for of a pauper or from a prince from a line of kings or of a reign of khans; that comes that which speaks all languages and none.
a last supper, perhaps the thought had crossed my mind, after father, for all your faults all the times I thought I knew better, still my father; meatloaf and corn paper plate fruit cup struggling with the plastic fork, as I must watch the constant beep of various machines trying to understand the strange menagerie of this common foreign land, meatloaf and corn I ignore the bits upon your shirt the dots of gravy the unshaved look, focus on just being here visiting hours, for this is surely not home there are different rules here absolute rules here for no matter who’s father least not mine in a bed stranded, helpless, reduced tubes, bruised skin arms asking about the rutgers score the masquerade of familiar what of the outside can be brought in drapes are the thinnest walls the clock, sits, only the third hand seems to move time is giving me more now as forced conversations run out then there is time just the time to be together, silently for now, father.
yet the laughter of a playground chatter of simple times for summer’s early friend has disappeared and even the yolk of death ousted for a child’s smile of walking pets in this backwoods jungle gym of civilization chalk scratchings underfoot graffiti lines and tags color
notes… yeah, I am old school, metal head, rap, OG hip hop, classical, electronica, ambient, alt…. do I surprise you yet? nah… pay attention, I got all my kids in detention but pay attention they are all in attendance just they can’t all be present for this romance, so… I have walked the streets of suburbia, and I also know all the worst parts of most towns… not many people have my shared experience, I go from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side, from Toms River to Franklin Lakes, from Hazleton to Center City – hey PA, south bronx, got ya, people forget and lament, laurelton and the rock beach away, out of the reach of bay ridge… I travel all of it… (ahem, I really do…)
*and this one is staccato pace… the poem that is… just so you know, I do things in purpose, I am not some enigma, or a puzzle, is there layers ? sure… but for me I want at least some visceral before you start peeling the onion, so….. have at it. and thanks for any and all those who read me, I do appreciate your thoughts.
a stroke of sun and there they went with a brief brown beat the little birds, a little flock dash out from the relative safety of the holly on my front lot I can only imagine the flight response a sudden skyward shadow thrown an eclipse grandeurs of gods for as I look around in this seeming ghost town all there is are the survivors now those who chose, like I to winter in place in this place in the space afforded where life has placed; I imagine for a moment- the beat of the sea the rise and fall for that is the heart the proof the planet moves through this universe the breath of the earth herself and all the life contained there, is there such a contentment of a contended sigh just now, yes-
notes… another day, and things change, the world flips, I can only ride the waves, the better I get at it … the more I realize…. I am a novice, not a child anymore, there is too much to know, too much to explore, but what choice is there, but to go for it, take in as much, absorb until the sponge bursts, if it can, it it will, challenge the universe with your capacity, so I guess what I am trying to say, non-artfully, in my own way, take a ride – the wave is hope, if you catch it right, the crest, the feeling, the momentum is…
*thank you for your time, your eyes, any and all likes and gripes are always welcome, and appreciated, we are on this rock at the same time after all, and for some reason the universe brought us to this moment, all those billions of years culminated in this, trivial ? no… a miracle if you really contemplate such things…
and there, on the ground I was not expecting you to appear a ghost of oak and passed a flash, lightning grasps the synapses a bolt, a soul past a page again revealed, open tome and harken back, for she was alive then there is nothing in this domain no tree does remain near no, this can not be here, not now, how? nowhere in this cradle of maples exists there was one but gone the years, in creases the sun, decreases, the sin but to live longer than those loved a traveler stained tattered remains somehow stronger in the ruin steel hardened under the constant cause of wounds circumstance, fate the great ghost oak awakens the gateway, a marker to this time of dying so oak moon; I know- so oak moon; I beseech you, I seek you among the long of nights for the respite of demise may you grant wishes upon, whisper just whisper out, existence.
notes… sometimes the smallest things trigger a memory, this one in particular, I remember the day, much like today, not very remarkable, not very suitable, an early december rain, as I walked outside, I remember the crack, the flash, lightning arcing into that oak tree, the one that had always been, for at least my short life, FLASH! and the lightning arced out into the old basketball pole into the ground, the hair on my arms standing, the shock, well, the literal shock of being right there, seeing the death strike that killed that majestic old oak, and I remember her under that tree, and now all there is, is a patch of grass, not even a nice one, or uniform, many years have come and gone and the earth seems to hold the scar like my own, stump to root gone for so long now, but that little stretch of lawn, a scar, strange, maybe we are returned to dirt and something of us remains in that part, eventually it will all be plowed or something else, a street, a house, but for now, a reminder formed by the earth herself, and today, a subtle reminder brought in by a breeze, I literally do not see any oaks around but there was a singular leaf, a note, left there for me, and then these words came to be….
