(1) death is for us forever at last this is the color of my endearment the light of perpetual machinery for within let all that remains let this purify my thoughts my enduring my love of you for you
Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com
(2) I vacillate in this occupied space between wanting to never and begging forever if I had not known I would still be alone if I had not been I could not know tip toe on the edge of this black hole this close to light one step slight to all’s end this is the line on which I lay
notes… I have endless poems about her, the one, maybe the only one, I tell myself many things, I indulge in many things, I have fantasies, and dreams, and yet time just keeps passing, but I feel no difference, at times there is reprieve but always the return to the baseline… of her. I feel broken with no way to heal, I don’t want pity, or even sympathy, this is all for me, to work out, I imagine some people are the same, or at least I rationalize…
the clouds are like a perfectly aligned photograph of a still fire bloom set upon the dazzling supreme aqua of a pristine tropical ocean, maybe a cliche, maybe not, I’ll take it any day of the week, and three times today or tonight as the sun is slipping under the horizon, even though this is really just the earth’s rotation, such a large but understood concept, but do we stand here and admire that fact? or feel the spin, feel the ground whipping around at dizzying speeds, all with our terra firma feet planted well on this ground, the dirt, the thin skin layer of the molten apple we call earth, a seething ocean of fire just a few miles, under where we feel so safe, a thin layer of air all that separates us from space, how precarious we are, but do we perceive it, we worry more about the local buzzing about, unaware of some outer calamity that could end our little love affair with ourselves, the action of every breath of every being, an orchestra of the absurd chances of just being, being here, writing this, or reading these words, I am truly amazed in moments like this, I think nature is sneaky, or wise, or both quite combined, to show us glimpses, here and there, drops of reminders, breath taking visions, thundering falls, tiny bugs of imaginable stripe and scope, unimaginable combinations of dna in humans alone, the colors, of eyes, of hair, heights, and smiles, the buffet of laughter shared across global realms, all revealed in an evening sky, the signs are all there, they describe locations, the mile markers, more subtle than neon flashing colors but no less informative, all around, so train the mind, use your eyes, take in that precious breath, hold a loved one for just a moment to feel that warmth, that is the miracle of life, this is bounty, this is our corner of the universe, the only one we can possibly know but we are here in the face of impossibility, that rare bloom of existence, for a short while, stars have formed your very core, for once twilight is now your veins, once heavenly bodies are your precious thoughts, take a moment, absorb the world’s wonder, feel the universe in your bones as we are one, we all come from the most basic of elements, a recipe of those touched by a spark, and here you are.
sitting at a light, a familiar one, a common one, route one and nine, or maybe just route one at this point, a typical late summer afternoon, the sky bragging and flashing an amazing spectrum of colors, if you care to stop by, and I do, for a moment, collect up my consciousness off the floor, and look up to that sky, something I hope I never tire of, or at least remind myself to remember the sky by, on days that are more or mere gray, or perhaps when my outlook is under the weather, to remember, days such as this, windows down, sounds of my choosing caressing my ears, staring out into that sky, getting lost but not enough to piss off, those in traffic with me, waiting to make a left, and then – a burst across that sky, a flock of geese, candian probably, some other type, your guess, immediately I think to myself, for who else am I going to think to, that I enjoy geese more than other flocks, the lines, the patterns, the organization, the ultimate arrow point, perhaps this says more about me, on a psychological level, than I might care to admit, but in flight, the precision, the dynamic of coordination, the collaboration of individuals, appeals to me, at some base level, my base level, rather than the flocks that look like schools of fish darting in swirls back and forth like a whirlwind, no, I much prefer the geese, and there is a honk, not from them, for the light has turned green…
I did not even notice a light go out, sometimes whole lives are lived in the smallest of details, you expect things to happen, you know they will happen, but just the same they do not feel right when they do, beyond your control, maybe not even anything residing in your little orbit of daily life, but right there on the perimeter all the time, this is one of those nights, oddly, the temperature is much cooler tonight than it has been, coincidence? I don’t believe in them, a long time neighbor of mine, has passed away, he was not young, it was not sudden, perhaps expected, but neighbors can be a strange relationship at times, someone you see almost every day and almost always at certain times, I remember the ritual so well, rolling the garbage can to the street every sunday night, there are other assigned garbage nights, but sunday is more singular as most of us are not working, and certainly not my neighbor who was retired for years now, but seemingly we had the same routine, on sundays at least, roughly the same time to deploy the garbage to the route, as the years went by I noticed he was hunched over more, perhaps a bit more labored up and down his driveway, there was always the knowing nod, like “howdy neighbor”, how odd to be two houses away and yet know so little, but be totally comfortable with someone, such is the nature of familiarity and ritual, and a neighborhood such as this, I would see his kids visit with their kids, almost every sunday, I would rarely see his wife, on occasion he would get the mail for other neighbors directly across, well, at least before they moved, that is years ago now, the cars of his children are staying later this evening, later than most, at some point they will go home, and then all that will be left, a silent house, haunted by the one remnant left, a widowed spouse.
