Thoughts… from the porch… (bomb cyclone edition)

Thoughts… from the porch… (bomb cyclone edition)

water drops
Photo by Ali Hassan on Pexels.com

the rain has gone but the song of the storm still plays a heavy dirge upon theses lands (as I observe), there is always these storms this time of year, where the sky is utterly gray and unforgiving, not pockets of lightning, not roving cloud wombs birthing thunder, rains that once quenched the glorious hot pavement of summer, so distant now but from just weeks ago, all the demons and reasons creeping back in, in this season, the summer light kept them hidden, locked in their quarters, but now as the trees are being undressed, their hiding places no longer needed, they are coming out, to stalk the night as it grows longer and longer, chewing, gnawing at the edges of the day morsel by mouthful, a crescendo descends upon the devil’s night, as candy and subtle mayhem ignite imaginations, shadows and flickering candles dancing in jack smiles, the world is retelling the ancient story, one it knows well, sending emissaries and portents to further the tale, and should we pay mind, or pay strict attention, details and devils may rise, all in the slight of hand concealed by an autumn storm as it rages in from the ocean on familiar northeastern tract, we bustle about under all this happening almost unaware, this transforming, but yet it dictates our path, changes trajectories whether we perceive them or not, from one leaf down to the whole lot, soon, soon a blanket will come, not of comfort but stillness cold, as the world prepares and truth be told, not mere whispers but whipping winds, change is coming and has already been.

music... Badlands – Winter’s Call

notes…  thanks to all who read my words, all thoughts, comments, recipes, music recommendations and everything else is appreciated, I write this blog for me but if it helps anyone else? I’m cool with that, thanks.

a poem as a vessel…

a poem as a vessel…

close up of candle over black background
Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com

faint
a long forgotten candle burns
flickers… slowly, in silence
in the dark
crater crowns a mound of melted wax
shapes the form, sunken
barely moving shadows trance
in the corner
of a long forgotten chamber

notes… I call this “vessel poetry”, meaning I am intending to be vague so the reader fills in their own details, sure, this could be taken at pure literal (visual) meaning, that’s cool, I did have a literal specific picture in mind, kind of a forgotten grey wood cabin with no windows that light still comes through all the old lines in the wood, in the corner some old candle ready to die on a silver plate with one of those ring handles almost like a mug, next to a dead fireplace with dead embers… but I also thought about more (and specific things) when I wrote it… what did you think about ?