the banquet… {{B}}

the banquet… {{B}}

Photo by Lee Hnetinka on Pexels.com

how subtly we move down the long table, a feast with our family, different times of the year feel the same in here, time is somewhere peering in with jealous eyes. knowing at some point we will venture outside again, once small children (so I recall) are now here at the main table as adults grown up, their kids at the small one or running around, the parade of cousins, aunts, uncles and those married in moves on, the table has swelled all these years, I always knew, but never saw the subtraction coming as I do now, this soon, expected at some point, sure, but never on my side, in my direct row of chairs, a reckoning, for this is the way life is, I suppose we all hold onto untouchable belief, even in the sheer face of the inevitability, the reality, maybe we are fools but I would rather side on the side of belief against all and embrace that fool of myself, for what else can we do, pass the potatoes down and share a drink or two, a sliding moment of smiles, a flash of stories brought out like seasonal accouterments, as the actuality of the tales seem, and are, further off in the distance, for perhaps this is the time of my reckoning, at least as I slide chairs, as the elders inevitably become phantoms, one by one, some by some, so, all the more – stop and enjoy the spectacle, the pageant, the miracle, the banquet of life while the fruit is ripe, the buffet is vast and the glasses full, a moment to take in, as I approach the land of reckoning, not for myself, just yet, but I see, and feel, the coming of the sunset for the generation I am replacing in line next as I move toward the end of the table, may I carry such yoke with dignity and humanity – and love.

examination of life… [\—]

examination of life… [\—]

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

for of a pauper
or from a prince
from a line of kings
or of a reign of khans;
that comes
that which speaks all languages
and none.

a last supper, perhaps
the thought had crossed my mind, after
father,
for all your faults
all the times I thought I knew better, still
my father;
meatloaf and corn
paper plate
fruit cup
struggling with the plastic fork,
as I must watch
the constant beep of various machines
trying to understand the strange menagerie
of this common foreign land,
meatloaf and corn
I ignore the bits upon your shirt
the dots of gravy
the unshaved look,
focus on just being here
visiting hours, for this is surely not home
there are different rules here
absolute rules here
for no matter who’s father
least not mine
in a bed
stranded, helpless, reduced
tubes, bruised skin arms
asking about the rutgers score
the masquerade of familiar
what of the outside can be brought in
drapes are the thinnest walls
the clock, sits, only the third hand seems to move
time is giving me more now
as forced conversations run out
then there is time
just the time to be
together, silently
for now,

father.

‘birds in pools’ (a quick moment phrases)

‘birds in pools’ (a quick moment phrases)

close up photo of gray bird
Photo by Monique Laats on Pexels.com

birds in pools, well to them perhaps, backtrack, why do I find midnight rain so soothing, just the sheer sound shrouded by the darkness, better than no sound and just the dark I suppose, the intermittent rumble of distant thunder, how distant, I could count the seconds and do the calculation but I would rather drift off into autopilot, and so the night goes, window open, the constant humming of rain, ebbing and flowing in volume and strength, the occasional flash, and so I am carried off by sleep arriving @ the sunrise, to my morning eyes, this has the blueprint guise of spring, the stolen spring, the spring that seemingly never was, maybe just a late arrival, fashionably late, nature does not take to my time table even though she is old reliable, for at least this little slice of time, my life that occupies the now, and having been groomed to know the expectations of four seasons in episodes, this morning, birds in pools, or puddles really, frolicking with the release of abundant energy not seen for awhile, what seemed abandoned is bloomed, or maybe I am projecting on them, or trying to capture what they have and transfer same to me, that first burst, the first trip to the shore, the burning hot sand on soles, that first burst into the surf, the enveloping rush of cold early summer ocean waters, head first, a semi cannon ball of sorts, the rest of the reality world just slides away, a momentary lapse of all concern as flesh is baptized by the simplest of actions, splashing, soaking up the sun without burning, dancing, spinning, splashing, maybe that is why I adore the midnight rain, the sensation, the shower, that moment of washed over sensation, so many memories…

thoughts… from the porch (my porch, or perch, or… whatever, free form thought, give it a spin, you might like it)…

thoughts… from the porch (my porch, or perch, or… whatever, free form thought, give it a spin, you might like it)…

