I wish to sit down with mother earth and exchange pleasant trees so they may grow and I may be remembered within the vessel by the entity that has allowed this life and very breath the will to breathe back life unto her lands
note: I can not say I believe in reincarnation, however my essence, or at least these molecules typing will certainly be part of the earth far longer than my death and birth, I take slight comfort in that, not ultimate comfort but at least I know that my atoms are indeed local, in this neighborhood and were probably embodied in countless bodies of every manner of life… past, present and going forward…
“a prayer for exuberance to stay and chat for a while to not depart as quick as come I beg of you to stay the setting sun so I might awake and look over and be overwhelmed with joyfulness each breath to take in from that unending source to exhale out into the world to be renewed in every moment once and forever more”
notes… related to my previous post, written at the same time but in a different vein… and also a bit of a different thought…
the living scar might you take a stroll and walk with me a while tell me your ills tales of woe broken wrecks upon these bones so let us stroll down these miles through winding paths all the while your soul’s despair sitting on a bench for contemplation under the stars for this map has been tread upon landmarks marked in the charcoal drawn paces met to trace a start I’ll lend you an ear and reveal all you’ve taught so, let us talk
notes… nah, I don’t feel like it tonight, I think this one is self evident, besides I am on vacation this week… off to the poconos, local but oddly I have never stayed there just driven through…
a prayer to know when is the time to surrender to life when is the time to conquer this life and to then know and tend the vast grounds between
a prayer for the small birds whose confidence I can not seem to garner for may they find what they need in this coming barren season although there is no need for I see them every spring
notes… for those who might be new to peruse my blog, I use ‘prayer’ in the non religious sense, if you want to use it in the religious sense, cool, I have no problem with that, I think everyone looks to the sky at some point and asks for something sometime, I was an atheist once upon a time but these days I want to believe there is something else but have to accept the possibility there is nothing and I will simply disappear from all existence when I am gone, there is no hope in that end, so I choose hope over logic in that regard, does it quell my mind and fears ? no… but it is better than utter despair, so that is where I am at, prayer is not a harmful thing, try not to make it selfish, I think that is the right ring… (and I do post other ‘prayer’ works, check out my collections & series page).
how these elysian fields have lost their glaring luster, however foolish, the world desperately clings to the intoxicating golden hue of summer, for remember, there is always hope in any order, the only matter is how hard hope may be to find in the given time, as leaves fall so do the obvious possibilities, but let our memories remain stronger and more resilient than the harshest of winter’s arsenal, as the season fades so we shall rise again, of this I am quite confident, at least for now…
I had forgotten the sounds and the real feel of dry breaking leaves on my feet, how when I hold them and fold them they crackle, like a fire, as a fire burns through fuel is spent, as are these leaves, crumble into near dust at barely a subtle crush, the glorious summer sun drained from these veins, soon to be remade into the very dirt from whence they came, some time ago, acorns survived not found by ambitious squirrels, allowed to bloom, grow, stretch out toward the sky and transform the light of the sun into food, over and over these years, to be right back here, starting all over again, cards on the table now ready to fold, awaiting the next game, all the cards the same in the pack, however the shuffle never remains identical, the game, the game goes on until you lose your spot at the table… that is not this day, this is just the sunset of one season, the transfer of life back down from heights, to bury once more in the womb of the mother of life, this earth, as this hemisphere tips another will catch the fire, the balance of scales must tip, and this one must lose in hours, no many how many times has been, no matter how many times will be, the shedding of the leaves, a process, a tribute, a sign, a portent into the coming months, so we should gather up these leaves of memories, absorb them into our essence, like a thick blanket, to prepare for that barren land, that barren time, life may slow, and temperatures may drop, but the fierce heat of the human heart and that of life itself, dares not stop, if not draw still, biding time for hope to will.
“a prayer for release from my burdens might they transform may they become maps not anchors on this singular sea a buoyant seed, gifted drifting the only one I am granted to reach that new world upon that shore of whispers told a land of hope”
Note.. I will make a page to link to all my “prayer” poems soon, work was crazy this week after I was off for seven days, but I am back in the groove I think, although I work all weekend so I am holding on to my vacation vision in my head and the space where I was at after living in a different space for a week, I have to admit I am slipping in that regard, sometimes it really pays to take a deep breath and in your mind travel back to your happy place… sounds dopey of course, but it works…
Musical selection… dystopian punk rock… haunting if you ask me… so ask… yes, this is haunting…
I want to run up that ruby lined ridge line on the back of that mountain of a cloud, right up to the moon, I wish to go there but know I never will, but how soon my romantic side forgets, the moon, sitting there framed in blue, is not quite in our sky, my logical side steps in to remind that the moon is in perfect orbit, locked in the cold black breathless death of space, a dead world, echoes of impacts heard in countless lifeless craters, traces of history of billions of years as if transpired just yesterday, as magical, as mystical as the moon may seem, the man, the moon, the dream, it is the dead end of all being, and what will be, for when life retreats or is drawn to another place, a lifeless husk will remain, dust, gravity no longer caring, losing it’s grip, so weak it becomes just a globe in another’s collection, so which do I choose? of my dual nature I lean to the romanticism of the world, the concept of the eternal, but there is that constant reminder in the sky, whether a sliver, a quarter or full glory, the fact that everything dies is not much consolation for the living, more like a rationalization that we all drive down that dead end road, logic is cold, hard to argue with a stone as words do not carve granite well, or at all, but I suppose what choice do I have but to drive on, forward, with hope, for the alternative, while more rational, more reasoned, more probable, leaves nothing on the bone and in fact no bones… at all.
