A touch of whimsy…

A touch of whimsy…

person holding red and yellow fruit
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“a peach in the park”

how thoughts ignite in flames, bullet trains and maelstroms, so where should I start, so where should I begin? oh yes, a peach in the park, how might I endeavor to discover the clever fellow who placed this fleshy fruity fellow on this spot, might I infer into the meaning, the intention of this pit full globe placed perfectly perpendicular on the corner of this wall of laid stone… Should I become the king’s protector, a sampler, for a taste of hemlock, and reap the rich rewards of a job well done, unless I am done in by dining on this course, of course… Or is this the lost remnant of unrequited love, a date never met, literally a fruit not tasted, a memento of a moment not materialized, left behind in hest with heft on heart on broken, on further review, I do not think I like this interpretation…  perhaps this is an offering to the goddess of the central, in tribute to this grand oasis laid in the land of no sleep, surrounded on all sides by city streets, taxi keeps and buildings that dare scrape the very rooftop of air itself, a thankful ode, a nod to the one who keeps this trove, a grove, in the middle of all the manic metropolitan bustle and hustle, to the power of that natural spirit that sings in trees, howls across the winds, showers clean with the rain, blankets pure with the snow, I think I like the romantic interpretation of this intention… Or perhaps this is just some cruel trick, waiting for some fool (such as this, me) to pick up said peach grenade to receive a face-full of blasted peach parts, quite humiliated as the secret camera is revealed and all the phones that know no yield, up on the net I go, famous for something I’d rather not, for at least a cycle, face covered in shame and peach cob, no, this makes my hand recoil, I look around quickly to foil this latest plot, but nothing seems amiss, but should I take the chance?

and with all this scheming, mind running, scenario scrubbing, a subtle stranger (as we have not been introduced), has quite gotten on the loose, for behind this perfect peachy day, a squirrel has stopped to eat some fruit… well, I hope the spirit of the park is not amused… but for sure I am off the hook…

Notes: I have to say, sometimes I have no idea where this stuff comes from, well, technically it is me (obvious) but these things just pop in my head, to me, this is whimsy at best, letting my mind stretch and wander into some unknown field and describe the grass there.. if that makes sense, and if you read this it probably makes sense, and for that I say…. thanks…

death, mistress… and some simple lines…

death, mistress… and some simple lines…

active ash cloud ashes blaze
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

(1)

death, mistress
I will never court thee
but yet I am subject to your whim
left to fend off your crop
I will not give in –
willingly
or say your name
with reverence
death, mistress

(2)

on the randomness of moths
and their addiction to flame
just because I can not discern a pattern
does not mean their commotions are not plain

notes… two unrelated works, written on the same day on different sides of my brain, the first one I consider a circular poem, the second just a thought, maybe just brush strokes really, but that’s fine, a little nug of truth beats a mountain of nothingness any day… or at least that is the story I am sticking to… thanks for the view (yes, you).

music? Humanmeshdance – Moth…. from a really limited EP, I forget how many copies were made at the time, but this… is the digital age so…. ambient goodness…. oh so good…

thoughts from the porch… back home, back to routine (or not?)…

thoughts from the porch… back home, back to routine (or not?)…

animal animal photography avian balcony
Photo by Jonathan Meyer on Pexels.com

how the familiar slips back on in such familiar ways, I am fighting the dread that I can feel creeping up my spine, to dive back into that 9-5, well, 9-5 on an easy day, the honking horns, the stop and forth commute, I want to remain like this, like a coil unfurled, springs hold and maintain tension, and I am good at managing that existence but the fatigue of constant bearing weight has perhaps been wearing me down these years, and only now, off a week of down time might I realize how unfurled I am now and how curled I am usually so inclined, I know it is cliche, to say a place is magical, but what is magic after all, something we don’t understand completely, maybe a better word is ‘solution’ as if to a puzzle, Scientist Cliffs is one of those places for me, maybe many others exist but that does not mean this was not meant to be, maybe this is like true love found just with a place with a soul for mine to meet, here, indeed, my mind was not lost navigating in the constant maze of problem solving, so lovingly overwhelmed as is my normal state of being, I would revel in the chaos, but at what cost? here, but here, quite quiet in fact, content to sit on a beach, listen to the waves gently crashing caressing the sands, watching the birds of prey hunting above the cliffs far overhead, studying the breeze as it caresses over the dunes and past me, just another piece of the earth to navigate around, I watch the dune grass bend back and sway and imagine I am doing the same, just an observer, and the waves, the constant, the waves, for whatever reason, this is the solution to my conundrums, my elixir distilled, that lets my fury of thoughts fade into simpler terms, no less complex but not a lightning nexus of constant bombardment, a quietness there, one I can internalize with each long breath and each slowing heart beat…

