for I am fire- seems the obvious enough, and fuel for this- shall run scant, I know this but still persist- to burn on I know not the source but yet can speculate for the writers, the authors, the morai “to the fates !”, dare I for more puppeteers than scribes pull on strings rather than script the divine to fellow flames, such as they were shelley, shakes and thoreau may contemplate crown thy mantle with a metaphor might they be ashes now in the evermore but the burn-marks still inspire scores even when spoken toward the dwindling dawn such might believe the theogony to spark the daughters of ananke to dwell in this most glorious dull a tool of the realm upon the shoal such as the fuel does inspire such as the wake does drain the soul for this I know for I, am fire.
there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king pray-tell, what portents, will this bring more dead wars- more dead kings.
notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…
so then, I am of so many leaves when my winter makes the call even me, a summer’s child, after all I am so, just a grain of sand lost in great swaths moved by airs and seas; I am just a lost fingerprint- in the generations of humanity a molecule of a mind once mine destined to rise again but never to this form myself, this again so then, will I travel the universe as a particle burst out when our sun’s end sets to coalesce, perhaps to exist, perhaps once again so then, I wish to become I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
in the house of the dying sun, a knock on the door an uncle a cousin a brother and I forgot to remember- that he is gone for father has traveled on into the land beyond (our senses). the wife, a sister, my mother left with the charge for every crack and nook imbued with the marriage of years strolling through photobooks slow motion silent cinema tales snapshots of a life no longer in motion told and closed, the deacon of my being struggles struggles for reason for faith to believe in our fates for a reason, for a meaning, I yearn for the voice of dominion for guidance, for wisdom for the power to accept as we must, and accept there is no choice no choice in the matter for soon enough I will join you father and once more be of your manor.
notes… been mired in the weather so not posting too much, I have been writing however, just not posting, sometimes life gets in the way, you know ? Thanks for all the looks and comments, I appreciate your time and stopping by.
to death, so thee I wed the inevitable my betrothed
notes: haiku feel, at least that was my feel on it, one of those that ‘wrote itself’ as I say, well, because it did, the universe was in charge, I was just driving to work this morning, contemplating another useless day earning a buck so I could fund better ones, listening to some tunes, but since traffic has been light(er) I can not jot down my thoughts, so I kept reciting this like a mantra until I got to the office and could write this down, so maybe it resonates more with me, if so, that’s cool, but I leave it up to you…
death, mistress I will never court thee but yet I am subject to your whim left to fend off your crop I will not give in – willingly or say your name with reverence death, mistress
(2)
on the randomness of moths and their addiction to flame just because I can not discern a pattern does not mean their commotions are not plain
notes… two unrelated works, written on the same day on different sides of my brain, the first one I consider a circular poem, the second just a thought, maybe just brush strokes really, but that’s fine, a little nug of truth beats a mountain of nothingness any day… or at least that is the story I am sticking to… thanks for the view (yes, you).
music?Humanmeshdance – Moth…. from a really limited EP, I forget how many copies were made at the time, but this… is the digital age so…. ambient goodness…. oh so good…
Heck, I admit it, I am on Game of Thrones overload… I binge watched season 7 all day Sunday (man so much happened). I posted a review of the new season on my media review page (shameless plug here), I thought my brain would just shut off, but just when I think the well has dried up and I am the Sahara incarnate the muse lets me know she is not quite done with me yet (for good, for bad, for worse ? I don’t know)… so I literally wrote these tonight in a fever, well, OK not in a fever, they came to me, one when I was walking Samantha (the dog, I will post photos one of these days), to be fair, she walks herself, she is 10-ish, and the second as I was washing my face, seriously, I started the second poem in my bathroom scrubbing the old face, ah, the muse, she is her own thing and she owns me…
Photo by Free Nature Stock on Pexels.com
you are my constellation bright upon that sky even in the coming storm I know your coordinates your pulsar a string of light always close ever far from my touch but always there when I look, for I hope when I pass to transform to light and join you in that nightly retreat
(2)
tethered by a chord
into this world I did descend
lives and loves, my time is spent
so here I am at the end of such road
an appointment due with no one at all
for you have taken all my friends
I hope that with this single coin
might bear passage
to see them
once again
All looks, likes, comments and the such is greatly appreciated. Criticism is welcome, how else can one grow ? be well, spring is upon the land, at least mine, still waiting for the iron grip of this winter to relent… but there was a single dandelion on my lawn… a marker toward the march of summer’s dawn…
“now that you are gone I have nowhere to go not a tombstone nor a site or a place to be by your side in this life I dwell alone in a funeral in late fall sliding into the cold I call (I call)”
