if I could book a ship
a trip
to the moon
to the stars
no, beyond
to float
to soar
escape humanity
and the laws
time and gravity
the helix that binds
release me from these bonds
to soar
to seek
to feel the universe upon
my hands, my feet
yes, a road
a path
the guide of mind
downloads a map
a compass of consciousness
glide
a mind
among the stars
and what I may find – there –
a realm of infinite possibility and life – my family.
the winter wind bites
makes no sound
except through my bamboo
the only leaves left
I see limbs bend and move
I listen for their aches n groans
(as in my bones)
the grass is stopped
frozen
even the sun-
even the sun is drained
bright, illuminated on surfaces
but cold
as if the moon had a forest – once
slowly exhaling
inside, so quiet now
so many voices
but so quiet now
the isolation of flame
so gather
the few that remain,
huddle, huddle with me
I wish I might be, a simple painted turtle, sitting on a rock, in a glacial lake, the telegraphed waves just under my eyes, on occasion breaking their horizon causing an instinctual slow graceful wink motion like window shades rising, stoic, as the sun, as the stars, as the moon, pass on by above in an arc, not aware of time, as this procession prances on above, not aware of, the course of, meteor showers, comets, planets, or actual counted hours, just a personal picked patch of rock, jutting just slightly above the water, a vantage point, a peak, an observation deck, in the one perfect spot, I have found for now, by luck or circumstance or guile, to stretch my neck out just so, above the subtle tide, taking in air as needed, never more, never less, balanced breathing, watching the lights grow and stretch out over time, to the heavens and down into the water beneath in depth, reflections, stoic, timeless, a simple painted turtle, on my rock, witness, beneath the heavens, the earth tethered below in water, without a judgement in sight, I wish I might be at such peace, for a time. (exhale)
I now have become one of those stories, you don’t expect it, maybe you do, I did not after all these months, but things happen, life really does just happen sometimes, suddenly, you know this, you prepare for this, but steering a ship in the middle of a sudden tempest is the only way you understand this experience fully, a knot, a grinding stone in my bowels, waiting for the call, all life ends, but when you make that decision, I can not fully explain the feeling yet… I have often said, and it is very true, my life has been relatively free of tragedy and death, there is no rhyme or reason for this, no cruel hand, no benevolent marker, just the luck of the draw, incredible luck, as billions of years of the universe have led to this moment, or moments, sitting here, sitting still but still pacing, having a glass of bourbon to calm my nerves, heart still racing still, a not so routine hospital visit a few weeks ago that might have worked out fine, upended by the virus which has diverted the cart from the road to wellness, I have been anticipating my parent’s generation to start falling for some time, and some have here and there, and now my personal story becomes part of the fabric of this pandemic, I was never blasé about the virus, I always looked @ the numbers with logic, the vast majority of those infected survive but the vulnerable populations are just that, vulnerable, and even here as we embark on the gateway of a vaccine – it seems that much more cruel, but a virus has no eyes or a heart, I am lucky that I was able to make a last visit and let my father ‘face time good bye’ many close relatives, so, I know, many people did not have that chance, I am thankful for that, and now, I try to astral project myself into the hospital room now, as I sit here not sleeping, in my mind, I am sitting next to him, holding his hand and letting him know I am there, “dad, I’m here”, I see this so clearly, all the details of the room and the warmth of his hand, somehow hoping the universe will carry my message to his mind’s ear – somehow, is this prayer? I suppose, in my own way, so, now, we wait, for the inevitable full end, the one we signed off for just hours ago, waiting for the call, waiting for the call, late into this night, isolated from all those we love, leaving a loved one isolated to leave this world alone, waiting for the call.
I do not write this for your sympathy (I appreciate your decency, thank you, I do but that is not the purpose of this piece), more for those who may be or have experienced the same. This has been a trying day, making decisions and the speed they are implemented is dizzying, more life altering scenes happened in a smattering of mere hours than I can even digest now, so I had to write it out, at least what I can handle @ this hour. I would like to send a personal thanks to the staff @ JFK Hospital in Edison NJ.
