(this is related to my previous post, quite by accident, or circumstance, or the whimsy of the muse) Oddly enough, as I woke this morning (better than the alternative), when I walked outside to observe my ‘get in the car go to work ritual’, there was a mad amount of noise afoot… crows, in trees on both sides of my street, so this wrote itself (I suppose I can take credit, the pen was in my hand, but sometimes it feels I am just a cosmic means to an end…)
a gathering of crows in twin mirror treetops bookend my block angular shadows pasted up against naked limbs screaming, toasting, celebrating I think of an irish wake and then on a wink, on a wing unison, sync, they fly away on to the next barker’s perch
(my musings from my porch when I take a moment to take in and notice the world, sometimes poems, sometimes free form, always me… this is a series ongoing)
Photo by Benjamin Cruz on Pexels.com
I wonder where my energy has run off to, just the comfort of a snug bed on a bitter cold day, have I been body snatched and replaced by the twin pair of lethargy and laziness? or are the two consorting for an offspring in my form, my thoughts are short these days much like the hours the sun is keeping shop, I wonder about correlation, or collaboration against my will (or perhaps the pull of unknown instinct), either way I seem steered to submission by the cold iron grip of invading artic mass, perhaps this was just the crash my soul needed after a long week of work, after all I had two long jaunts into the night, with my only reward a full six days on top, sort of an oppressive sundae where the cherry is a bloody burdensome spike, I am not meaning to complain, I could walk away of course (and surely that sounds nice in due course in written words more fantasy than a battle plan), I suppose then I am complaining yet pretending to not do so, how veritably clever and not so transparent, so who might notice this anyway, a love letter, a complain notice, a tangent pamphlet of thought, posted by a celestial peasant pitching ideas out from this pebble planet cast out upon the shore of our galaxy, maybe all the answers are out there (not too far from reach), I think about going to attain them, there is a little spark in there deep down somewhere…
but a comfy bed, curled up, the dog as ready to snooze as I, this seems like the best answer to everything, at the moment.
(so, I close my eyes… lights dim… I drift off into dream)
Another time to take a step back and marvel at this world, something so simple as being out on my deck, walking the dog (or letting her loose on the neighborhood at large), the spotlight on, not quite snow falling in the light blazing from behind my right ear, something between rain and snow but definitely visible coming down straight, I wish I could snapshot my mind sometimes (like this one), pure joy in simple weather, these simple things after a day of fixing all sorts of complications with computers and their machinations (and users…), so here I am just standing in awe, and I let out a breath, and see it set in full form, and try to blow those cool smoke “O” rings, I can not of course, but then I think about the formation of my exhale itself, the very life exiting my body at that very moment, one of the breaths less in the count, for surely there is a count, sadly down, or rejoiced for how long compared to some, but there it is, my breath, a life, something of me breathed back out into the world, maybe recycled one hundred fold, maybe this was once snow on everest, or just dew upon the newest born leaf (or the exhaust of a 72 veedub), all I know is this frozen time, my breath billows out into this surreal, and I am fascinated in all this living dream, as the precipitation still falls in unison as if commissioned (I am mesmerized)… … … and then the jangle of samantha’s tags (the dog, after all), brings me back from this dreamy plane, but those sweetest eyes that look up fuel other dreams, so I slide the door and let her in, taking one look back at the falling precipitation … and breathe out one deep last breath…
notes.. I was going to post a poem about breath that tonight reminded me of, and then this came rambling out of me first as I was thinking about how I felt out on the deck, consider this part of my porch series I suppose… definitely in that vibe
Ambient masterpiece imo, very calming, a song a month composed for sleep/relaxation… I listened to this all day at work often. And I would be remiss if I did miss, the opportunity to say thanks to… you.
1.6.2019 From the Porch (series) (I’m a little cold but it’s my fault for wearing shorts when taking out the garbage on sunday night edition)
I wish that I could truly transcribe how I see the night sky this evening, this was not a remarkable day, in any way or form, this was a day birthed in the shadows of a nasty storm, amazing to think how common storms are like common arguments, so fierce in the moment, unrelenting, encompassing all the landscape of the eyes, but they pass over and the common tongue returns to banal banter, that was today if I were to give it a name, some leftovers of bluster rustling the bamboo spires against a bedroom window (such an unmistakable rattling) – but back to my shortcomings, or maybe my lack of complete mastery of my craft (not for lack of practice), I suppose I should be content to compose with the tools I currently possess, not that which I have not mastered yet, so use the only lens I might, describe this most un-descript of nights, but in that exercise is where I shall, let me not fail to interject, to pause, to detect the wonder surround in even these so common of moments, so I paused –
(and took a deep long breath)
this night sky is a mix (not a mixed bag, not a mixed sack, just a combination of the usual customers), some stars that seem set behind a slow motion procession of wispy clouds, just slowly drifting by in sync and guided by some hidden hand, there is a calm to all this and the calm resonates inside (if you let it in), the silent cold, bare trees reaching upward like living statues grasping for something they know they can never attain (but do so stretch anyway), the winter has a way of revealing, the true essence of beings, all the lovely sequins and dressings of the other seasons fallen away, just bare bark, trunk and arms, save for the giant pine stoic, there still in full dress, another deep breath, as the clouds are truly to meander much that like a lazy river, flowing over carefully framed pockets of stars in still pools, in this I try to describe, this most usual of nightly sky.
