waiting room, there is a window (always a window) stopping to admire the view ever-changing molecules ever-flowing change even on this calm day or nights, the light lets pass a signal to our brain the waiting room with the window and once more no, once only we find a door (the exit … or?)
notes… written at the car dealership (I know, how romantic)… but isn’t this all a waiting room? at times… we are in our little existence, our building, our world, looking out, from a window or the sky-light that caps our ceiling on earth, something is out there beyond, and I don’t just mean the ancient alien guy, there is a door we all go through, what’s on the other side? I wish I knew… I sort of hang my hat on the ole “matter is not created or destroyed” but what if my consciousness is set aside? what then? I admit, it terrifies me, even if I won’t be aware, I will just be… “gone”.. but I did exist so… at some point in time, I was there… but that does not quell the rumors ruminating in my fear…
the desire to lock myself in my own room spin a yarn for a time or two as the outer light does fade spinning round the barrier a protector, a soft wall but yet a border just the same so I might pause and rest ahhhh, respite no, waking sleep ability, to transform and emerge in time -to fly (forward).
t-hr..e-a-d..b-ar…e: I might imagine the fright, and the hindsight, upon looking back, at gomora, mysins were cast against only myself and her, but targets do not matter, had I struggled this long, so long, to not look back, perhaps, I would have spared miles upon my back and feet, only to come to this precipice gazing point, that all I cared for is back there, regardless of the infestation and decay of years, and here I wind up wandered, squandered- threadbare, so, do I dare?
left alone in the desert at night with no stars no moon to guide only thoughts those memories no oasis left to lie quite awake alone- for all of night
left alone in the forest at night not even an owl but a full moon above reach above the trees all surround pikes like walls staked to the ground shadows bend and tuck the bars around not a sound I curl in forever night
I remember a campfire tended to the warmth rising like a spire a canopy a bio-dome down to embers now gone flickers linger and succumb chasing into the sky like stars long gone- cocoon of death transforms as the one absorbed by the universe once more to sleep in other beings dreams dispersed from our-self-forming seed absorbed into the atoms of others- eternity?
notes… a musing in my status, even if surrounded we all die alone, we are not born alone, we are guided into this life, brought along with a mother’s hand in the womb, travel a path to our own existence, and then ? who knows… but it is there, always there, most of us live as if this will go on, but even the best and worst of us are gone, can this all be for naught? a cosmic tease? or is their more? and the only way to know… is down that path we all must go… does it pay to waist my mental wealth on these questions ? probably not… but for the life of me (pun intended) I can not ignore them… we die alone but I do not wish to die alone, is there a difference?
and as a reminder or a tip to newbies to my blog… these works are off the cuff, I wrote this within minutes, all of it, no torture of words, no wringing my ends, just my thoughts spitfire onto the page, that is what is what the muse so chooses me to do, so is this literary perfection ? no… or even my best expression ? perhaps not… but so it is, the cauldron that has consumed me since birth, even this little swirl of words… there are people out there who will not get it, and some who do, I send good will to all of you as we are here stewarding this world at this same time… for a short time… our time, we are together, as different or as same as we are… because.. we ARE….
crows on the rooftop there- what are they trying to tell me? (light signals switch, black eyes twitch- looking) they are not permanent residents at least not in this noisy cloister murder contingent; occupying whole oak tree and surround what is so special about this house (now) what draws them so here and near why do they understand better than I they possess any land, under, the flown sky
notes… sometimes, OK, often I look out the window… and wonder, what draws a crowd, what is the call, what am I missing? something? or nothing more than a dinner bell? or deeper?
imagination is on the wind sometimes drying on the vine or a snake through a valley slides out into a plain flat-up-face-frolic lounging in the mist of sudden rain taken to steering flocks, of wings teasing out sculptures from moisture forms at times brash dervish made of hell-bind-self to the quiet mind, a rested leaf underneath, a blooming tree gossamer seeds, floating about like armadas of tiny balloons aloft who knows where they might plant and sprout out a thought, from the land – or not!
a muse walks into a bar… and how would you know? maybe the peanuts make a face, or bubbles begin to race, condensation sighs, or a barstool sings as it rides across the floor, their is music in even the most mundane, after all…
your eyes uphold me like a lotus blossom upon a pad upon a pond a path I have walked into that beyond I wonder if I will find you there when you are right here surely I am lost in this moment in your stare in your eyes for your love is my compass and my guide
the commonality of dust the fragility of man but my soul longs for the coast even though I rose from the land my heart yearns to be part of the sea if eternity so blesses, this transformation may I slip into that deep my blood to water forever as my keep
seconds are the hardest to hold, I imagine- I recall the summer now how soon, how soon the world returns to cold, and how soon this becomes the now, pied’ down the road by the song of blinding time sunset, sunrise routine and more breaths spell towards my end I inhale all the life that was before me and exhale just, time and again my heart beats the particles of time march, march, march on I can not discern the flow as much as drown even with my head above the water matters not I am no captain here no stowaway no cavalier a passenger or a cog perhaps nothing more but aware
notes… I was just looking out the window at work and wrote this as is… a few mods here and there but pretty much this, I consider this kind of observational poetry or even stream I suppose, it ain’t prose.. that’s for sure, but this is the way my mind shaves hairs.. so… here it is… for all to bare…
no, quite literally just moments ago or an hour, who can be sure the skies were black with rage and blazing flash rain highway sideways, pelting the windows
so temporal, all this so trapped in moments, we become
for oh sun, now shines how light is cast against darkness in contrast I feel the despair leeching out of very my skin as if being pulled out string by string by an invisible, palpable, force of hand – yes and quite suddenly I am transformed long forgotten, the storm
Shades of My Garden 