abandoned grass light merry go round
Photo by Levi Damasceno on Pexels.com

in the distance I can hear children faintly playing, yells and screams evoke alarms inside instead of joy, in these abnormal times, my instincts, reactions, daily actions, all come into question now…
Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
I wonder if a simple child’s rhyme will outline this stretch of death one day, that, of course will come after, not in the teeth of the pathogenic strife, I have always believed I was a patient person, certainly not a short fuse bomb waiting to happen, just when I do reach that limit I feel like I am up on the absolute edge of a cliff, no other side, no bottom, no turning around but leap… I picture that my candle was great and tall like a fortress castle wall, but burning down for so long now, my wick surely has not much longer to go, and the dawn, I am not a candle-maker, maybe I have to be, or learn to be, I do not know, or should I strive to deprive the flame of bright oxygen, I can not cap all the air, even if I tried my subconscious thoughts would betray and supply, a traitor I harbor inside.
This is much easier, today, sitting here on my porch, no mask (aside from the ones I always wear in that other life), no gloves, no one around to be socially distant from, I suppose Fear is taking a nap, he had a busy week with me back at my office, and certainly he plastered my inner walls with doubt, but all seems calm now, with a deep breath, I  exhale as much of the negative as I can muster, I envision my candle now, small flame flickering inside my sanctum, the wax of the worn melted drawn out onto the wooden table, the newborn pool of spent liquid wax reflecting a dancing twin, “slowly, slowly” I mantra, “this will all end” with a hope wrapped in a prayer

onward goes, this strangest spring, awaiting the salvation of normalcy to arrive into these harbors overflowed with a cargo of hope… and renewal.

thoughts from the porch… (rain revelation)

thoughts from the porch… (rain revelation)

close up of silhouette against blue sky
Photo by Lum3n.com on Pexels.com

there is something about that first drop of true spring rain landing upon your bottom lip, strangely, the top lip impact is just not the same, kind of a drop hanging off a rooftop edge, or sliding off an umbrella’s side like a slug, there is something mystical about that one first kiss on the lower lip drop serenaded by the conversations of the spring birds that abound, such an up-swell of renewal that even ponce would be jealous of, this is not even proper rain, more like a hard drizzle, and then the inevitable patter of cloud siblings as they hit your outer wear, that distinct acoustic sound, a singular drum tone you know so well, no tune you can recall but a beat and rhythm you know so, so well, and then to the eyes, you can see the physical drops racing by, more like bolts and lines than drops really, the word ‘drop’ has such a specific look to the conjuration, rarely do you see actual drops of rain if you care to think about it, I desperately want this to be a pure baptism of spring, wash away the winter and all the dire darkness shrouding the world in the now, the subtle reminder, the tap on the shoulder, the realization, this is April, a gateway, there is a corridor and an ending lest we lose view of it at times, there is a spring, be it a metaphor or a tangible fruit to bear and then pick for sustinence forward, be sure, spring is there, pushing ever up against the dam of this damn winter, gathering such weight behind the barrier until winter can only relent and burst, this is the way of things, regardless of our cares, cars, cities, quibbles, arguments, tv shows, sports teams, skyscrapers, all of it, just window dressing against the never ending machine of this small earth confined to the laws of the expanding universe, size and scope is all perspective, and sometimes the little details need to realign your vision or perception, to bring you back to actual reality, the way of the world and as it will be, when the winter is undone as it always will be.

notes… inspiration is a tease, a master, a slave, all these, I am trying my best to bend to the wind in those sails and write everything as it is… to me, that is, if you expect someone else, well, that’s silly, I am just trying to be the me, feeling better these days amongst the forest of deadly disease that has surrounded my whole existence, today was not my day to go, hopefully not soon either, but you never know, I am trying to encapsulate my thoughts here… on this little blog, and I would be remiss, without thanks, to whatever god there is or not, but I would lean towards “is” because why do all this if there is nothing, there could be nothing, yes, there could be, but there could be more, so I would rather plant my flag in that land without colors on that flag, just the flag that says I am here, I was here, I am…