up on the cliffs, since there are no cities nearby, the night sky is alive, the moon dancing on the silent water waves some hundred feet below, upwards, galaxy dust and all the traditional constellations glowing, resplendent, the wonders above we rarely see with a naked eye in metropolitan new jersey, like all things this is indeed a temporary place, the constant grinding of the waves never ending erodes the cliffs, every year, inches to feet, the cliffs creep inward and with time will swallow whole, this place, probably long after I am gone, but I will have been a part of it at least, and I hope to take a part of it with me into the real world, at least the real world I inhabit on a day to day, so that is what I am trying to take away, as I return to my normal place, the workplace, that same space, how long can I maintain, how long will the echoes of the surf remain, so clear, so cleansing, so pure…

 

notes… back from vacation, I am really into nature when I am out there so I was more quiet than usual, I loaded up a bunch of videos to my somewhat now decent Youtube account, I really want people to get a feel for Calvert County Maryland, wonderful place, I am not ahead of the curve, towns around this area seem to be exploding, and it is not too far from Washington DC, and also Solomons Island which is a resort in the summer (so I am told, I have never been).  If you have any questions about the area, how to access it or anything, I’m game, just ask, I don’t post to hide things, I post to reveal them to all and every who might have interest or be of the same mind…. I will write more about Scientist Cliffs coming up, just a really unique place…

Maryland, the western shore…

Maryland, the western shore…

my blog this week will more likely be a travel log sort of thing (as if it has some usual tract), if I happen to be inspired to write, I will, much like my annual Cape May trip I like to find some places a bit out of the way and hopefully distill the experience for you as I perceive it…

so today, being my first official day of vacation, I made sure not to sleep the day away, which I love to do as work has been exhausting lately, but I managed to drag myself out of bed at the early hour of 10am (early for me… ok?), from there I basically I walked the beach, listening to the surf talking behind my back, trying to take it all in, getting closer to that grey heron I see every year, closer than I have ever been, he made a complaining squawk as he flew away, I guess 10 feet is his dancing space, dully noted,  I started at the jetty on the south beach, as it is known here, the sun was strong, I learned my lesson last time out, and not wanting a screaming neck I broke out my coppertone, careful not forget my satellite dish ears, too often I forget these outliers and they wind up like strips of bacon, and not half as tasty,  maybe I enjoy the monotony, the symphony of sameness  that is waves, sure, this is a bay, so it is not quite the ocean, but you can not see past the horizon either way, I ran across a total of four people, one couple, two individuals, mostly everyone here are happy warriors, happy to live in such a magical place, and almost everyone has dogs, so I am sold, but one guy today, not a smile, a curmudgeon hiding behind his wilford brimley mustache with a puppy no less who wanted to pounce all over me, which would have bothered me none, I think it was some sort of spaniel/retriever, I could not tell, and since sourpuss would not even acknowledge my hello I will never know, I walked farther than I recall, this is low tide and provides greater range, so I go as far as I can, I come upon familiar mental triggers, I remember the landscape well, the willow tree where I found my first mako, various boat houses I saw destroyed by storms in the past, places on the cliffs with caged stone like you see on some highways to try and keep the bay erosion at bay, for now, walking down the line, my crocs in hand, like a lost traveler on some lost beach, but this is the northeast, this seems more like a scene in the caribbean, but that is just it… this is the northeast I know, and these parts have been inhabited for long now, I mind my time by the tide, getting back will not be as easy when the tide comes in, and I am not in my swimming trunks or swimming mood, and certainly not with all the jellies in the water today, I should have started a study on the amount of jellyfish I saw, pulsing hearts, tiny discs, brilliant flowers inside glass, some red and brown like fall colors, I try to avoid them but must admit I stepped on a couple of them, this is a wild place, there is no places to sit, after a while I realize I need to sit, the lactic acid has built up, it seems like I have been walking for days, lost in the wilderness but strict north to south, listening to that surf, an easy surf today, clear water, I could see the blue crabs scurry away from my hulking frame, so I wandered like a fish in his water, until I could get no further, and turned back, wondering if I had the energy to do so…  and the realization I had walked off my stress, I am indeed decompressed, I breathe in as deeply as I can, to feel the emptiness, the lack of having a burden for at least this moment, to let go of everything, take off my sweaty hat, sweep my brow, sit on a log, look out at those tiny ripple waves, and breathe, and breathe again, regardless of my failures, or my accomplishments, I am here right now, soak it all in… and so I will… for now…

