light.

light.

for the night never does truly escape the sun
there is only that veiled curtain drawn
the pause of night-
the time to sleep, between the exhale
then, the awakening of the dawn
that always comes
always, until, well, not.
but the sun is never vanquished
only turned from our eyes
for a time
forgotten
for a time
in the spin
gravity’s fond trick
holds our feet strong
humanity, tethered to the earth
the agreed bond of our birth
until that release-
when our sight may cease
as dawn becomes all days
and then all nights
become all, all light.

notes… this post is based on my last post, sort of… just musing on the same topic and really enjoying the music this time out, sometimes I get it right, even if only for myself, welcome to my world folks, your thoughts and comments are appreciated but not vital, this is my thing, just throwing my art onto the shores of the world, so let it be and let each other be well… trust me on that…

The lost moments… (stop and watch)

The lost moments… (stop and watch)

the lost moments
the bullet train that blazes ahead the day at work, all aboard, the pace is something to behold, or to dread, or to embrace, or to blink, and it ends, I try to take the lost moments and make them mend or at least carry, carry through like a photo or a token of a memory, or of something pleasant, the moment before I get in my car in the morning, before I hit that commute, throw my arm over the window and gaze, before that usually awful drive like bumper cars that never meet, except some do and that just causes delays for the rest, the sick game of in and out and the rush and brush, the lanes, the change, the tolls and the toll, so no, before I get into my torture capsule, before that trap, I take a moment, whether the weather permits or not, to soak in the sounds and sights around my humble suburban life, there is always something around, a least a squirrel, or a robin or two, something that moves, the tops of the trees in the backyard swaying perhaps, the smell of fresh leaves or grass, something, something is there to be grasped, a refuge from the iron clad and concrete monsters that await my fate, so take those lost moments, give them a home in your mind and heart, for even an instant can be the start, a mental locket and so store them there, and when the human jungle begins to encroach, fight off the inevitable with those lost moments
.

the long wedding…

the long wedding…

Matrimony

so-
should I?
marry you
death-
now or then
why wait?
why the rush?
inevitable-
the perfect mate;
fate-
so let the courtship begin
and never end.
unless I should begin again;
reincarnation or resurrection-
so let the lantern be lit
so I may follow
into the path of light
.

the traveling.

the traveling.

And this same wind that roars across the land, never tiring, resting at times, sure, furious in others, but humanity does not stand a chance against such an unrelenting advance, for the same wind has blown across the earth for all the time there has been such a place, in space, this space, our space, what a strange thing to consider, our little home, has made the whole universe bend around her will, the will of life, for if that is not a signal of the sincerity and sheer gravity of life, what is? Just random gases and molecules that cooked and baked in the primordial gestation of the planet, to coalesce and crawl out, for us to emerge, you and me, unfathomable time to even read the tale told on a grain of sand from the grand story that is just this one world alone, cast into the vast there is some actual finite point in that infinity so far beyond, utter dimensions when we struggle with just the perception of a mere three, like a raft we are riding through time on the universe, a river, rapids, falls, calm lazy bends, a moving planet both spinning and flying outward, bound, by chance, at just the right distance, to a sun, what was the sun, the ra, a god, now a member of a countless family, but his is our helios, or heaven, or chance at this life in all the possibilities that could have been and ever where, this exact moment in time, or this chain binding our souls to this here and now, how? For as old as the wind may seem, roaming the earth, as we do now, one day, will gasp, and expire that last breath into the universeand dissipate…

notes… ah, the irony of life, and what is considered important in the day to day… there was a literal wind storm here tonight after I wrote this earlier… well, not a wind storm per se, a storm, with lots of wind, to let me know my temp greenhouse was certainly not boss, I fixed it up after today it came apart earlier, when I came home I put it all back together, honestly it was not in that bad a shape, I have at least 50lbs holding the thing down, just a temp space to spare some of my more new exotic bamboo the rigors of below zero temps their first winter here in Jersey… but then the real storm came, picked the whole thing up like nothing and deposited it 10 feet away… I had to run out in a torrent of rain, nearly horizontal rain, to pick up the pots (think about 3 feet wide suckers) and shimmy them over next to the house, I think one of my plants is dead, the chinese fountain bamboo, which for this plant was winter #2.. but my leopard japanese and japanese timber bamboo seem pretty happy, my planter of black bamboo looks terrible but it looked like that last winter so… (and man that stuff is expensive…). So it was like me protecting my flock and seeing a toll taken in my little world, yes, in the scheme of things this is a small thing, but isn’t everything in the grand scheme of the total everything ? it’s all perspective really. we all value our day to day lives, our hopes, dreams, our circles of reality…

dilemma (a short)

dilemma (a short)

sentiment, reality though.
I never seem to have the time
to properly metamorphosize
so will I ever be…
externally
who I am, to be ?

notes… and so I ask you (yes you) what are we meant to be? are we free? (to be?) I’m not so sure sometimes, and others I am a blustered fool spitting in the face of an obvious tornado, what an odd fellow, one of my neighbors has a rooster now, I hear it in the morning, thankfully it is on the next block or my neighbor might not be waking up…

PS: if you have a word reaction to my work, send it in, the best I will tag back onto my post, as a reaction? a question? a continuation ? sure… any of these, so if I invoke a response from your muse… please share…

umbilical stretched.

umbilical stretched.

