Orphans…

Orphans…

old photos in the wooden box
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Sometimes I flip through some old stuff, and find lines or short works, or incomplete thoughts, and I post them in the quiet moments of weekends, perhaps you like them, or they help inspire, to me they are snapshots, ideas lost, or just something the moment has passed on, and with that, so here they are…

(1)
she ruffles my brow
as only she knows how
(2)
do I trust the path of crows
for they are mischievous sprites
do I stay the path I go
and risk the safety of never light
(3)
I looked up, and I thought:
“could I die under this sky?”
and yes, I could, I would, maybe not the radiant blue you are thinking of, but layered textures like purposefully settled sand, layers of slightly not the same shade but related, surely I do not want to go, but if this was the end I might not mind.
(4)
all of the circles of sand
when will they end
(5)
I see
rolling hills
of sand
from which wind blows
shifting landscape
yet remains the same
a one note
chameleon

notes… hey, always a chance to push my fave vocalist right now (doug pinnick is my all time fave along with tori amos)

haiku style, so, not haiku

haiku style, so, not haiku

black wooden bench on green grass
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an unremarkable
rainy day
the pond
in the park
over there
a lone figure
sits on the bench
centered
I can not read
their story from here
so I move on

notes… I say it every time I write a piece like this, haiku is great as a script, I don’t like the restraint but I love the feel, intent and compaction, no bones to throw @ those who are haiku advocates, Basho is amazing, he embodied his poems, but I am not Basho, so interpret for yourself.

‘the idea of color’ (observational pause)

‘the idea of color’ (observational pause)

optical glass triangular prism
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given the prospect of being blind or deaf, I would not choose either, I can not imagine the world as other, I suspect it would be ‘better’ to be born that way then to know of the fruit and then be denied it’s sweet taste, how often do we ponder the good graces of the basics, sight, and more specifically color, something we all take for granted (not wagging a finger, myself charged guilty aside from moments of clarity such as this), just the idea of color is an amazing thing when you stop to wonder on it for a moment, and the mere spectrum we see is just a hint, a shadow really, of all the color actually out there, I suppose we do not tend to think of X-ray, infrared, ultraviolet and microwaves as ‘colors’ but they are in wave form just the same as ROYGBIV, but they are not recognized by our eyes by design, who knows what the future may bring if we leave this earthly thing, or become more bionic than human… maybe someone will be painting in microwave one day (and heating din din at the same time)…
holding a prism and breaking light into a rainbow swath of ingredients, a hidden cascade locked in every light, except when the rain and sun meet, we marvel at those natural rainbows but what is color? visible light, if you look at a strawberry, it is not actually red, the surface of the berry is merely reflecting red light, absorbing the rest, that is what your eyes cast and catch, so therefore “strawberries are red” even when they are not, color is simply an interpretation of what an object is sending back to your optical receptors, but these calculations, happenings, actualities, we process millions in a daily breeze with no effort, just the sheer idea of color shows the sheer wonder of our creation and ability to sample the world provided around us, truly amazing, a palate built for our exact imaginations…

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

planet earth
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let the core of this earth
be as is my heart
a world
existing only
for you, eden-born
my love, my gemini, for I am bound
as my soul, to this dirt
from which I come
which I came to know you,
forever the poles
as they track the sun
until all light fades
my love shall remain
until the dying collapse
that will end all days
so-
I will be with you
forever.

notes… this is meant to be staccato in rhythm, in beats, at least that is the way, it reads, to me, and I meant, to write it, that way… but always for her, for her, the one I will always love, until the day, the day I die.

cultural divide (a short ditty, true story)

cultural divide (a short ditty, true story)

close up portrait of a antelope
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so anyway, if you read me, my blog I mean, I like to people watch from my porch and take in the super local nature at the same time, the other day some deer were born in my backyard and I caught one of the little fellas on video, so there I am sitting out last night, enjoying the lovely weather, letting nature purge the knots of my daily humanity, so on walks by this older Russian couple, I don’t know Russian but I guess I saw enough stereotyped movies in the 80s to recognize Russian, anyway, all of a sudden the wife starts walking up my neighbor’s lawn across the street, this is curious of course, but then I see one of the little baby deer I filmed last week, she was getting in close for a photo with her phone, I thought, so I walked over to see the deer also, I mean, cmon, they are adorable, I don’t care who you are, it is instant Bambi love moment man, sure, when they are older I think “yum, venison steak” but at that age? they are like forest puppies, so, she finally gets within spittin’ distance and the little one bolts, mama appears on the scene and they disappear off into the next block, so from across the street I tell them “I just saw that one born last week”, and without skipping a beat, in a very, almost made up, laid on thick Russian accent she blunts out (now say this out loud in the accent to get the effect)…