(for those new to my blog, welcome (and where ya’ been?), I write and post almost all in a whirl, off the cuff, the vast majority of what you will read here is done in one sitting, like I am doing now, flowing, that is how I do things, if you like? great, I appreciate your time, thanks.)
in the background “I wish you were here” is playing, somewhat muted from the other room, but such an easy sentiment, so true, and I do, looking out the sliding glass window door at a fall, well, the fall has happened, just the outlines, the bare bones of trees now, with giant lollipop tufts of leaves that the squirrels have devised and deployed as housing, not much camouflage now, not needed I guess, my the little buggers have grown quite fat, nearly falling off the limbs like overmatched wallendas, not the daring darters and dashers of just a few months past, a hawk is circling high above, but they pay no mind, I half expect to see a scene out of one of those wildlife documentaries, but nothing happens, just a feeling of stillness as I watch the outside world move about, a stiff breeze bends my bamboo halfway down, puddles have gathered where they decided to form a crowd, standing alone in the house, the colors are not dreary, just certainly not bright, every shade of brown imaginable, and wet bark, tends to be blackish, every once in a while there is a flash of bright color, a cardinal, or a bluejay will swoop in and steal my eye, but mostly the monotony of brown, I hear no sounds of the outside, just the song, and my mind…
“How I wish, how I wish you were here We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl year after year Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here”
I feel time flowing around me, like a standing ‘henge rock in a river, for at least a respite, before I am swept with the rest of it, I’m not sad, no, more of just empty, or deprived of what I once had, no blame, no anger, none of that matters now, never did but stole those moments anyway back then, those days, not today, for I am in the here now, regardless of good fate or bad, there is no turning back, just this pause, as I try to lose myself in the minutia of squirrels in their world, in my backyard, mine, at least for a time, a lifetime just a stitch in this quilt, if that much, deep breath the experience in, fading into my own pale reflection in the glass now, staring, at myself, no, through myself, no doubt, I am the sum of what stands here, maybe I won the argument, maybe I stood by principle, maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong, that has all washed away now, inside these bones the truth takes hold.
“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?”
-fin, fade to gray
notes… the quotes are obviously from the Pink Floyd tune above… do I need to even say that? perhaps…. I don’t want to be accused of stealing things, those words are surely not mine, part of my post, and the inspiration, that they are.
so there I was… riding off into the sunset, um, ok, driving into the sunset, coming back from my first covid test, been lucky to avoid the arrows until now but a couple of coworkers tested positive so these are the times we are living in, enough about that really, more about the sunset, sure, we are not talking shoreline paradise here, route 1 south in edison nj, but somehow, someway all that dropped south of my view, a really nice near perfect orange half a globe sitting there on the horizon, I must have been travelling near due west, well, maybe slightly to the left, this time of year the light is not blinding, well, mostly, so I was literally driving into the sunset, a smile came upon my face, I mean, if this was my last moment, why not go out with a grin, I can’t complain about my time, sure, I would like more, and probably have plenty more, but some day, sooner than I can contemplate, the world will be tired of me, and fate will dial up my number one last time, so why not do it with a grin?
I merge onto the garden state, just to jump a couple of exits rather than deal with all the local lights, I need only stay in the right lane, not even a mile once I am on, why in the world is their traffic at this hour, ah, I can just wait it out, it is not bumper to bumper but is certainly not the open flow I was expecting to go, I could jump a lane over, ah, c’mon man, relax, not that far to go, apparently not for some of those in front of me, jumping ships, or lanes and then I see it, my exit and also the slow culprit, what are the odds they are getting off at my exit? ahhh, you’ve seen this movie before, me too, 990% chance they are going my way, thankfully I am still wearing my sunrise smile and am just amused at the situation, other days maybe, other days I might have lit up like a firecracker enraged, but today? nah, lucky him, well, I can’t say him, in fact, the car in front of me looks quite empty, whomever is driving is tiny, or invisible, probably just short, I know it can’t be an automated car, to my recollection late 90’s corrollas did not come with that feature, now, off my exit there is two ways you can go, of course slowrolla is going my way (turn signal? not so much), I am laughing now, I am not sure if the people behind me are as amused but, hey, this is my blog story man, get your own! of course the first right is my turn… and the auto car turns, of course, I finally lose the person (assumption, you never know) near the home stretch, only a couple of more turns to go… I suppose I missed the baton hand off, because slowrolla has a relative, or a cohort, a partner in this crime, with a mercedes SUV, at least this looks occupied, and it also occupies the whole road, I never understood compensating for parked cars by driving on the wrong side of the road, must be me, on some other day I might be loosing my mind, but today? I’m in on the joke it seems, the slowcedes turns off literally the street before mine, “here ya go, a little scrap a tidbit” the world says to me as at least the way to my driveway was clear, I park, shake my head for a second at the absurdity, and retire inside to write this piece, still with that dumb grin shellacked on my face, from that sun that has gone under by the time this is done.