music? I can not resist, I am a child of the late 80’s after all… so…
oh yeah, this post is part of The Porch Project which has no rules aside from me sitting out on the porch, days of the week? month? nah… just when I can, and thanks for stopping by, this little bus stop of my mind, I appreciate the time and eyes…. thanks.
the clouds are like a perfectly aligned photograph of a still fire bloom set upon the dazzling supreme aqua of a pristine tropical ocean, maybe a cliche, maybe not, I’ll take it any day of the week, and three times today or tonight as the sun is slipping under the horizon, even though this is really just the earth’s rotation, such a large but understood concept, but do we stand here and admire that fact? or feel the spin, feel the ground whipping around at dizzying speeds, all with our terra firma feet planted well on this ground, the dirt, the thin skin layer of the molten apple we call earth, a seething ocean of fire just a few miles, under where we feel so safe, a thin layer of air all that separates us from space, how precarious we are, but do we perceive it, we worry more about the local buzzing about, unaware of some outer calamity that could end our little love affair with ourselves, the action of every breath of every being, an orchestra of the absurd chances of just being, being here, writing this, or reading these words, I am truly amazed in moments like this, I think nature is sneaky, or wise, or both quite combined, to show us glimpses, here and there, drops of reminders, breath taking visions, thundering falls, tiny bugs of imaginable stripe and scope, unimaginable combinations of dna in humans alone, the colors, of eyes, of hair, heights, and smiles, the buffet of laughter shared across global realms, all revealed in an evening sky, the signs are all there, they describe locations, the mile markers, more subtle than neon flashing colors but no less informative, all around, so train the mind, use your eyes, take in that precious breath, hold a loved one for just a moment to feel that warmth, that is the miracle of life, this is bounty, this is our corner of the universe, the only one we can possibly know but we are here in the face of impossibility, that rare bloom of existence, for a short while, stars have formed your very core, for once twilight is now your veins, once heavenly bodies are your precious thoughts, take a moment, absorb the world’s wonder, feel the universe in your bones as we are one, we all come from the most basic of elements, a recipe of those touched by a spark, and here you are.
“unremarkable sky guardian your exquisiteness is my breath a time capsule from within I will pass all my own the thin blue horizon which protects this very breath held tightly against this earth by means we understand by eons we can not comprehend”
notes… semi related to my last post, kind of a reminder that wonder is all around us (and I don’t just mean the bread), I wrote this in my head on the way to work in the car, which is annoying, I really get anxiety trying to recite lines back to myself and hope I remember them when I get to the office (if traffic is not murder I can not scribble things down at 75 mph you know), and I am just not good at dictating to my phone, it just.. I don’t know, the pen is my friend and is the one I take to the dance…
so much of what we are told is what we are told, I ponder about that castle up on the hill, that was my dream, once all seemingly within my reach, it was what I was supposed to be, the prince, the crown, the queen, then king, the life laid out before I knew anything of this life, down the hill, from that great mount, but, upon rainbow’s end, it was not real, just an ideal of what I was supposed to want, to aspire to be, in the image planned, of those who raised this vessel and chose what might fill the same, the directions I might start out upon, which roads I should follow, and how the other choices were trails that led to nothingness from their experience or opinion, but for yet those before had never laid their own eyes beyond those walls either, and rather engender the dreams I might have gathered, pointed me in the direction of their own, not by malice, or ill intentions, of the hope of granting that castle dream to a future generation, dreams, as such, are best kept to those asleep, for it is better to sit under these stars than to pretend I belong among them, but, do not interpret this the wrong way, but for this is not despair or the death of dreams, this is forthright ground, dirt I can clasp in my hand and sprinkle out on the earth in front of me, this is not despair, to understand the common life, a human life, for there is plenty to wonder at there…
Photo by Snapwire on Pexels.com
this is quitean unremarkable night, as most are, the sunset is not particularly grand, the clouds are just swabs of gray against a not even blue sky, but here I lie, here I am, breathing in such breath, creating words from the fruit of the universe filtered down through my hand, and this pen, I could despair, I could dwell on all the wrong, out there in the world, or know, and truly feel, alive, untouched, at the moment, by the great miseries, that stalk us down, but tonight, this night, that dark finger has not crossed me, not pointed me out, not tapped on my shoulder and gave me that nod, for this is my time, my dream, an unremarkable life perhaps in the scheme, of things, not a castle on a hill, not a cache of riches, not the adoration of faceless masses, just the sheer miracle and joy of this existence, even if this, is just for a minute, let this by my tale so others may know it… (part of my porch project)
thoughts, comments, war strategies, ways to fold your legs in interesting ways… are all appreciated, c’mon now people what are your thoughts on the matter?
Shades of My Garden 