So… what a strange contemplation, what a strange feeling, at once I feel alone, isolated, never a real member of the village, always the guy who lives out in the woods or on the exterior portions, disconnected, but right here in the mix of the world, and yet… the exhilaration, as I climb over rocks to find nooks of a beach few eyes take in, not some new impossible spot, for surely they have all been found before (and they have) but there is this moment of discovery, like you are on the moon as armstrong once stood, ok, maybe not that grand, but still, the little kid in you, that devilish imp thinking you are doing something you shouldn’t, you are privy to the plot that no one else has seen, I can only imagine what a real explorer felt, even if they were not the primary, they must have felt this same rush, centuries are blind, humanity binds us, we have the same instincts, wants, desires, we just have different clothes to put on, call it technology, or progress, all the same, a chord links us all back to the first walking apes, until we become fully machines, which may or may not happen, not in my lifetime, I imagine myself downloaded into computer memory, my electrical impulses and what not, but I doubt I will see the day, as alone as I feel in seeking lonely places, I feel more connected than ever to life, to nature, to history, I am not expecting every one to understand, but this is how I feel out here, would I like someone else to understand ? and share this with? I would be lying if I said no, but I have learned in life you need to be happy with what you get, dreams are not a bad thing, no, they are a great thing, but your feet are on this ground so be there to… just try to accept life as it comes the good the bad, like the tide, highs and lows, always the highs and lows, but I must admit, being here, I feel my regrets, I wear them, but they do not wear me down, out there, back there, in the real, everything seems amplified, so I just suppose, I need a remote beach to repose, to retreat…no, to visit, when in need, once a year has sufficed but would I be better visiting twice… and more..

(later in the day) I saw a young couple walk past me on the jetty as I was filming, I say young meaning they were probably in their 20s, maybe late 20s, sort of goth dressed but not as goth as I recall back in the day when the Cure were huge, I don’t mean any of that in a bad way, just descriptive, plus dock martens are and always will be awesome, but anyway, they are dressed sort of androgynously, which makes sense in the scene, probably wearing heavier jackets than they should be, but yet she was baring her midriff, and she wasn’t thin, but it totally worked for her, well at least to my eye, and apparently his, they walked by determined to go to the edge of the jetty, I cut a waft of their cigarettes, or just his, hard to tell, but it brought me back, for sure cloves, there is something so special to me about cloves, I want to ask them where they got them but didn’t want to interrupt the moment, who needs some random jackass ruining your thing with your woman ? I don’t want to be that guy… but cloves, damn, I was a Black Djarum guy for some years, ever smoke em ? damn tasty… I went not many vacations without them, but that temptation has passed, my lungs are picky things, I watch, as the young couple meanders all the way out to the end of the jetty, the seas are not rough today, I would ponder each step myself, and haven’t had the balls to go all the way out… but good for them, shadows now, I can barely see them, as I fall back to my car, try to kick all the sand out of my shoes, look back once, not for a moment jealous, but for a moment of what if…

(always my beach song… always…)
the house on the cliffs…

the house on the cliffs…

and so there I was, another year, another week, my fortress of solitude, or at least a rental for a time, a log cabin up on Calvert cliffs, overlooking the Chesapeake bay, I come here on vacation once a year, I wind up contemplating life, and death, no, not a suicide thing, I have never had thoughts like that (thankfully), just looking down at my pile of chips and seeing where I am in the game, this is not reality, heck, it is escapism at it’s best (or worst), I suppose it is easy to take the yoke off, work, family, the daily routine I fall into, immediately I am relieved, within a day, just walking along the beach, my preoccupation of looking for, fossils in the surf (as this place is known for), perhaps just a metaphor, as I wander looking for perfect pieces of my past washed up on the ‘beach’, walking with no direction, no time slot, no time schedule, no idea of time unless I care to look at my phone, the cliffs block the sun in a way that shadows roam and invade nearly at half a day, and the beach, in most parts is dark by two in the afternoon, while the residents are out and about with work and life, and there I wander, no destination except not being able to walk further, the broken shells rip at my feet, so I put on my water shoes, then they rub my ankle damn raw so I take them off, barefoot again, sinking into the shore, the usual chatter of a busy subway platform in my mind subsides, washed away by every lap of tide, even on days when the water was a mirror, still the soft heart beat slight roar as the waves sink into the shore, at times I just stare at the water, or the birds, cormorants preening, their black shadows standing out against the water, and the gulls, their stark white standing out against the bluest of sky, even the occasional clouds can not ruin this scene, a Chesapeake scene painted on the fly just for me, as no where else in the world is anyone else seeing through my eyes right at this time, the wonder, this patch of time to never happen again and yet will a million times more – with wrinkles, the stress I brought in, seemed bound tightly in chains to my being, melts away without any resistance, effortless, regardless of my advancing age I feel young again, full of possibilities, everything seems right, but of course this is not real life, and the mornings, as I sit in place, coffee mug to face, watching the sun come up out over the bay, I wonder instead of leaving a part of me here, can I bring this slice with me instead…

but admittedly on the exit day, it all starts creeping in again, deadlines, ‘have to’s, things to do, bills to pay… all seems to crowd out hope, but I must remember this, the view, from the house on the cliffs, and the clarity it brings me, maybe this is distillation of the soul, and maybe I should pay more attention to the unraveling of my coil…