Remember to pause, look and take it all in, the miracle of life – never ends.
A two-fer this morning, plus a poem, yours for only $19.95 in 192 installments! new and improved! just set it … and forget it! So sit back on your my pillow and if you spill something don’t worry about it, just sham wow it ! if you’re hungry just chop some nuts and if you want a relaxing boat ride I have just the solution… now, without further nonsense my entries to my actual collection…
reason for being 12.29.2018 in the AM walking out to my car for work
I noticed the flap of red overlap of a local newspaper plastic sleeve in my driveway bend up and over this morning in the breeze, if I was not there to witness who might be, so was this event just for me? a universe wink? something to ponder? or nothing at all (aside from a racing mind)? the immensity of what had to transpire in the universe (to this point) to just have this simple, seemingly meaningless moment of my notice is beyond calculation, barely in the grasp of comprehension and surely more complex than humanity may ever know, but there it was, a moment just for me to see in a world of all happening and motion, of lives starting, ending and being, of the earth spinning, the sun breathing radiation upon our goldilox home, the sheer perfection of the amalgamation of circumstance, in a blink and I move on, to the mundane spectacular that is this daily life. (but listen closely, for a moment, just a fraction I bet, time stopped and froze, for that pose my eye composed in just that very precious second in between all seconds, I did not chose this, it chose me, and in that exists the birth of miracles, if you stop to notice).
Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com
winter flowers (driving to work)
not that today should be (or is) any different than the next (or previous), but decidedly I feel a different vibe going on, driving to work this morning the sky feels more alive, the winter sun’s emissaries bursting in lines out through the unmanned outposts of barren branches, casting long shadows across the road (right to left) showcasing cars upon the median wall in a procession of shadows like the projection of a carousel at night, the light adding a shimmer to the leftovers on the asphalt from yesterday’s never ending deluge, somehow things seem better, warmer, surely not in truth by empirical data (my usual cozy), but in feel, who am I to argue, but rather observe and revel, something about the winter sunlight beams as the earth’s pores broadcast open wide and soak them all in, the clouds all in place in one layer, sitting there aligned as a blueprint laid on top of the blue by a steady hand, many times I ponder that which is beyond this atmosphere, out there, but today… I am perfectly grounded within that laid out in front and behind, this morning drive, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but maybe that has been my problem sometimes, sometimes it is better to sit back and take it all in, smell the roses, even in winter when flowers are rarer but not unknown.
for winter flowers are rarer to see blooms on stark precious domain a lifeboat rises in the barren sea when all hope has left for none winter blooms in the faded sun
Never my favorite song (but other KX fans love it to death) but this video shows the devotion of the fans and what it is like to be at a show… the band does not even have to sing (have you been a part of anything like this? I have over the years, mostly Over My Head), by the way Dug is almost 70 (the lead singer), seriously, they have been killing it out there as one of the most original bands since the 1980s, here is the original version just for comparison. Ty Tabor is the reason I picked up a guitar (before Eric Johnson blew my mind, and SRV). Jerry ? A NJ guy so what can I say, I’m partial…
and as always, likes, follows and thoughts (comments) are always appreciated.
from the porch (continued series, tonight, is of course, some xmas holiday or something, I am told…), and without further fanfare, popcorn commercials or coming attractions (or an oddly sticky floor and just awful cup holders)…
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Mustering up the muster to sit and write, on a xmas night, none the less, not a very xmas feel, at least in these parts (and I am not referring to my legs), cold enough but not quite cold enough, somewhat clear sky, not quite a full moon, everything seems just a bit less than it should, I guess the bloom comes off the rose at times, there have been those Rockwell scenes, the fire blaze, the cozy afghan blanket, gently falling snow where you could read the stories on the flakes themselves as they fell, no, not this year, and no saint nick, no jolly old fellow, just a myth, but not such a bad imagining, not such a bad thing, in a world sometimes grim, marred by pain, a jolly old fat man to bring presents mysteriously in the night, there are worse things to believe in, surely, no reindeer, not certainly in this metro shadow, we see the odd deer (or four), mere cousins of the north pole dweller reign, and no little laborers either (with their busy little hands), the only ones here are garden gnomes and they feel less genuine than their brothers (especially when said gnomes are busy trying to book me flights all the time), where is the harm in old saint nick? has he been reduced to an app just yet ? (I’m afraid to even google that to find out the answer) well, at least Norad stays in step with the season, tracking the sled even if just an exercise for Joshua, where is the harm in this quite affable fellow? maybe we should just tell the kids the truth, the truth that it is not the myth that needs belief, it is what lies underneath in the fabric of the thing, no, not the felt red sack or silly hat, or even the contemplation of a stranger sliding down a chimney (surely worse than a coal miner’s dime), what drives the sled? good tidings for the ride, the idea of giving with nothing in return (well, perhaps a tray of cookies in trade, fair enough), the idea, not the man, and children can know throughout the land that morning comes and gifts exchanged, they have the power within… to do the same.
be well everyone. and to all of you a good night.