flashbacks, history, memories, reality…

flashbacks, history, memories, reality…

IMG_4811

the ice bucket

I’d almost forgotten you exist, buried back there, you probably have not seen the sun in a decade, the house is quite empty now, quite quiet indeed, no kids feet running rambling, glasses clanging, wine corks thunking, seltzer gurgling, conversations rising sometimes hanging, sports on the TV, pictures of kinders, munching on crackers and platters and dips, how many years has it been, those family get togethers were so common back then, thinking back they feel like a monthly occurrence even though they certainly were not, and certain things were always there to please the crowd, the cloth napkins, certain dishes and certain glassware laid out, the fold up tables from down stairs set up to accommodate the flood of thirty or so relatives, the extra folding metal chairs, stored in the back of the hall closet, black marker marks on the bottoms as to not be confused with the extras brought in, what a fiasco that would be, to lose a chair to a relative you are most certainly to see again, at least for a few more gatherings in that same year, this all seems so distant now, almost blurry, fuzzy, looking down at you my old friend, a companion, a contemporary, a holdover, a memory trigger, from that time ago, your place of prominence on the table, brimming with fresh made ice from the fridge, gleaming silver tongs just under your lid, like a functional centerpiece you did reign, where did this all go, where did everything go, I guess, we all succumb to age, and change, and the accustomed customs wind up out by the curb for pickup, someday, maybe this day, maybe not, you cleverly survived by hiding in the back recess of a cabinet barely touched or ventured in, but for what? a surprise, or just a ticket to a time gone by, people gone by, time that has moved on beyond usefulness, I think I might put you back, at least for a while, and maybe every now and again, might I seek you out, to trigger fond memories of lives and holidays of a by gone day, when I need a smile, to remember not just youth, to remember everyone at that time, as they were with my eyes as I was… like a child running around in a forest of trees to which one day I would grow up to be…

 

Thoughts from the porch… (The carousel of life)

Thoughts from the porch… (The carousel of life)

carousel with lights
Photo by Mihai Vlasceanu on Pexels.com

Being at a family gathering can give you interesting perspectives, maybe it is lost on some, perhaps on the young, on those who don’t step back and look at the whole, but I suppose that is what makes me who I am, an observer, sometimes on the outside, the carousel of life, but the more I thought, the more I observed, “carousel” is a terrible word, and an even worse analogy, it sounds lofty and poetic but is not true, a carousel, well, by it’s very nature people hop on and off, riding fake fabled beasts, everything is decoration and pomp, lighting and circumstance, you always arrive from where you came, that is not life indeed, as un-glorious as it may seem, life is more like a conveyor belt powered by unrelenting time, not quite unlike that famous lucille ball clip, but perhaps more subtle, just in one glance I am looking at the end of the belt and near to the beginning, those starting their lives off, moving into family mode, those watching their grandchildren blossom into adulthood, those nearing the end and faculties fade and old tried stories remain and remind of days long gone by, the passage of time, the belt just moves along, never stopping, always forward, there is no fight to be won, just enjoy the ride…

turned on white light bulbs
Photo by Ervick on Pexels.com

I wonder about my place on the belt as well, somewhere in the middle of all this, but my experience is vastly different, I suppose I am on a different route, same belt, more doubt, wondering if I could have or should have done things differently, of course this is feeble distraction and not worth my time, but I can not say I do not indulge in the delusion of that particular rabbit hole, the ‘what ifs’ bear intoxication, as dreams mainline into my veins, here, at a summer night, one block off the ocean, the breeze coming in, a cover band of covers I don’t recognize, probably bon jovi and springsteen as is the custom here in my native rock, I notice the air has condensed on the banisters of the deck, I look around and realize I am reading a book, a story, an amstel in my hand, drips condensation down on to my leg, I wonder if they can read what I am thinking, or what they think of me, families are a strange thing, people you know your whole life but at times more mysterious than friends, years pass and things seem the same, the only gauge is hair, lack thereof, and kids, who are no longer kids, I must admit I passed a grin, even if none of this is for me, at least for now, probably never, but there is joy in others, even if we are on a factory floor, riding a conveyor belt to an inevitable end… maybe the best if this is a carousel, if I choose to look at the draw, the charm, the joy, the smiles, on a summer night, by the beach, hearing stories of childhood from eighty year olds, why not… circle around again and enjoy it all… again…

