been sky,
so there I looked-
and where there was once-
suddenly, as if siphoned off by a straw
or perhaps swirled down a drain
in a blink-instant
an atmosphere drained- into nothing
pairing mantle with space
a planet more like an asteroid
stripped of the veil
the cocoon-
but this is no metamorphosis
nor looking glass
unless –
unless the butterfly is?
unless the transformation is-
death.
thresh-holds
barriers. walls. bulwarks. ramparts.
we all have them to one degree or another, we also have the means to overwhelm these defenses or allow the same, knowing and preventing are not necessarily siblings raised in the same house however, but I guess that is the experience of dodging enemy bullets over and over, feeling the weight of the yoke on your neck, over and over, dealing with a situation once and same again, over and over, perhaps this dulls the blade, lessens the bite, but a wound may still suffice from a skirmish in the realm, is so ingrained the aim to win? stitched into the fibers of our cells, the stubbornness to not bow a head and shake the hand of surrender when the goal of victory is no longer at hand (or within reason from the onset), the cost of a fight may not be worth the investment, but when to realize this and give up the prize, even if the prize is pride, or just non-self awareness, even still, this little revelation written is seemingly lost in instantaneous combustion at times, what to do? feel up and down your arms, or hands, feel the scars, where they have been, failure has helped out a fair share of cartographers, but writing a map and reading one are also two different crafts, and mastery of one may only leave the glass half full (I am an optimist, after all), so store this away, in some not so secret place, and when the time arrives, open the document case, unfurl the map of where you have been, and perhaps it will inform you of where you are going, roads, mountains, ravines, swamps, all manner of peril or perhaps golden fields swaying in the glistening summer sun – all these, let the darkness of times be the fuel to your guiding light. (hint: you will fail, but the opportunity to disavow your shortcomings will rise again and again like the sea on the shoreline, so breath, because this is the way the world has always been, for everyone greatly before you, and those long after).
I chose this song because my demon (or one of them) is traffic… literal crosstown traffic… I was working on fulton street this week in Manhattan (that is NYC to those not in the know)… $14.75 for the holland tunnel toll, $46.50 to park all day… the traffic is free though, every, and I do mean every cross street trying to get near the holland tunnel was jammed and this was not a busy week… so yeah, crosstown traffic, my head was pounding, I was feeling claustrophobic, I wanted to just hold down and honk my horn or raise my hands like moses and part the red sea… traffic is one of my triggers, I know it, I fight it, I try like hell to not let it bother me… the people just walking in front of your car, the people not moving up when there is space… even typing this now it is winding me up… and I know I can not do anything about it, I have to take a deep breath and accept it.. but damnit it… my nature, nature… I am getting better about it…based on experience and outcome… but… but..
origin of song
shaping the unseen,
might I tell you a secret?
(something you already know)
taking the air
and pushing that air
through a thoroughfare
designed for the task
aligned for the ear-
taking breath
to transmute a sound
nurtured on notes
becomes a song,
weaving a melody
from within your mouth-
how can this be?
such discovery-
and endless
endless- harmonies.
reflection, time, memory becomes like a dream
how rain flooding the margins makes
the reflections on this cobbled stone road
under my common feet falling
toe to toe
as I fade, into this known-
dream.?
perhaps a concocted reality
how would I know?
this now feels like
a place, I have only ever seen
in moving pictures and on movie screens,
how familiar this might feel-
but an ocean so far in between
there and now
tells the truth of all these tales-
I need to see her – for myself, again,
to clarify the existence,
one day, some day, perhaps- my dearest love
but fortune, the past does not seem like a memory- anymore.
upon bree (outside the shire)
upon Bree, the hill
lying at the crossroads of the Great East Road
for there did dwell
both hobbits and men alike
in the confines of the Pony
to gather the start of trials then
three days from the shire walk
to take a pint with free-folk
so even the one ring did pass through
through the gates then to the west
on that final quest upon Mount Doom
to spare the land from foul gaze
the gloom to spread from Mordor’s eye
so, the smallest of things
can conquer dread armies
with hearts larger and stronger
and the indomitable will
that is nourished by friendship and kin.
stationary…
I saw a white picket fence today
and wonder where is mine
but then again
was that ever my dream-
to begin with?