the script is flip’t, the tide has turned, cliches rue the day as the day is long, or actually not, anymore, the summer is losing some heat, quite literally, this was the first night that the driveway was actually cool on my bare feet, that magic number, like when the thermometer is clawing out of the doldrums of winter, that sweet seventy degrees mark, has been met, tonight, and now after not seeing that number for a spell, it has returned as if to say “so, you had your fun, time to get back to things”, everything in the world seems just a bit cooled off, the sun was not as punishing, and did not deliver as much heat to disperse after dark, no more lingering simmering in the dark hours, everything has a mild comfortable chill to it, right in the bulls-eye of comfortable, like all things inevitable and subject to the yoke of time, the season marches on hardly looking for my approval or nod, even the bugs seem to be taking it easy tonight, I can sit outside and wiggle my toes in all delight without the constant swat of my horse tail hands chasing mosquitoes about, maybe they are tired of the game as well, resting somewhere to enjoy the night, even the usual summer din is dialed back… just a touch, does heat magnify sound or just a biological hitch, I suppose, but either way I am swept away into this lull, nothing changed in my life today, no circumstance worsened or lightened, but yet somehow life seems a bit lighter this night, I can close my eyes, take a more abnormally deep breath than I might, to capture as much of this moment internally I think, as I breathe it all in, capture it, harness it, even in just the moments, pen it into memory, store it away for that proverbial rainy day or better yet on one of those brutally cold january nights when I need a fire from an internal source… to remind of this day, to remember late august, the calm, the just warm… enough, that line of seventy degrees, a breeze flowing about the trees in good nature, the last of a day’s light transitioning into a pillow to lay down, on a cloud, now illuminated by moonlight, and let the gentle wind wash, bend, send, blend you unto the night, into the night, into the sleep of content dreams…
let me recall for you a tale a tale of two tongs a mated pair paired as long as tongs recall a romance, until. walked… by… thong “this is splitsville baby I’m gone! time to dig into something new!” so he splits, in two, and after much inner weaving she decides the very next evening to grab on her grip and find something new, too two tongs
notes… just one of those that sprung up one me, just amusement, something simple, silly and silly… no idea why this popped in my head, ask the muse, it is not my business man I just work here. leave space in the world for the silly, man is not satisfied on philosophical doldrums alone…. sounds like a good tag line, maybe I could use it on a blog…
Oyster Creek Restaurant and Boat Bar, Galloway NJ (Leeds Point), two weeks since I was peering out onto the salt marshes, and then dinner, this is the real jersey shore (for me), some raw top neck clams, some oysters, fresh local line caught tuna steak, all in a packed house, every generation from 2 months old to 100 years, parties of two to sixteen, kids first jobs of the summer, red and white checker table cloths, all Jersey…. am I biased ? sure… but I’m OK with that… The spider? I don’t know why but there is always huge spiders at these shore places, ok, well, I do know, big bugs = big spiders, duh, I will always remember the crazy amount of huge spiders @ Two Mile Landing in Wildwood, another iconic spot if you are in that area (further south), cracking crabs with a wood mallet is oddly satisfying… and time consuming… and generally worth it…
compassion the better half as decreed maps the path from wounded knee, is sin a birth mark not removed in forgiveness wash still imbued
notes… as usual sometimes I poke through my unpublished stuff and see if anything hits me, I sort of always liked this in the back of my mind, but time passes and you forget about things (I wrote this back in dec 2018), I thought it very lyrical at the time, and now… one minor tweak (the first line was one line with the second line but the cadence in my head read it as two after I wrote it).. so, there you have it… and there it is…
music: let’s rock, it’s the summer man, roll down the windows and get…
and don’t forget I also write Media reviews (TV, film and the like… and I would like to think I am good… or at least decent, come on now people I do work 6 days a week…)
Photo by Download a pic Donate a buck! ^ on Pexels.com
so here I am broken and old I left you so long ago but never could untether my soul I will tell my grand children about you should I have them like a fairy tale like a fable I hardly believe myself, anymore “for I was once in love with the most beautiful girl in all the world” for she was and so you are, still age and time has not stolen that vision in my eyes blind your such simple perfection gifted unto me a brilliant burning helium core of the brightest star and now you are, just that up in my sky distant but always there to guide my heart upward to the north, a path to one day I might depart upon and reunite, with you my love my heart, my love, I await our reunion even if, I know this will never come.
notes… as I fall into routine, this has been my thursday night thing lately, no guaranty it will stay, but it seems ok to reflect on her once a week even if she is on my mind more than that.
Shades of My Garden 