so you grand tree does thee wait guard the dead and call them out in st dygain’s yard beyond the gate there you wait, date to date, on the promise, all hallows eve all the world’s ear leans towards that tree not wanting to hear that prophetic voice and bear witness to angelystor, no, not by choice for role is the call of the dead might your name, might be read do not be bold and curse the land for bear you will with Rhobert’s hand and know now that halloween has past your name not whispered cross those limbs from the depths of that ancient root you are not called back bound eternity under that shadow of Llangernyw Yew
notes… so my friend inspiration came knocking, we have been sort of passing each other on the street in sight so often, but this time a knock on the door from an old friend, invited in, sit down for a bit of tea, yes, I am a sucker for earl grey,burgamot is citrus after all, a unique lemon, I know not why I get the visit, I just sit and listen, and so transcribe my notes… (I will annotate this poem later with my many references, as I am known to do)
“dream” in decay I can feel your breath on the back my hand as I caress your cheek your stark black hair framed in soft white light you exist my angel everything I need to know you tell my with your eyes everything I ever needed my love in bed, on my side just staring into your eyes this is all I ever wanted this moment is all I ever had for a dream once real this feels of then don’t let me wake let this be my death
*part of an ongoing series, my heart beat as it were, if you like this then please check out the rest (scroll down a hair)… thanks for all looks, likes, comments, all that. oh, and yeah, line 9 is not a typo, it is there because I let words out for the reader to fill in… “my …” when you are expecting “me” there, just sayin…
so I drive up to the drive up atm tonight, to deposit my check, from last week, pretty normal stuff here, of course, of course the atm is closed (more specifically unavailable), why? why? sure, I know today is a fed holiday but I just want to deposit a check fer crissake (a little cash pull out wouldn’t have hurt either), so I pull around the other side to use the walk up atm, I park, and immediately I am flanked by another car, SUV actually, obnoxiously that came in the wrong way against the one way disturbing my vibe, but at least they didn’t park on top of my ass, so I pop out, to get my business done, this atm has problems too but deposits ain’t one of them (so the screen says), I log in, cover my code, and lo and behold, the deposit button is not available, ya gotta’ be kiddin’ me, so, struck out as it were, and I wasn’t going for three, the person, a guy, hops out of the caddy escalade, I try to be a nice guy, “hey man, this ATM is not working, the one around the corner either”, as to not waste his time, his answer, well question, flummoxed me, “WHY?” he says, looking at me pretty hard for an answer, now, I am not sure if this gentleman does not realize, I certainly am not an employee of Wells Fargo, not eight at night, not walking away from an ATM and flagging him down, so I managed a “it just is, no cash, no deposit, you can’t do anything on it man”, again, without pause and a stern straight gaze, “WHY?” wtf is with this guy, so I just shrug and get back to my car, of course I hang out for a bit pretending to play with my phone, but watching live in my mirrors, I had to make sure that his trip to the ATM ended just as mine, it did, I drove off oddly satisfied, at least he had fair warning… why?
bury with me one day bury with me these dreams that never came to be and may be in the dawning of my death they shall spring to life as I may never be so I ask you bury these, bury them, with me.
notes: for me this is a circular poem, I am comparing ideas to themselves, in circles… unfulfilled dreams (seeds)… your thoughts on the topic are welcome…
sometimes I do not know why my mind goes to the places it does, ideas and thoughts pop in there like a spinning roulette wheel, no, that’s not a good analogy really, there is always the same numbers, perhaps a roulette wheel with constant changing numbers if you could concoct such a contrivance, that would be more accurate, anyway, I was driving home from work tonight, musing, to music as usual, and this feeling came over me, that feeling, one that has not visited this part of the woods in quite sometime, many years even, just that spark, I remember, that initial burst of joy I felt when opening gifts during holiday times or maybe a birthday, I immerse swim in the memory immediately, not liking just ripping gifts open like a wild savage beast, the wrapping paper had value to me, I always peeled the tape, carefully, like a gift ninja in heat, I guess it fit my particular nature, my beat, I tried to avoid letting the tape from pulling up the wrapping paper to where I would see under the epidermis white, almost as if I was peeling off a band aid from a summer dried knee scrape, not wanting to disturb the underneath, my attention to such details seems so singularly silly now, but that buzz of happiness from knowing the gift was coming, that time was here, to see what the haul had brought, inspecting the packages I could always tell (with great excitement) the ones that were various specific things asked for and granted, how exactly big a nintendo cartridge was, and there was only so many out at the time, the double wait time, first the unwrapping, then counting the moments for the crowd family to disperse so you could play the darn thing, play it until your hands were bloody stumps or your feet fell asleep from the awkward seat on the floor you took, the other stack of gifts, that would sit for a day in the unwrapping place, the sweaters, the socks, one year I got underwear I think, not very festive in retrospective…
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com
been awhile since I felt the sensation, I guess I do not like receiving gifts and haven’t for a while now, I prefer giving them but not at the prescribed told time or in the limelight, I like to be spontaneous (when I see something that makes me think of you I buy it) which has caused some consternation among the ‘normal’ folk in my clan, but I persevere, sometimes questioning my modus operandi as a gimmick and not pure, or wondering if there is something wrong with me, moments of self doubt, but I remember those surprise gifts and the reactions, not the awkward looks as I lurk on the periphery of current defined celebrations, I am glad for the memories, the rush, that feeling when I was kid, but I am also awkwardly happy and even sometimes content with the path I have laid, even if comfort in my decisions evades me at times.