(re-post if you like just link back, alright?) all eyes on this or anything I write are truly appreciated, thank you (yes you, that reader thing out there)
music? OK, I will be guitar nerdy and holiday-ey. (a new word damnit)
I knew, in the back of my mind, somewhere (in that dusty old space), among those piles of clutter, old magazines in a digital age, piled up like ancient grave markers but not as grand, more or less memories, piles of them, lying around, I figure I might use them one day, what day? probably never, but there is comfort in them, the familiar things, places I’ve been, they surely are not stepping stones, so I knew, back when this started, this experiment upon reflection, sitting out on the porch seemed like such a harmless predilection, so I knew, I told myself that this would one day (soon) seem like not the smartest endeavor, given the weather, I don’t mind the rain, but the cold, I tell myself it isn’t THAT cold, only 32, c’mon man you grew up here, be a man, toughen up, is it brave or tough to sit out in the cold? surely not, but was it worth it? for these thoughts.
notes… hey, it has been a while, I looked at my pay stub and I did 73 hours last week, sure, I don’t have kids, I get it, but 73 hours is a pretty rough week, and weak it made my writing, I have been remiss, but things ebb and flow, and so do I, I was inspired enough to post, and that is enough, for now, winter is the time of slumber, to burn lumber for warmth and more likely comfort, I am skating out to the end of the year, I just learned tonight that my uncle of age 91, fell, and is most likely done, he broke his neck, a man I worked for and respect, an intellectual (sharp as a tack), reduced to a bed ridden individual, I am not sure what will happen with my uncle sammy, that is his name, I didn’t plan to post about it, but that is what it is, I wrote the above earlier but my mind is now particular, at times like these we measure our lives against those, those who are passing, surely a life lived, but a life gone? still, it stings home. I will miss my uncle even if this is not his final night, but at 91 with a broken neck, facing surgery, do I pray ? I hope, but I know the outcome if not in this day, this is all from the cuff, my apologies, I just have to post.
notes… a good amount to unpack here, if you don’t want my explanations and thought levels stop reading… ok, now just you and me left talking, this is based on the danse macabre, a movement, well, a thought that became a movement back in the 1400s that spanned well over a couple of hundred years, the catharsis or the pinnacle thought being that we are all going to die, true enough, but it embodied modesty with theme, from a child to a king there is no escape from the ultimate end so why not party on dudes ! well.. maybe more elegant than that… the whole “pope” line is based on art of the day which typically showed the five figures I describe, note I use “a” and “the” in spots, “the child” is both a reference to literally children and also jesus christ (“the” child), the fifth member of the party is the laborer hence my plowman’s line (another biblical reference as well), I also am using double meaning in “plot” and “lot” in the following lines, ‘memento mori’ in latin is “remember you must die”, pretty much the rallying cry of the danse macabre movement, and the last line is my play on “the night is young” and also “the good die young” (revelers), the night has been there all along, and with that I bid you a good night, or a good day, this poem came to me and made me full with muse, that nimble minx, thank you my dear… for this.
music… going deep doom metal here… no death vocals, just the grinding forward sound of life, the constant sound, this song sums it up with sweeping piano and languished guitars…
I could say it is a cold and rainy night, ah, that old cliche, but that is not this night, surely it is rainy, but an aberration for the season has swung the thermostat north of the usual, especially for residing inside of december, it made me wonder about cliches, sure, they exist, but then I thought about DNA, how it persists to change and combine in ways that produce a bloom of humanity composed of both chemistry and mathematics, that results in all the love and hate we might see in our lives (and all else), this little biological spark, a moment, the spark of life they say, a cliche, but in that so common of happenings, certainly all of our own beginnings, lays the vastness of miracles (or the amazing one that allows you to read this), the chance of being, of being, you… or me, or some guy named ralph in ohio, or even a grasshopper on the savannas of africa, the line is razor thin, a cliche, but touche there is truth in there, let not cliche dull your sense of the extraordinary circumstance that you are certainly alive, out of all the concoctions and combinations of the universe that had to be, all the stars that had to align (a cliche), we have, you.
notes… I was actually reluctant tonight, it is strange how inspiration works, I can not say I am in complete control, I wrote this all in one shot, a rambling, a gathering of ideas, if you are moved at all, thank you, this comes from the heart, which I am trying to recover.
Shades of My Garden 