aerial photography of houses
Photo by Ben Baker on Pexels.com

prologue, a travel story of phobias and foibles
I was off last weekend so trying to snag two saturdays in a row would not be feasible with work (or fair to my fellow workers, I have this strange work ethic thing happening), but I did manage to leave the office @ 3:30 pm which seemed reasonable to get somewhere by 5:00 pm in a state where you can pretty much drive anywhere in 2 hours (give or take), and this was not (well should not have been) a 2 hour drive, certainly a sparkling day, not too humid, and I am travelling to the shore… so expectations are a damn nice ride, if I can get there, ah, the garden state parkway, in summer, living up to the “park” portion that is for sure, I was colored surprised figuring if you want to get to the shore, you leave friday, or early saturday, why oh why would saturday later afternoon be a traffic magnet, but I suppose the universe was conspiring against me, although I should really just relax a bit, this is a family gathering, not a court appearance, so, I tried to convince myself of that, although I don’t like to be late, I nod to myself to accept my fate (well, OK I think I went about 82% and held onto the rest anxiousness, c’mon that is progress), so, I slog through some traffic, mainly just frustrating, as there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the flow, or lack thereof, stopping, starting, darting, speeding up for four miles to come to a complete stop, the relentless tease of release which does not come until I am well south of edison, around the arts center, at least there was no concert tonight, time is ticking, the hour of the party is approaching, I have to stop myself from thinking, just accept being late, just a margin of how late, half an hour, seems reasonable, but 42 minutes? for some reason that makes me feel like a scoundrel, ah, turn up the tunes, you live in a world with thousands of choices within reach, jam out for a bit, for some reason, and I do not know why, “monmouth beach” sounds so much closer in my mind than it actually is, am I conflating “monmouth” as an area, or the college? this is almost a foreign area to me, I have been every place in and around it, all the roads, 35, 36, all of it so well traveled in my travels, but never right HERE, strange, how could I miss out on something as great as “seven bridges road” as you crest and fall like slow waves up and over gorgeous views, water is more of a power broker here than land, it shapes everything in your eye, surrounding, people hiking with fishing poles, I’m jealous, but I have somewhere to be, even if late, my GPS glares at me screaming 5:42 arrival – no matter how fast I seem to go, I think I earned back a minute, damn these things for being so damn accurate, as the miles dwindle, the sky in the coming not so distant distance is beginning to resemble smoke, so of course your mind starts to wander to wonder? is that smoke ? or is that fog? well, I am travelling right in that direction so I suppose I will find out, and the closer I get to my destination (always a bit of trepidation to new locations is creeping in), the closer I get the sun is more obscured, it is not cloudy for sure, just this amorphous fog that seems to have dark streaks, one thing about the shore, you know you are there when every street seems to have a purposeful name… “seaview avenue”, “ocean avenue”, “atlantic avenue”, “dave don’t turn here blvd”, ok, I made the last one up… so here I am tooling about this town I know nothing about, a strange mix of old style beach houses, huge porches, decks, those awnings that remind me of the beach as a kid in deal and yet also italian restaurants, and then there is some other gaudy mansions, roman columns, some other homes that look like an architect could not resist bucking what a beach house should look like, I am probably rubber necking, I try and keep my eye on the prize and be aware of cars behind me, but this is a nice town, it is all new and yet familiar to my jersey DNA, I make a turn, I think I’m here, on the street at least, frantically looking for the number 10, making sure I am not causing a traffic dust up, that must be it, over there, on my left, catering truck check, OK, first mission accomplished, time to park, oh, there’s my brother’s car, definitely got the right place, damn, was that a space in front of him? hard to tell, there is yellow curbs and some curbs kind of colored with rust that in a flash throw me off, so I go to the next block… can I fit there? I have a perception problem, I always over estimate the size of my car, which makes parking a loving endeavor or I drive around needlessly for too ling, so I begin to parallel park, damn, awful angle, and I knew it pulling in, a quick look, eh, no one saw me as I now micro correct my parking job back, turn, forward, back, curb, forward, turn, turn, back, no curb, whew, back, back, park and I’m in, so I grab my offering and saunter over to the house, up the driveway, “hey dave”, it’s my brother, in the garage, I assume up to no good, but no, he was helping his beau prepare a cake in the form of a truck, like one of those cakes you see on TV that looks more like a toy than chow, but it was apparently a rice krispies cake, pretty neat I must say, although I hate sweets, looking more forward to the clams and such, I’m a mollusk freak in that way, so all my fears now allayed, I stroll to the back of the place, noting all the house features, the smell of the ocean is faint at the moment, and the fog? yes, I almost forgot about the fog, since I smell no smoke, this must be fog that decided to join us from over the water, no matter, no matter at all…