for upon your children’s children a parade of red roses ash blows the sky for generations remain locked beneath in shallow graves foundation of bone fire on the feet countless clock hands clap a breath, a clasp moment a heart, a beat to pulse sweet blood on track how the world eye remains fixed a glorious host the vessel of birth the cradle that serves the ending desires of the natural way of all that may be expanding one day collapsing the cycle of near infinity loops back upon your children’s children a procession of possession travel on for as long as time will permit as time shall exist
notes… I will let this one stand alone, it was one of those that I say “wrote itself” for whatever that is worth, your thoughts on the matter are always appreciated…
(poetic mind) high beams behind me on the highway like bright glaring eyes a predator’s eyes stalking a jaguar’s eyes blinding blinking, back down to the ground now back up upon the pack
(actual) why the f#@! does this f@#$%^g jagoff have his god*$*% brights on? this is the most well lit road in jerzee! this is the friggin GSP ya’ dumb mook!
(proceeds to slow down to put my brights on in retaliation)
no, I’m not proud of it, but sometimes the times get the best of me, this was one of those times, I admit it.
the one and only last of the kind the singular leaf left on the branch of an evolutionary tree *(1) born to dive where there is no light *(2) no ink to blot the story right *(3) a true blue blood but not a king *(4) with the largest eyes in all the realms *(5) can invert one self into a crown of thorns *(6) or display luminous blasts from photophores *(7) perhaps a dash and a sprint but no marathons happen at these depths *(8) even so with fearsome name and look no drop of blood shall pass *(9) this denizen of the deepest ocean feeds on falling snow *(10) the leftovers cascading down of the lighted world so far removed
1. The Vampire Squid is what as known as “phylogentic relict” (I know, say that ten times fast, excellent term though), basically this guy is the last surviving member or it’s particular order (or limb out on the ole’ evolutionary branch, there are many dead ends on these branches). The order that this creature is a part of is called Vampyromorphida (if that isn’t a name for a future horror movie, I don’t know what is, at least give me credit when you write it). 2. These buggers inhabit what is known as the Oxygen Minimum Zone which can have oxygen concentrations as love as 3% (by comparison you are breathing in about 21%). 3. This creature is sort of an early hybrid between an octopus and a squid, however, it can not spray ink for self defense. 4. They literally have blue blood, unlike our hemoglobin their blood uses hemocyanin to carry oxygen through their bodies. Of course blue blood is a play on human royalty. The origins of the term are quite up in the air but it generally stems from the exclusivity of royal blood lines (ahem, inbreeding) and actual physical appearance (you can see royal’s veins more clearly as they tended to stay out of the sun, the common folk toiled out in the sun, not the blue bloods). 5. Compared to body size these little guys have huge eyes, to take in any bit of light they might grab at these depths. Proportionally speaking they are among the largest in the animal kingdom. 6. When threatened the Vampire Squid will nearly turn itself inside out covering it’s head and showing off it’s spikes called cirri. The spikes are just for show though, no danger there (they are fleshy, check out the excellent video below all my blathering). You can say it looks like a ‘crown of thorns‘ which of course is a reference to the sacrifice of Jesus so I am inferring that concept here as the animals literally “turn the other cheek” so to speak. 7. Like many creatures at this depth they can project bio luminous displays from organs called photophores. They can also eject a bio-luminescent mucus full of orbs like a mini fireworks display. However the metabolic cost is high as food is so scarce at these depths the creature would much rather swim away. (and footnote I had to correct the term to photophores from “photo-spores”, my bad, I make mistakes, it happens, but either way it rhymes with thorns… so… there) 8. The squid has relatively weak musculature so it can only swim off in bursts so it relies more on trickery and strange trajectory. It can not maintain top speed for very long at all. 9. Even with such a fierce name this is quite the tame beast, definitely not some bloodsucking denizen of the night as the name might suggest. The name was based on how it looked (which probably helped it survive this long). 10. “Marine Snow” is a term for all the organic junk that floats down from the surface area. The younger squids most likely feed mostly on this, as they get older they will feed on any detritus that might drift on by, really not much different than the snow.
