the trees, their looks bear down upon me a whole row of judges bent the same forward their stoic state confirms they feast rightfully on my shame -; peddlers of the rain- the rumblings resonate in the scrum of my ancestors, a small-broken bird lies, in a puddle, flat mirrored frame surrounded by lily pads of cherry blossoms fallen a bloodless crime- not drowned but that of a twisted neck captured now placed unto that final nest, I contemplate the darkening-looming and attempt to tabulate the celestial math but I have no means to the master for I am locked in the strands of man- for- I am.
notes… this is one of those more cryptic ones that just came to me as is… so, this is how it is… the inspiration was a bunch of trees planted in a semi circle, they looked down at me, or so I felt/thought, and so it was….
for into the arms of god go I divine guided path with a fulfilled heart and calm mind, for into the bosom of god am I for my ego shall fade to rest as I have arrived home for all time.
notes… am I not dying anytime soon (I hope) but if I do I hope for more, I am not religious, I do not prescribe to any particular belief, and I do not have any angst against those that do, I have to believe something else is out there, our life on this world is truly a miracle, it could all be random and what not, I accept that, but I hope for more, I yearn for more, and if I am wrong ? I will never know anyway, so I plant my flag in the camp of hope on that end, and may I see those I love once again… somewhere, someway, maybe in a dream that is a parallel reality…
into the bosom of warmth might I curl up drawn in like a new born fern leaf, sleep gently in that calm sea amniotic womb echo heartbeat in tune, for a time- escape the looming specter, floating- drifting in the dreamspace before rebirth, may I forget the world, for a time, inevitability to deliver me again into the world fraught fraught with perils from the separation into a single core vulnerable as one separate from the mother, for a time until I return to her once more.
Notes… I often think of the end of life and what may happen (or not), I imagine making a bargain for reincarnation but I can not have my current conscience… sometimes I take solace in that nothing (matter) is really created or destroyed, there is a finite amount (which contains me), and other times I find comfort in knowing I DID (and you) exist, for I surely am, and my final fantasy has my soul released into the universe (or a parallel one) for we are electric beings at some level… maybe that lives on… This is something on my mind often, the unsolvable question, but I must admit, since my father has passed, I have had some calm, I feel like I can still speak to him, and he hears me, and I know the answers but feel his hand guiding me. I can not explain it rationally but I feel it. So the logic side of me shuns but the emotional tugs… and so it doesn’t matter in the end, but I grapple with it anyway…. your thoughts and comments are always appreciated my friends.
if I could book a ship a trip to the moon to the stars no, beyond to float to soar escape humanity and the laws time and gravity the helix that binds release me from these bonds to soar to seek to feel the universe upon my hands, my feet yes, a road a path the guide of mind downloads a map a compass of consciousness glide a mind among the stars and what I may find – there – a realm of infinite possibility and life – my family.
“for have I traded honor in for fame even an ounce what I thought was binding my life was actually blinding for have I renounced honor for fame the adulation the kiss the instant opinion on the lips of those who do not know me the adoration the adulation a drug, the addiction but a tool I might have used to carve a statue instead of a tomb.
(and so I leave you, gifted all of a life’s single bounty, cashed in – with regret, so I leave you early now without that kiss)“
notes… I will be tight lipped on this one, there is a lot going on and a lot of inferences (catch them? show me)… but the original thrust was just the crown of fame be that as it may… who among us is better than the highest or the lowest?
the passing of these blessed hours for I have failed you
I can not recall the original station where I got on, they all seem the same, various configurations of brick and tile, metal bars framing stairs, all leading to quaint towns and their common squares, I can not recall how long this ride has been, as long as I have been, time pulls forward, always in motion, a frame not unlike an old airstream trailer I imagine, from the outside, the lulling rhythmic sound kha chunk kha chunk kha chunk kha chunk, the gentle up and down glide riding the waves over land and rail, a strobe light effect, yes, like flickering, but not like flame, mechanical, a robotic toddler playing with a light switch, on off on again, billboards and advertisements plastered with memories, some graffiti, some show ragged worn edges that have succumb to weather, there is only one destination and that is never back, there is never a moment grasp just a string of them, and all those who have passed through this particular car, for a conversation, a meal, perhaps more, but in the end I am here standing holding the strap myself, I suppose my legs will tire, eventually, and retire to the uncomfortable looking seats, but, the racing pacing scenes fly by, like movies marquee in my eye, a lullaby, waking sleep as to the passage of time, for surely passed, even if this is mine, flashing bulbs pop with cut scenes, cities, forests, oceans vast, landscapes familiar and foreign, laughter, tears, and the warm indifference of fear, the dream of love to transform this form sometimes a visitor here, the sweet songs that have been sung and those not yet composed, I wonder about the conductor, never seen nor heard, but clearly there is something steering, lines laid had to be built by some purpose, by some hands, by some means, but I am a mere passenger riding out my days, as best I can.
time is not sacred but a master love is not blind that has no eyes a feeling a knowing like a tide gathering to caress the shore
a train rambling on the lines station to station with no stops scenes from a life in between flashes flashes of the lights like snapshots flashing bulbs the highlights and the nots rambling rambling on down the line
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…
in this house of seven gables my crown I wear three pair one from these windows, these portals there stares the observer, the owner, the visitor contemplating the street the sun, the trees sidewalks buckled under root curbs so artfully formed like molded cliffs assessing the neighbors all locked behind doors dwellers in dwellings seeking more but just that fatal one step one move the other side, of that front door to leave the confines into only what was seen and filtered not heard, tasted or felt from within these membranes these walls that contain, and protect one specific flavor one specific intellect
notes… we are in our own prison, we have freedoms but at some point there is freedom from this form, and none of us know what that will be…
bury with me one day bury with me these dreams that never came to be and may be in the dawning of my death they shall spring to life as I may never be so I ask you bury these, bury them, with me.
notes: for me this is a circular poem, I am comparing ideas to themselves, in circles… unfulfilled dreams (seeds)… your thoughts on the topic are welcome…
“if for one more time might I hear the songbirds song outright up upon summer’s dawn and feel the warmth of that good sun one last time before I am utterly gone from this place back to the ground to be remade yet might I hear that sound one more time one dear final time to hear that bird and her song”
notes… a little more subtle this week, same theme though, lost.love.letters is now archived on my collections page (if it is something you dig).