Thoughts from the porch… (maryland)

Thoughts from the porch… (maryland)

Here is where I am… Scientist Cliffs, MD

white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

so here I am, admiring the moon across the water, shimmering sections of the bay hold my attention, I come back here every year, laziness, familiarity, perhaps, maybe I have found something that suits me, my personality, having the experience of being in the middle of nowhere but yet with slingTV, cable internet and a Starbucks fifteen minutes away, sure, that’s fair, but I am off the beaten path, even if that path is not but a stone’s throw away, the familiarity lets me decompress, the guess and the guess work has been removed, there is still plenty I could do or explore in these parts, just as in my own state there are corners and nooks I have yet to really route around in, I suppose I revel in the strange juxtaposition of this place, the cliffs produce fossils from the miocene era quite often, I am staying in a hand built 100 year old log cabin, and I am sitting here typing on my  dumbly suped up alienware laptop, whittling away at the meaning of life or at least mine, it all seems pretentious, sometimes I feel guilty, do I deserve this? do I feel guilt due to circumstance? perhaps, but how can we change the circumstance of how we are brought in to this world, all we can do is be empathetic, I say those words, but I do not know if I believe them 100%, although I should, the truth does not always set you free, maybe like many things I must practice in this, allowing myself to uncoil and feel able to embrace my life such as it is, I did not wrong anyone to have the things I have, maybe the world did, but I do not want to have blind thankfulness to that end, but tonight should not be about such things, I need to clear my mind, feel the subtle gentle wisp of wind, cold dew on the bottom of my feet, I have to decompress, let all the stress from work seep out into the ground, let the moon’s light cleanse me as I lose myself in those ripples down on the bay, soak up each moment and forget myself for a time, deep exhale, the world moves on regardless, this is my time to become lost, for a few days, not quite separated from the race, but enough to recharge and renew, it all begins with the view, and the immediate effect I feel…

you can check out the views of Scientist Cliffs on my YouTube channel, I am uploading the moon vid right now, it is taking some time, I should be posting some nice vids this week from my new 4K go pro style cam… or at least that is the plan…

the silent houses (redux) …

the silent houses (redux) …

related to an earlier post, I forgot I wrote the accompanying poem… so, here it is, for what that’s worth…

adult alone black and white blur
Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

the silent houses
where widows dwell
draped in shrouds
for now lost spouses

every corner filled
friend and family cover
for seven cycles of hours
dishes, well wishes and flowers

for then night comes
in the familiar home
only one heart beats now alone.
the silent houses


musical … Katatonia – My Twin

a simple poem about the endemic unity of earth…

a simple poem about the endemic unity of earth…

planet earth close up photo
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

oh for one solemn wish
I pine for the days of pangea
one continent
one land
no language in the absence of man
no war to conquer
no death to divide
one continent
one land

notes… just something that came to me, all of the earth, well, that above the oceans was once just one land mass, so it seems division is natural… but yet unity was the original model… juxtaposition I say ! as we were all in the womb we all meet the grave, so keep that as a keepsake in your mind’s pocket, and like a locket look upon the wisdom as a reminder when you can… that perfect picture, a perfect unified land…