I saw a man walking a ridiculously small dog,
how long has it been
since I made the effort to begin,
rather than sit here
and just observe
observational poetry, something I wrote while driving, which happens a bunch, for me, I have journals stashed in my car, my backpacks, pretty much anywhere I might wind up just in case, a ziploc with paper and a pen – I recommend it, you might surprise yourself… or not, but why the hell not give it a shot ?
l’arbor
l’arbor
for I might like to know
the language of the trees
to speak out among them
upon the windly breeze;
but perhaps,
that is only a curtain call
and the elemental communication
resides in roots-
right beneath us all.
notes… there is a quiet thing about trees, you could swear you hear whispers sometimes, sure, that is probably my imagination but… maybe not… this one just popped in my head, I swear it is the strangest thing, I do panic at times like “man, I haven’t posted in like “x” days”… I truly try to not think about it and let it all happen naturally, but I am human, I let it go as much as I can but this is an honest space, so I don’t mind telling you I am not 100% on my mission to be pure, meaning I just want to post and forget about likes and all that, I have been doing this long enough where it should kick me in the brain to let it all go, but those chains… it takes shedding and getting used to, but I am working to just post my work with no refrain… in my head the rationale is there, I should not care at all, not caring in terms of just laying myself bare… I know in my head that in 100 years none of this will matter, it is just getting my grey matter to accept that hard cold fact and just be … a tree. like “here I am”, period… that’s my goal, that is why I post unedited material, just the source, me the spiggot, just trying to get that damn virtual Brita filter over my maw…
the sun, the winter, days off (thoughts of an over worked soul, admittedly my fault).

P…erhaps a paradigm shift in my thinking is needed, for my future mental health, it seems obvious of course, but aren’t some of the simplest things the hardest to implement to get them un-entangled from the pernicious layers we create as buffers or boundaries, I had two days off this weekend, which, may seem crazy to some, is a rarity for me, and has been for 20+ years now, both days this weekend were nearly flawless, I can’t say I indulged them fully, I love to lounge in lucid dreams, truly, and once you have learned to drive such things the temptation to relax and watch a movie in your mind of your own making is… divine, but I did manage to drag my ass out of bed with enough time to at least enjoy the days, but my favorite time? sitting on my deck, buttressed all about by my bamboo children, all of them sprouting now like mad from a sort of late spring boost (not much rain), there is always that tipping point of panic when I don’t see them growing like mad but they always pull through, so far so good, just sitting on my deck taking the world in, a deer and a tiny babe waltzed on through, paying me no mind, I’m sure they were aware, listening to the breeze play through the towers of trees, I do not have some huge backyard, just enough I suppose where I only see the outcrops of urban-ity creeping in on the edges if I so choose to look, instead I like to focus on the shadows thrown by a single candle thread, dancing in the breeze, even the urban sounds make for a good backdrop, the hum of my A/C unit in my right ear, the hum of my neighbors pool apparatus in my left, the occasional, or pretty usual plane slight-screaming over head, that time of night where it is past sunset, but barely, and there is still enough light to see whatever clouds are still hanging around, no exotic colors, just a nice deep indigo with white whisps around, this is my charging station.
So this morning, after the usual drive in, with the usual jack-assery of many drivers which might illicit rage some days, today just a laugh at the ridiculousness of said jack-assery, I realized a few things… take more days off, a simple enough one. perhaps take my 2 day weekends in the winter months as to maximize the daylight, and conversely try to perhaps schedule earlier days in the more daylight months to take advantage of the longer days and longer sunsets, I think at the pace I am going I am more like burning my batteries out over the winter in both physical and an emotional sense, and then over-charging or over compensating in the warmer months… sure there is also vitamins involved and such (like vitamin D etc.) but this is not that blog, I am talking generally for me, of northern stock here in the USA, I wonder if the constant and yearly fluctuation is the erosion that ages this rock? So maybe I should be more conscious of such simple things, not taking time off for times off sake, or maybe so, but also to align more with the patterns of the seasons to benefit the most of the resources available from mother Earth. Of course I could just win the Powerball and move to an island… I could do that too… but just in case that does not happen, perhaps I need to schedule my schedule into 4 seasons…
observing little birds
I’m not sure the make or model
of this little feathered fellow
pacing cross’d on by my window
curiously-looking
maybe wondering
the same of me but mirrored
sometimes you swear the little birds you observe get you..
truth, time and tongues.
if there is truth involved-
then the writings
in an arcane tome
will still have
relevance
today
a taste- on our modern tongue,
as far removed
from original sin
as to then
commit
our own (to begin).
just because we can chat across the globe does not mean that we have advanced as much as we may think.