do not fear the snake if you are a snake be aware to bite first
notes… semi haiku, I mean in feel, I did not count the syllables and obviously this is not 3/5/3 of 5/7/5… but no one owns the rights to the form… (or at least I am not aware of such a copyright claim), and in terms of the content of this post… heck, this is almost laughable… these words popped into my mind while watching Conan the Barbarian (the original)… so art from Arnold.. yep… I was thinking of the snake scenes and symbolism (which is all woven throughout that movie)… so keep your eye out as to what inspires… thoughts?
one can never tell, for we all tend our own land in our own time, in our own way, a hodge-podge of native plants, mixed in with various varieties, maybe foreign by design, others we are informed to plant by the agrarian hierarchy, some thrive, for a time, some wilt, some sneak about like vines, others bear fruit, quite the menagerie when you have some age to till your acreage, a simple stroll reveals the years, the sparkling blossoms, the empty half rotten stumps, some only peak in seasons, to sleep for some time before a return for a short burst run, others are marathons, ever-green even against even the coldest sun, yes, these are the shades of my garden. once I did walk these paths with another, some years ago, where we built our own little section together, certainly distinct, intertwined, more vibrant than just mine, but again, that was many years ago, a pathway I can not even find anymore, and the memories, well, they are all in pictures as the physical representation has disappeared into the earthen past, even to the point where I question if that was real anyway, who was that person, back then, not these same two feet I think, or would like to, so I tend to my own now, again, but I am changed like a river that meets a fork, or perhaps a dam, I would hope to be still flowing out over the open land – exploring, planting as I go, in my own way, perhaps to find another, to share, an eve, for if there is one might I find such a union again. (stream of consciousness post)
notes: so what are your thoughts? can you picture the garden you have created? beauty, beast… and all ?
Do I dwell in the house of my own sins… seems I can not extricate myself from this neighborhood, or perhaps I can not even escape my very own skin, I feel I wear my shame as if they are tattoos, I feel they are seen even if the ink is invisible, because this is still perceptible to me, this is what haunting is, how can I throw up a mask, and never see through eyes looking at the construct – from the other side, outside, how would I know if my game, my rouse, my trick, my defense – is an adequate fence, but on the inside, the strength ebbs and flows, I wonder if the cracks there do expose, these are not just skin deep, they are buried in the dirt of my soul, just under the surface, markers mark, like gravestones, a sinking feeling when to atone seems fruitless upon those stoic stones with slight passages, like a leafless peach tree alone in a field, ever dark, even in the sun’s glory, seemingly not suitable for even an inhabitant, or a rodent at that, and the roots still staked, snaked, into that fallow foul ground, so perhaps these are not tattoos I see, they are stains, once ingrained can not be pulled from the grasp of frame, much like my flesh can be separated from bone, until that end, until that end I wear these, or am tagged by these, yes, I can not change the past, but it is forever changing me, perhaps even holding me back, and no my sins were no mortal wounds, but transgression is in the eye of the beholder, and the mind of time that loops in such a place. (stream of consciousness post…)
upon that ghostly domain soldiers thrust out upon in waves left to die face down and drown and drown the days even after breath has passed foul tide and stench has raised the war sounds rise to cover the noise of the dead the dying and injured stead can the shore open forth and then absorb the horror of the last moments of men boys, men soldiers sent in thrown against the walls of iron cross with pure luck and harsh determined lock who might stand at last who might retain humanity, bound forever within these sands of the sights, the sounds, the thoughts of this calamity at hand– of man.
notes… this one was written after I saw Dunkirk but mostly I was thinking about Normandy, but war is war, the same applies whether the line is on a beach or a street, war is as old as humanity, sometimes there is no choice, but there is always a price. (plus I am an old school metal head who grew up on slayer so… there is that…)
searching for the ruby cobbler- (for I certainly don’t fancy heels) a whirlwind rises, a dog barks, a picnic basket quakes, might I procure a pair of my own to gather up from here and take me on home
notes… one of those that I have no idea why it popped into my noggin, but it did, so, here it is, such as it is… sometimes you just let the creek of words flow as it must, a spring, bursting from stored up rain, running from the mountain top, filtered through rock, so clean…
surrounded; celebrate the beauty and bounty of the common miracles of every day life.