“and what I know of
the silence of love
speaks volumes”
notes… haiku? not sure, not meant to be, strictly, that is, this is something I woke up this morning and this was scribbled (OK, typed) in notepad on my little laptop friend here, I don’t even recall writing it, but since I am a music wonk it has beats… 5 / 5/ 3, funny how the universe works such things out (hat tip, universe, in waves)
horseshoe pattern prints
trails bend and cross
this first and freshest snow
surely, a rabbit;
and now in this midnight hour
the tracks have gone
so I wait, for my friend
notes… maybe the ocean is not my only muse, there is the weaving of the breeze through the trees picking off leaves in autumn, the cricket’s symphony on a late summer’s night, and this, silent, clean, pure snow, watching it fall, wrapped inside the comfort of a home, checking the window view as the snow builds up, on the railings, on the tree limbs, slowly covering everything with a white sheen blanket, the kid in me wants to run outside and roll around, the me of now, content to watch and reminisce…
and I never heard his voice this way
from a mountain, yet-
weak, trembling and reaching
“I am going, I am going, david”
I conversed with normalcy in the situation
for what do you do
who is prepared for these times
even though we all come to these times
and prepare for them, we come to them
on this eve;
I will remember the quiet cold
a throbbing silence in the night
I go about routine
a lone goose in the far starry distance
I think I can actually see
the sad lonely bird across
and I hear a sad lonely honk
not sure if this is the last migrant
flowing south
across this december new jersey sky
one more time
for all the wrappings
all the human might
I am helpless
a babe, once again, I am reduced
I wanted to tell him more
to make him want to come back
to spend one more afternoon on the deck
soaking in the sun
like some ancient aztec god
as if the sun was beaming only for him
maybe it was
and I long for him
to have one more time
in that glory of the sun
with no pain, no worry
just a mere moment of simple life
one more time
just for him, as much as for me
to say good bye,
not like this, on this call
family walled off in cells
deprived of touch
I have no cause to petition the lord
I have no cause greater than any
I have nothing to barter, nothing to trade
but for love
from whom that from which I was raised
a model of imperfection
which is the beauty of humanity
for in that imperfection
we find eternity –
in love
for those – our family.
notes… regardless of the vehicle, death comes, so what then, for the living, I still smile, because the universe has taught me to be alive, so be alive – and love – the greatest of these is love…
my mind wanders when driving.
driving.
lights bend in the fog
mailboxes flash reflect
thoughts wander
‘when might I see you again?’
around that next corner
around the bend
not likely
for you are dead.
I can only hope
that flame ignite
to immolate, yes, immolate this dread of passing.
one day, from then, then to seek
your light
a torch, so I might bear
lead me down some other path
and there
we shall meet again
and talk
of common times
in common tongues
in a new place
outside of time
how subtly we move down the long table, a feast with our family, different times of the year feel the same in here, time is somewhere peering in with jealous eyes. knowing at some point we will venture outside again, once small children (so I recall) are now here at the main table as adults grown up, their kids at the small one or running around, the parade of cousins, aunts, uncles and those married in moves on, the table has swelled all these years, I always knew, but never saw the subtraction coming as I do now, this soon, expected at some point, sure, but never on my side, in my direct row of chairs, a reckoning, for this is the way life is, I suppose we all hold onto untouchable belief, even in the sheer face of the inevitability, the reality, maybe we are fools but I would rather side on the side of belief against all and embrace that fool of myself, for what else can we do, pass the potatoes down and share a drink or two, a sliding moment of smiles, a flash of stories brought out like seasonal accouterments, as the actuality of the tales seem, and are, further off in the distance, for perhaps this is the time of my reckoning, at least as I slide chairs, as the elders inevitably become phantoms, one by one, some by some, so, all the more – stop and enjoy the spectacle, the pageant, the miracle, the banquet of life while the fruit is ripe, the buffet is vast and the glasses full, a moment to take in, as I approach the land of reckoning, not for myself, just yet, but I see, and feel, the coming of the sunset for the generation I am replacing in line next as I move toward the end of the table, may I carry such yoke with dignity and humanity – and love.
perhaps this is causality
and I am the casualty of-
the rain
a grey veil of gloom over
even silver linings wane
not some days
not all days
today, one of those lingering
an insidious thought invades, breaks the levy
‘I have nothing’
or feel that way
perhaps only because I ‘had’
I can not stop the swell, the surge
the rush back, a rampaging flood now converges
that a bound fist in my abdomen confirms
my eyes well,
we all want to travel back, to rewrite;
and we do, in a way, down that path, in our mind
but know, always know the foundation
the truth is in the earth, hands clench this
the cruelty of the steadiness of dirt
support of life and burial of the dead roots
as far reach as heaven, up into the air
roots buried, anchors, always, memories
a library, a curated collection
rows and rows of known, wanton forgotten
I am alone-
most days this is not a bother
some days a marker, a visitor, my own host
I scrape for false shelter
draw out the homilies on my lips
all the words I left out
a mantra to my burden
to wait out the storm and pretend some more.
note… to any new people (as I am seeing more traffic), hello you (waving), my work is off the cuff, one off, unless otherwise noted, perfect? no way man…. but I post it… and here it is… when I write the thing it is visceral, you get me facial, that’s all… and if you like it … great, if not, also great, I appreciate the read, the time, your eyes, thanks… we are existing right now at this time…. which is a miracle, billions of the years of the universe have brought us together… for corn dogs… well, er, at least that or more I hope, so all your comments, recipes, thoughts, coherent rants and advice for my garden – are appreciated. I am the bamboo whisperer… I tell ya…
Shades of My Garden 