
I was thinking about how the seasons are like the cleansing of the earth of sin, which seems clever at first, but then I am slanted both figuratively and literally by my hemisphere bias… but, what is a jersey boy supposed to do? I can’t be you or someone else, I have to put forth my experience .. so…
Shades of My Garden 