green bloom

green bloom

by David Koblentz ♥ 1 Comment

almost as if immediately- (today)
I notice the green jump
flowing in on the edges
filling in the seams
I dream of the emerald isle
although I’ve never been,
the fringe of the landscape
taking shape now
rising up now,
the early signs did portend
and now the underlying
is undeniable-
the spring;
and the poor death-
of a cherry blossom’s plight
“you arrived too soon, my friend”
the party has just yet begun
and yet, there you are
scattered about the ground
falling like painted cards of rain
petals spent on trumpet sound-
yes, thank you, my friend
for sending out the invites
and setting the hall
for all the guests.
(thank you my friend,
I will see you next year, with renewed hope, again)

notes… this literally walked up on me… well, first off, for those not in the know, these are one offs, I write and am done, not a hard rule, but mostly my modus operandi, I want to capture my exact mood, not brood, so these pieces are really instant coffee (if you will), anyway, driving home tonight, I noticed how the banal aspects of my drive were … well, alive, like the little islands in between the highway divides, more green, so spring is here, I can not say it crept up but yet here I was… noticing the infringing green… and yet the decay of the harbingers… the daffodils are beginning to fade, the cherry blossoms are balding… so.. this is what this is about, I think… I might have woven some other things in there for you to think about…

robins-

robins-

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

robins-
surveyors, purveyors
those of flight
choose more readily the land
skirmish or a dance?
forwards and backwards glance
might they even taunt me
as I park my car
next to their claimed lawn
only to back away
if my shadow sways
to block out their sun
an unatural eclipse
that might unerve even us
should the shoes be reversed

“where have you been?”
red robin, all winter long
abandoned these parts
for a warmer lot
and perhaps
that makes you smarter than I
but yet you return
to hatch your brood
so perhaps my youth
was not such a waste
growing up in the same place
you choose to bring your own
and to return each year
to this ancestral home

maybe I will fully never understand the dance
the why, the how, the circumstances of this
but enjoy a flash of blush
upon my yard
graced by my friends and visitors
who have come so far
to come bring the spring once again
as the green is proselytizing the land
and the songs more ride the winds
-for a time
so why not enjoy the ride
and smile at this wonderous spectacle of time.

note… I almost want to have one as a pet to observe and learn, the wild ones on my lawn do not always understand my intent, nor should they I suppose, but I suppose to try… (and for those who do not read me often …. or ever, my works are almost all one offs, off the cuff, I wrote this today in one sitting, maybe ten minutes, that is just what I and the muse do…)

more about spring…

more about spring…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the newborn-
white cherry blossoms
line the path
under the watch
of the day moon
face half flooded
within the sky blue
like a faded island
in the vast ocean

notes… this is about cadence and haiku, or not haiku, but when I am in the mood this has the feel, the deal, and so what…love it or leave it… I am cool with that, and thanks for all eyes and spies who read this…

social media…

social media…

by David Koblentz ♥ 2 Comments

the mob is fickle
crazed with feral banality
anxious fangs to bare
ferocious reaction
the ire rips at flesh,
all in a maelstrom
whipped up by a construct,
in opposition
to unspoken truths.

the mob is fickle
to bend the knee
or break the jaw
or bow to current gales
to be swept along.

the mob is fickle
acts of one mind
to lay to utter ruin
the appointed enemy;
yet one only needs to see
the ruins of old world
to know the outcome
of this one
of this scene, before you.

notes… the age of free discourse seems to be near an end in this country or world, unless it is fought for, mob rule is easy, even if the mob may be right in some fashion the gallantry of western civilization is the mob at least, at the very least tolerating all voices of dissent, for at times, many, most or none, the mob may be wrong, and it takes fortitude and pillars to stand up for that truth… the strongest show their might by holding up the weak instead of the easy job of swatting flies with a hammer. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciate, your eyes, thank you for those as well, those who have read this, we are on this trip together for now… so, the universe chose us to interact… that is a fact… I don’t usually ask, but share the F out of this one… I think it deserves it… because I want people to bow to the mob, I want free voices, dissonant voices, I am a free speech absolutist… free speech, never less speech, offensive speech – all of it… sunlight is the best light…

and yet more signs of spring…

and yet more signs of spring…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the daffodil-
impatient bulb
for you are
indeed to spring
I wonder if
you have ever seen
a summer day

notes… for those who have been around a while (thank you) I sometimes do what I call “haiku” style, this is one of those, it is not the pure form, I sometimes like to do the form thing but often I like to do the ‘feel’ thing, this feels like haiku to me.. in spirit at least…

simply, spring…

simply, spring…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the mockingbird calls
in this carnegie hall
of sorts;
on a branch
above my lawn
the cover songs
plus, the original cuts;
waiting for the sign
the clock of the mother,
the earth aligned
we are slaves to hail the equinox
what the mock hails, I know not what,
but that bird knows the timing
far better than I
from instruments free of humanity
or clutter, the line of life is all
instincts, beyond measurement
for a bird, this simple thing
like breath
the hand hits the time
and the show begins.
(this is spring now, regardless of date, ask my friends, in the trees)

so I can share with you the genesis of this poem… I came home, as I mostly do, every day, just the other day, I stepped out of my car and heard “it”… the sound of spring, the animals clue me in, the birds mostly, they start to sing regardless of the official date of spring, so I heard that the other day, and then coming home on Saturday I was given a command performance by one little bird, sure, not for me, he or she was doing their thing regardless, but I was there, as the little bird, with no introduction, walked out on a branch and began to sing, well, not really sing, but imitate the songs of other birds in order, as mockingbirds do…it was quite amazing, I would like to think it was a performance for me, sure, why not… maybe, why not… but either way it was amazing, to see this little thing dominate the scene…. so that is what I am trying to recapture here, did I succeed ? I hope so, but if not I will try again… because… that is spring.. after all.