“it is baby… it is stupid”

ah, yeah, ruined that moment dead flat but those words just sounded so hilarious to me, the only clever thing I could think to say was “we were all stupid when we were babies”, and we both went our separate ways, so, the takeaway, maybe everyone is not as enamored with baby deer as I am…

thoughts, from the porch… (a moment in the sun)

thoughts, from the porch… (a moment in the sun)

yellow concrete house
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taking a moment to soak in the sundown, not really a sunset most nights (like the kind when you hear the word “sunset“), my view is not of some majestic mountains or other similar bucolic loveliness, no, just the sun dipping below sight, tucked behind my neighbor’s house, but it will suffice, until something nicer comes along, I suppose that is what vacations are for, I close my eyes intently & intensely to concentrate on what is left of the day’s rays, to absorb every single last joule of radiant solar energy, hopefully put smartly into my internal battery, if there is such a thing, well, at least there is in my imagination that is, so go with it, I suppose this is meditation of sorts, on outside observation I probably look half asleep, and in fact I think I may have teetered back and forth a bit, perhaps eyes open is a better option after a long day of remote client support, one of those days the phone rang before I could even comprehend the morning, and non stop flow until the clock was up, one of those days that after I tell myself to not allow myself to get wound, but by 10am and 2 coffees in I’m down that hole spinning ’round and ’round, so this is like my decompression chamber, well, more like my green open space, not a private matter as all passersby can cast their judgments and questionable looks upon me, I try to spin close the leaky spigot of my thoughts, let my mind expand out into a relaxed pause, I concentrate on a blade of grass gently bobbing up and down, just slightly taller than the rest, that is why it stands out, I scan around & wonder @ all the manner of green hues in the leaves occupying the personal canopy of my yard, the birds sound even, singing even, not chatter or arguments or chirping fits or territorial spits, the chaos of the world seems lulled by mild order and the meandering pitch perfect wind, as the breeze works toward and over like just warm pulsing bath water across my bare ankles, I have at least this little escape, this space of mine for this time, sitting somewhat selfish with a beaming inner satisfaction, as the breeze leaves me in the past like a clever thief, I notice the savage has been sapped from within my keep… rejuvenation, a moment in the sun. (thanks earth, I owe you one)

notes… as always, thanks for the looks, the views, the thoughts, the news, any and all comments are appreciated, negative or positive, it’s cool, thanks for taking the time to check out my little blog. I would say I do it for you… but nah, this is my art, I do it for me, I hope people like it, I want people to dig it? sure.  But one is enough, 10,000 would rule, but hey, I ain’t that out of my head …

PS: maybe I am stupid, but I tag my posts accurately, that probably explains the highs and lows, the spikes and the tumbleweed, but that is what I do, that is who I am…

a little prayer of sorts…

a little prayer of sorts…

brown field under cloudy sky at night
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“I pray to the sun –
for guidance
to the moon –
to ease my mind
to the stars –
as a reminder of infinite possibility
to all these –
as all humanity once does once has once will
may the light become my pathway
until my heart beats still”

notes… not a religious thing, more of a spiritual thing, the more years I hang on this familiar mantle I try to just look out and observe all this around me, it is astounding, and yet so nothing compared to the everything, what a dilemma, but it teaches you to love what you have – not what you can never have, does it always hold? hey, I can only try, this is my first time at life (as far as I know), nothing is perfect, nothing is always 100% right, but damn there is beauty in this world I endeavor to enjoy…