notes… a talisman, a reminder, I am reminded of inception, they had their own little totems to tell the real world from dreams, and what of us? we should be the same in some way, something we can see that is an instant reminder, a grounder, a soothsayer whispering in our own language in our own ear, may it be a cross, a bauble, a photo, who knows? but find something, and revel in each breath as best you can, smile, yes, we all get caught up in the rungs, myself, as guilty as any others in this regard, but I am trying to be more aware, of the literal air, every breath means the universe wanted me to exist, here, now, the why? well… I am still working on that one…
a parade at night under waves of moon light on this this feral equinox; distant shore a subtle roar of diamonds shimmers… (in the light)
the breeze a tease slides over hands cold sand insulates feet toes dig in underneath shadows dance a slow sway back and forth a hypnotic stray, I have found this place to stay lost as long as might my grace my sleep with eyes open on this beach of or in -my dreams…
notes…. I imagine a Cast Away scenario… of course without some other guy from Sex in the City sleeping with my Helen Hunt (especially at that time, although she still looks great especially in the movie “The Sessions” (great flick if you have not seen it) ), I just love the idea of being alone on some far flung beach with no one in sight, at night, in the tropics.. I have had this experience, or a close proximity of same, a couple of times when I was in the Florida Keys, alone on a beach, just me, the waves, the clouds, distant lightning lighting up the scene, I felt alone but part of the whole thing, fulfilled, I can not tell you how I miss that feeling, it was like I was part of the molecules of the ocean, as storm clouds came in, in formations, like floating city-nations, the tropics are like that, thunder storms are very localized mostly, cells you can see and track, rain on one side of the street and not the other… I always go back to that, that peace, that moment, a passing moment as all are, I wish I could describe it better to you, the water glistens and smiles, and literally shimmers, the sound of the waves becomes your own heartbeat by proxy, they flow as one, for a moment, under the sun reflecting off the moon, bent light that gives life, even at night, the barely hanging on palms that look like you could poke them over with a finger, bent over the horizon, leaves provide some strange shadows like stripes of a tiger, but nothing is fear, there is just being, I wish I could capture that… and share that… to all, and most of all to myself, but just the recall now… does help… and I remember.
snow capped bush- trimmed bob weave under the cap glaring sun clear as miles blue sky fifteen degrees seen from indoors a window a scene perfect dichotomy
what is it? does it mean anything? might I be cleaopatra’s needle, a scion in the great egyptian desert, a sign from a supposed great age, reduced to a marker in a park here, surrounded by the accouterments of this age, from pharoahs to skateboards, all seen under a carved eye glyphs, and then some should I survive some more, but then what, just another rock, left to grind down into sand and dirt and dust, pushed to the shores and depths, as all things are, with time, as pangea breaks her shores defined…
and legacy, careening through the stars, that golden disc, how chuck berry will live on, a creation with less computing power than my phone, by far, and farthest now, although we equate nearly the same age, hurtling through space, except I am tethered, by fate, I suppose my particles one day, might, make that same journey past the heliosphere into interstellar space, not recognized as the same face, yes, that is correct, but some molecule, some morsel, some small part of this whole, this identity, this blink of life on the miracle blue marble, all we know, maybe some recognition, a thought, a glimpse, a reflection in the tiniest of dna, a strandthat reaches all the way back… to me… a legacy into the stars…
stages, performances, when does the charade end, with the closing of the curtains, and what may beget an encore, if there is one, or intermission even, or a pause of the sun, such as now. life has felt like an empty cocoon, a purposeless vessel, a vapor womb, these covid years, a strange new vice, a prison perhaps, shuffling about in all the same spaces with new rules put on our places, like saddles and straps on animals we want to do what is right for the rest, to get along, for the road, for now, at least, but the blanket thrown has made things bleak, as week bleeds into weeks, this feels like all one long winter to me, there was a summer in there, somewhere (I think, did I blink?), but this feels like one prolonged indoor throng, we still have the same jobs, well, some, at least I do, the same surrounding cast thereof, maybe this whole experience has just set a giant magnifying lens on things, or maybe these times are as bleak as they seem (less to see on the tour which highlights the banal du jour), grey days, even a light snow brings no sense of joy, just another day bouncing somewhere from 24 to 40 degrees, hard to tell them apart, days are weeks or months, a drag on the soul to a crawl, maybe when the spring returns I might become fulfilled again, free my bamboo trees from the greenhouse fortress I built for months like these, left out and open to the exposed air, branches shooting outstretched, to feel a wild breeze up from knees, the warming, yes, I miss, the warming of the sun, somehow the glare off ice patches or my windshield thatched in the morning is not the same (or even a toasty heated seat), not even a pale resemblance I’m afraid, now, only 5:30pm and the sky is dark, not much of a hue change really, from another grey day, just toned down, I seem to barely remember the sun, how the mind plays drama onto itself, a stage, a play, an improv group romp that relies on past memory but also sudden circumstance, so here I am, one less day, one thrown away, more of my breaths escape into the ether, never to be recovered, at least by me, a known finite number counting down somewhere, inmy dna, or karma, or dumb luck, or free will, or the script in a book I am not yet privileged to read. (sigh)days like these make it hard to believe in the light…
notes… as usual I add some other thoughts (yours are always appreciated as well so feel free), so far it is Dave 2, Covid 0…. so yeah, I have had it twice, once before the vaxxes were available, once since, I am personally vaxxed as a promise to my dad who was taken by the virus (one of the early casualties before the vaxxes came out, he fell, cracked his noggin, we took him to the hospital as a precaution and there was an outbreak there (movie style, like ET with plastic tubes and all), dead one week later), I was luckier than most (or many) I did get to say goodbye, in person (suited up like Marty McFly as Darth Vader), not everything I wanted to get out, it all happened so quickly if you know how hospice decisions can just happen in seemingly an instant, he didn’t want to be on a ventilator but his last wish was for me and my brother to be vaxxed, so I did, I would never tell anyone else what to do medically, that is up to you, good, bad or indifferent you (and I) make choices every day, sure, the outcome is eventually the same for all of us so… who am I to judge, and I don’t want to anyway, we will all face the end in our own way, I hope there is more out there, for me and you, my little blog here is hopefully a love letter to that hope… because I truly feel that way…
Shades of My Garden 