notes… not just because this post is Epic, well. it probably isn’t, but I am just on a FNM kick lately, Angel Dust is my jam, one of the best weird albums ever made that kind of made in mainstream.. of course I am partial to Mr. Bungle but what do I know…
a cup of tea, for one just the thought of an actual formal tea set brings pause, brings calm but I have never met, such an instance just on the tele, as they say the tea-totalers, that is our neighbors once lords and ladies; and why do I not think of japan a barrier of language, perhaps
I was thinking the day was dreary but I looked up and there is sun the mix of peppermint and honey on my tongue is like a sauna, the sun draws out the steam fills in, I can imagine the release of water evaporating on the rocks the audible nature of transformation
I am glad tea is not instant or at least not mine directions, steep for awhile time to contemplate a pause, a calm
notes… am I drinking more tea these days? well, yes, yes I am, maybe it is a ritual that will keep my head on straight in these crazy days, I have tried talismans of various sorts but right now tea seems to be the brakes I need on speeding forward…
now you have gone and done – well, you are gone I sip my tea yes, I am known more for quaffing coffee, as you know but a sip or two, of you, I’m thinking of just now, a gentle pause, a smile a wish on lips, to you being here but at least I had a glimpse and you are so very far now, by miles but not knitted up my smile as I think of you now a sip or two, a cup of tea
notes… a kind of in the moment thing as I was having a cup of tea this morning @ my desk, looking out at the very non inspiring industrial tinged streets of Hackensack NJ…
is it possible? I feel different today (and yes my coffee has settled in), I mean, I always feel different after a few days off, but something, something has shifted, I feel it, I swear it from the bottom up, toes up spine down, is it days of optimism (ahem, and rest) welled up? perhaps, has not the usual office grime whiped off on me enough, yet? the dreary drive through driving rain (check), am I different from just a few days ago? what has changed? not much, really, something about perception versus reality I suppose, but … I just don’t know, I feel different, hopeful, even downhill among these moguls thrown out in front of me like field mines in all our lives these days, all is well, hell, not anything has changed really but a sunrise in my mind, I spent a few days dreaming, now, you might think I am joshing, no, I literally spent a few days involved in lucid dreaming, an experiment, to the best I could manage, or drive, I visited Hawaii I tell you, certainly not but my mind touched that spot, surely, I can not describe how I did thrive in that environ, especially since it was the whole cloth creation of my imagination, never been to the real place, regardless of the weather outside, the actual weather, there I resided, for a time, snuggly warm inside the real, closed my eyes with a purpose, guidebook in hand mind, as to where I might go, my own ship to steer, and so I did, some of this was mundane, arguments over meals, details about rooms, the usual insane things in our normal day to day even on vacay, but other times, I was indulged, to see friends and former, others and lovers, the never hads and the used to be familiars, it was all there at the fingertips of instant writing memory, as I went and experienced, and so real, what makes it less real? I woke from excitement, anger, passion, and rolled over for more, as the hours went, a day spent, in another world, somewhere I had not been before but could populate so easily with my mind, a charm, the shore, the breeze, the personal interactions, conversations happened, all of the recall, I could quote chapter and verse although, I wrote this journey as I went and came in REM worlds, as real as spent, and today, back in that chair, that desk, that office, I look out my window, birds traveling from rooftop to rooftop… (as have I)
“…in pieces slide, pieces slide out, we are a puzzle with nothing to solve but ourselves.” – some guy aka me
I stand at the gate and the song my heart sings is of the moonlight I stand and I wait for the grace of your hand to cover the moon the roses are blushing, a moonlight seranade
the stars, how they glow, and tonight how their light guides my dreaming, to you, my love, do you know? of course you know, my whispers in your ear streaming, like the meteor shower above this earth, and these heavens combined, has brought this; a moonlight serenade
let us stay here, as long as time in this place of mind, a valley of shared dreams you and I, our hands the circle of space and mind all else remains frozen but our waltzing eyes
so let me not wait to drift to sleep, come to me in that tender dream meet me at the gate, so to sing a sweet lullaby, a moonlight serenade the song of my love, as dreams are only life as made my darling, my love; a moonlight serenade.
(now you tell me, how and where I went, and I might flash you a postcard, if only you can see it)
Shades of My Garden 