The cathedral

The cathedral

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the cathedral has awoken
life has risen up, up into the outer limbs
skyward-
reaching up, up towards the sun
from the seeds of death
leaves decayed long now, feed the ground,
have found, once more, that path to babylon,
listen, for there is a chorus now
a spark on the wind
the din of the wild sings
marking the coming, of the true spring
harken this arrival-
the cathedral has awoken
with bud tipped spires adorned
soon to bloom, in full choir.

the concept is somewhat simple, but are not some of the greatest things in this life the most obvious? the most simple? I like to take a moment, before I get in my car to enter into the mental demolition derby that is my morning commute, a moment to just take in the world, with hopefully a dash of nature, this morning, for whatever reason, I noticed the trees looming over the house, kind of a loose cathedral reaching up to the sky, the empty limbs makes this stand out much more, and as of yesterday I noticed… the sound of spring, it is a thing I tell you, there is just one day where the birds and all perk up, the calendar is not the matter, it is the clatter, just listen, perhaps it is the number or years on my ears and my experience on this globe, perhaps, but the sound, or song of spring is here, sure enough, when I was done looking at the towering spires that tower over my house, I looked to a closer tree, above me, and the buds have formed…

looking out upon the day

looking out upon the day

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

a mention, looking out at the blinds
a framed window on a rainy day
I feel like I should feel gloomy
but I do not,
this earthly day, spring in name and calendar date
evergreens do no justice compared to full bloom green
for even a pine forest, grows cold
and the spines do, subdue the ground
for now though, naked limbs all twist, upward, waiting
not providing the mask that once birds wore
in time soon, but not today
a grey drape looms over all things
so I should feel dreary, all things considered
but I do not,
maybe the looming comfort
of the soup
I made last night
has me at odds with what the world might
want of me, by design, this day,
so I say, let it rain.

notes… perspective people, does it always work ? nah… but sometimes you can view yourself from outside and see the inside, if you get my drift… like looking out the window at work… and letting the feelings feel like being…

senior hubris meets dude truth

senior hubris meets dude truth

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

should I be the one
to be exalted
by the masses
the crowd
thumbs up thumbs down
to concern myself with this
not bliss (bread and circus),
should I be more comfort
in the comport
of a good lady
in my consort
simple life
simple love
should that not be enough?
(so why do I struggle, so much, frankly – I am a dunce)

notes… those in the room who over think things raise your hand… I enthusiastically wave like a fan in the 200th row trying to get the attention of the band I love.. yeah, so knowing a thing is good, recognition is a good thing… but what do you with it… most of us have everything we need to know, but do we do it minute to minute in our daily life ? probably not, I am not one to point fingers except to point things out, I feel like some days I could be the light of the world.. why the hell not ? but I do not live up to that ideal .. or even close at times, that is failure, but I struggle finding the inspiration and energy to live that best life in every moment… knowing my moments are numbered or at least limited in this form… this is what I struggle with… and try to portray in my art, are you the same?

The Inn at the end of the road.

The Inn at the end of the road.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The End Inn-
at the end of it all, terra firma, the edge of even imagination, where the sun meets the stars, the moon might take a respite and sit to have a sip, space and time, for a time, put down their knives, for a spell or to spin one, a window is a gateway out on eternity, frosted over slightly, stained glass galaxies shine like cheap christmas lights, the beginning and the end, all in one point, The End Inn-
well worn walls welcome in, the age-d wood is warm and familiar, the patrons all strangers or not, admitted rumors, even the most surly of repute sit for a calm, a storm may brew outside and branches may bray and scratch nails, but not, not in here, within this confine, even without the light of heaven, there is divine providence shine, such as an open untouched meadow, tall grassy tails sway, tall tales to say, but all known to the travelers here, repeated as history, here at, The End Inn.
Paladins, thieves, scholars, sailors, salesmen, tailors, men of all endeavors and walks, from the high end towers to the seediest docks, but here, no judge, no learning eye, sins are tokens, shared like wine, a copper coin is the only toll, a fixed drink, over filled cups, a mixed crowd, the only clothing underneath is the common skin, the bond is one humanity, here, The End Inn-
so I pull up a chair, the barkeep swings down with a looking dare, a full froth of ale by candle’s light, so that I might join and regale, spin round my eyes and survey the room, for fellows and harlots in fullest of bloom, try as I might to recall names and surnames, just the same as common somewhere lost and found on my tongue, conversation comes out from the corners like the spring flashing rains, here and again gone, flashes, thunderous. boisterous roars, for I can not recall the time now, nor place, but I can count every face, sitting here, in my lot, knowing the comfort of this familiar plot, here – The End Inn.

notes… if you could have your own Fiddler’s Green … would you ? What would it be like ? I much imagine mine like the musings of Neil Gaiman in Sandman… the wandering land appearing here and there… I would like that.