the onus of shame

the onus of shame

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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….

a prayer for the time of my dying…

a prayer for the time of my dying…

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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…

rebirth. a dream? a thought?

rebirth. a dream? a thought?

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.

fever dream space run… [oo]

fever dream space run… [oo]

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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.

and superman is dead…

and superman is dead…

antique book close up handwriting
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a hand written note found on scene:

“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?

modus onerariis

modus onerariis

architecture buildings business city
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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

simplicity.accurate.

simplicity.accurate.

two silver colored rings on beige surface
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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…

the house unto which you are born…

the house unto which you are born…

two storey house with attic
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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…

continuation. hope. seed.

continuation. hope. seed.

white clouds
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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…

lost. love. letters.

lost. love. letters.

a bird on a rock of a mountain cliff by the ocean
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“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).

music to contemplate life by…. Stellardrone – On a Beam of Light