I can not explain the feeling, like living in a moment of infinity, maybe it is the season, maybe it is the reason, I was out walking the dog, not some euphemism, literally just letting samantha out to explore and defile the lawn somewhat, I walked, out to the sidewalk, in shorts, in the cold, on january twelth, nearly 2am, wind kicking up some, time seemed to slow down to a crawl, as I looked around, slowly, it felt like forever, like this moment should be everything and all things and was, -infinity-, for a second, it felt like that, nothing else was on this human plane, there was just this, this moment, existing in this space, the wind roaming all around, the moss on the one side of the tree in the streetlight, sort of glowing, or so it seemed, to my left, the sidewalk glistening beneath from some earlier rain, at a certain angle seen, then, I turn, a sudden jarring sound, a plastic water bottle has escaped my recycling bin, rattling down the driveway run away barrel, I stop it, I pick it up, put it back, the dog is there out on the lawn, roaming around with purpose, I feel the breeze, the trees are just lines against the moon now, no leaves, no sounds, just the breeze pure against my ears, around my ears, in my ears whispering things I can not understand, I embrace it, the breeze, strike a jesus pose to try and absorb it all in like a kite flying, I can not take a deep enough breath but I try none the less, to fly, this moment, this is an experience of infinity, of endless life, of life, of life itself, this is that, for a second, I call her back in, my dog, so we can return to the now, the routine, the continuum of the real life, the banal, but I feel as if I touched something else, tonight, even for just that moment.
not many a January night you can sit out, at least in this clime, in shorts, on the porch, ponder life, look up at the moon, take a moment or two, contemplate, deep breath, and just let the world talk to you, or perhaps the universe should it so be inclined, the moon is bright, but a bit diffused, and lower in the sky than usual, I’m sure there is a good reason, I just don’t care to know at this exact moment of flow, I sit down on my porch, well the steps to be honest, the weather is sliding back into the role as it grows colder and the weatherman is selling rumors of snow later in the week, but now? mild, just a chill, not enough to chase me in before I can take in this night, another night, I can hear a dull murmur of the four lane road not too far off my block, I imagine it is rather a mountain stream, it has that same quality of moving constant sound, but for the occasional sport who feels the need to test their throttle past my little grotto, or the angry driver jousting with another announced by trivial horns, and the occasional jet liner, another low roar you can trace across the sky with both eyes and ears, but mostly quiet…
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I look down at my hands, I do not think of myself as a skeleton, but I quite am, I hold my palms against my face and I can almost see the sockets, feel them back there, behind my hands, naked grey caves we inhabit with our flesh, for a time, we are tenants, I look down at my hands again, remembering I am a skeleton, seeing my fingers as bare bones like sticks, only as I examine them, and trying, with my mind to build up all the fleshy layers from there to here in my visual field, everything that makes this work, how often do I even think about what it takes just to make my hands move, my heart pump, my lungs breathe, my feet walk, all in concert, usually, but more often than not a symphony of the unconscious, thinking about it, really visualizing it now, the chassis, the frame, the architecture underneath all this, makes every movement feel different in that light, I imagine watching the electrical spark that travels from my mind down the neural highway, from my shoulder, down to my hand, for each of these thoughts to translate to the page, as if these words are a direct remnant of my machine, a printing press of my brain, just the idea of walking, inhaling, thinking about exactly what is going on, can be exhausting minute to minute, no wonder our bodies can not last forever, what could under such strain, that daily work with no rest, until again, we become once more bones at best.
Anyone reading me for the first time my thoughts from the porch is a thing… well, my thing, although I truly encourage you to do the same, sit out there, wherever, take it all in, write, don’t write, doesn’t matter, just take a moment, that moment, trust me, it is worth it.
and sometimes I am just an old school metal head… sue me…
Shades of My Garden 