Music… rock out with a good message… Warrior Soul – Man Must Live As One

thoughts, likes, comments, spam, bot activity, russian dating site links…. are all appreciated, as well as your time for stopping by with those eyes, those peepers, so…. thanks people, without the lot of you I am letters on the wind.

lost. love. letters.

lost. love. letters.

abandoned ancient antique architecture
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

went unsaid
but mere words I thought
my deeds the weight of motion
so I thought
now the deepest wound
the unhealed hole
is roughly hewn by hands known
went unsaid
and never will
a numbness until my death
carried lumber unto my bed
pulled by mules on carts
wheels churned in sand
the further I go
the closer I come
all that is past
can not be undone
regardless of prayer
or passing seasons
some joyous more than some
but still
left inside –
went unsaid


notes… my weekly delve into the depths of my heart and the loss thereof, how I squandered love, true love, I am not saying there is nothing beyond, but experience tells me it will never be as easy as it was with her, it just ‘fit’, hard to explain it just was, which drives my logic side insane but adds infinite fuel to my romantic side… in other words it drives me nuts…

“photos” (in memorial for 9/11)

“photos” (in memorial for 9/11)

brown and white concrete building
Photo by Caio Queiroz on Pexels.com

every passing year, I look at the photos, the faces, listen to the somber sayings of the names, listening for the ones I know, not just names on a stone, although cold black granite serves the solemn sober nature reserved, for days like these, the stone stays as still and quiet as the solid photo poses, the lost ones, the never found, buried in that ground, time stopped there, in those footprints, in moments and long winding agonies down, forever and at once, rubble, a giant cloud of dust, time stood still to watch the towers fall as if unreal, but this was real, every day, I drive by, that skyline, my entire life the twin towers were there, but they were just buildings on a postcard, nothing more, not the photos of those lost, taken from the earth in two fell swoop, photos captured in time, of lives taken too soon, a reminder of the gentle foothold we hold on this precious earth, in an instant, a moment, that will undoubtedly fade into time and history, the names will be read, and over time the numbers will dwindle, as the greatest generation fades so too shall ground zero one day, a footnote, a lost monument but not for now, time marches on, a lifetime is just a summer song in the coming wake of winter, so sometimes we must pause in the sake of human misery, so we may remember the fallen, so we may be reminded of those here, to love one another, even if for an instance, that glimpse, those photos so silent, take action now, while your breath still allows it…

MusicFor My Fallen Angel….

more thoughts, from the porch (duality)…

more thoughts, from the porch (duality)…

astronomy cloud clouds cosmos
Photo by Joonas kääriäinen on Pexels.com

I want to run up that ruby lined ridge line on the back of that mountain of a cloud, right up to the moon, I wish to go there but know I never will, but how soon my romantic side forgets, the moon, sitting there framed in blue, is not quite in our sky, my logical side steps in to remind that the moon is in perfect orbit, locked in the cold black breathless death of space, a dead world, echoes of impacts heard in countless lifeless craters, traces of history of billions of years as if transpired just yesterday, as magical, as mystical as the moon may seem, the man, the moon, the dream, it is the dead end of all being, and what will be, for when life retreats or is drawn to another place, a lifeless husk will remain, dust, gravity no longer caring, losing it’s grip, so weak it becomes just a globe in another’s collection, so which do I choose? of my dual nature I lean to the romanticism of the world, the concept of the eternal, but there is that constant reminder in the sky, whether a sliver, a quarter or full glory, the fact that everything dies is not much consolation for the living, more like a rationalization that we all drive down that dead end road, logic is cold, hard to argue with a stone as words do not carve granite well, or at all, but I suppose what choice do I have but to drive on, forward, with hope, for the alternative, while more rational, more reasoned, more probable, leaves nothing on the bone and in fact no bones… at all.

music?  I can not resist, I am a child of the late 80’s after all… so…

>>>>> Duran Duran – New Moon on Monday

oh yeah, this post is part of The Porch Project which has no rules aside from me sitting out on the porch, days of the week? month? nah… just when I can, and thanks for stopping by, this little bus stop of my mind, I appreciate the time and eyes…. thanks.