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

photo of supernova in galaxy
Photo by Alex Andrews on Pexels.com

what if, the beams, the light, the starlight we have all known since we could look skyward at night, what if the light was actually a stream of information, a story, a history, an encapsulation of time, maybe it is but we have not the tools to access the data or comprehend the language, as we know – light from the stars we see now could be thousands or if not millions of years old by the time it pierces our eyes, so what if that is somehow a series of photographs captured in a light stream, an album, snapshots, a step by step catalog of a star’s life above from the past until the moment that instant penetrates our eyes and enters into the ripe groves of our minds, think of how generations of imaginations have looked up and wondered, since human kind began, is this all coincidence? the constellations drawn upon with lines, connect the dots, why? the draw, the fascination, perhaps our subconscious is reacting to an underground radio station broadcasting beyond AM or FM, there are parts of the universe far older than our young civilization, what fantastic tales might these reaches bring, stars are truly brilliant torches of inspiration swimming in the vast darkness… but are they more? so the more I look, so the more I yearn, to know, and in there lies hope, for all that, beyond our own.

notes… one of those things that bounces around my ole noggin being a space wonk that I am, the sky is easier to see these days here in suburban Jersey, although the views in rural Maryland where I disappear, er, I mean vacation at least once a year, are just spectacular with the naked eye (although I ponied up this year for a telescope, hopefully photos to come when I get good at it), but think about it, digest it, mull about it a bit, when you see a star you are not seeing a light bulb you just turned on, you are literally looking at the past, something from thousands of years ago or older, you are not looking at ‘now’… pretty mind blowing that just the night sky itself is not real, or at least not current for the most part, imagine if you walked around every day with eyes seeing ten years ago, 100 years ago, or so… well, we kind of forget that is what we are doing with the stars above… so chew on that for awhile my friends… oh and listen to some space rock care of my favorite Canadians (RIP Piggy, but the new guy is pretty damn good, this was the crux of Piggy’s guitar work imo, not that anyone cares but damn I will sing his praises until I’m gone, I like unicorns, so be it)…

thoughts hit you sometimes…

thoughts hit you sometimes…

brown leaf
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I just came in from outside, I did not notice a straggler, a stowaway of sorts, a hanger on, a single sad maple leaf, wrinkled and dead dried, probably dragged in on my shoe or shooed in by a weak wind, I picked it up and threw it away as insignificant, and then, it hit me, someday, someone will read my obituary and do the same thing… with me.

notesmorbid ? perhaps. true? probably.  The eventuality, the realization, it is all there, an underlying theme I try to ignore because I have no control over it… but it does not erase that it is there… do I look away? do I pay attention? do I subscribe to a belief?  … all of these… all of these…

Wicked Cargo…

Wicked Cargo…

caravel-cruise-ship-mediterranean-sea-847147

the ship has left port, many years now, on the open ocean, never can tell how long the voyage will last, never can tell how vast the ocean really is (although theories have been floated for all of our years), just that at some point, it ends, there are tales and maps of some mystical magical land, but no man has returned hence, only rumors, hope and despairs, should I as well follow this folly? what choice might I have, to sail in circles, to try and double back to my original destination, no, I point to the horizon, for what good is traversing already traveled routes, yes, I know them well, and any dangers in them I have navigated before, there is calm in the comfort there, but I seek more, I only have what I have brought, in my hold there is so much stored up these years, boxes of inventory I probably could no longer identify, things from far and wide, foreign lands, foreign hands, but all have gotten me here, so should I lighten the load, and forget these forgotten things? maybe in the mess is really pandora’s guess, I could be hatching all the mistakes yet once over again, or do I risk rising over the same ones by not reminiscing in the failures once passed, the balance in the ballast is a constant task, so many have come and gone, but yet you are left all alone to make the decisions, all the wisdom that lies beneath this sea, brilliance and wickedness all washed underneath, bathed in the same waves that rock back and forth for me, and toward the north star at night, so bright as to catch all imagination of eyes, a call to attention, to the world, to humanity itself, for these eyes are not seeing anew, they are seeing the same as all the travelers will, future and past, parent to child, for there has been no columbus as yet unfold, but yet we must be bold and push further, out to the setting sun, past the rising light, break the curve of that said horizon, to find the light, the land, the promise, the hand, that might reach out and touch the domain of the everlasting.

notes… hey, I am child of the 80s, ok maybe an odd one, my first musical love was Duran Duran, then I got into Def Leppard (I would play air guitar on my newfangled Prince racket that was all the rage), Metallica (being into metallica back in that day was not cool/normal by the way), Voivod (touted as the fastest band around), King’s X (the most underrated rock band of all time), Testament, Exodus (that song is a lost anthem), Anthrax (fun band)… and always classical, I was the preppy nerd who was friends with all the burn outs (the kids in black metal shirts who smoked)… it was a simple time back in high school in my town…