notes… I wrote this all in one form, my hybrid of prose and poetry or just what I do…. writing is cathartic, not always, but sometimes, it allows me to question everything, mostly me… I hope you agree, and I suppose if you got this far, you got something out of it, only one person other than myself, that is always my goal, two is a win, four is more, but one is just as good… all thoughts, comments, likes, re-posts and whatever… are all appreciated, thanks. I do this to throw myself out into the world, maybe there are simpaticos out there…. maybe not, but I have to do what I am made to do….

oh, and by the way this is part of my porch series, should I be remiss and not link to that ongoing thing…

family, lest you be judged, eclipse (speculative thoughts)…

family, lest you be judged, eclipse (speculative thoughts)…

group of people sitting on ground while cooking egg
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

family…
for some reason, I must admit to myself a certain underlying apprehension, as a family gathering is happening out on the horizon, nothing formal like a wedding mind you, just a get together, a party for an uncle eclipsing the 80 year mark (who looks great for his age), but anyway, I got to thinking about this underlying apprehension as to how I would be judged or looked at, is it my expectations, theirs? both? driving to work can provide mind maddening traffic nightmares but also a chanee to reflect, so I guess this is what that is, I suppose there will be idle talk about what David is or was supposed to be, and what or who I am now, speculation, derision, is family strangers… you just happen to know better ? just not better than your friends ? these are my findings, not all families get along (we are not fighting mind you,), I suppose we do alright these days, better than most, although the distance between all of us has grown and is quite palpable, an interesting phenomena in the days of digital communication, things are actually less personal, get togethers are more rare, real communication is even rarer, is it regret? a generational thing? I’m not sure, I suppose we all bear some responsibility, so easy to melt into our various devices as devices of convenience and distraction (the evolution of bread and circus?), in many ways I seem to know more about what my relatives think, on social media at least, but is that just a face… or reality? or a mixture? I try to be as honest as possible in all phases but in reality, this reality we all play roles, whether we admit that to ourselves or not, we have differing faces, not mendacity, not lies, just different sides for different suns, can we escape that paradigm? I suppose that is what I try… at least… so I think there will be those that judge me against their children or some other quite temporal measuring stick, what is success anyway, and is temporary “success” in this world worth anything anyway? Are having kids… success ? if those kids “fail”… does that lessen your ‘success’ based on so many factors you can not possibly control… or do you just roll with it, life that is, the more I think about it the more I tend to let go when I catch myself acting by the hand of outside forces, like these thoughts that have invaded my little space but I caught them sneaking in (they should have removed their shoes… amateurs…)

photo of man pointing his finger
Photo by Rodolpho Zanardo on Pexels.com

lest you be judged…
“let people judge you” because in the end what does it matter, you can never, or will never be able to control the thoughts or will of others, there is no super secret power or device to such end, your options are very obvious if you distill them down, forever chase the end of the rainbow to no end… or just accept things (and yourself) as they are, I am not saying throw out the baby with the bathwater and eschew personal growth and goals, but as far as other people’s thoughts? consider them, but let that not be your guiding principal in this life, it is easy to judge anything and everything, it is our absolute nature to compare things, but take into consideration that we all have limited experience in these comparisons regardless of how long we have been riding on this planet, we are very tied down to our own experiences which in the scope of things is quite limited (think about the variables, when you were born, your parents, your country, your state, your gender, your religion etc etc), so trust in that deficiency, sounds strange to trust in your lack of something, but that lack of experience is exactly the lens you are filtering the world through, admitting real limitation is the keystone to the bridge of accomplishment (I should author fortune cookie messages… or hallmark cards… I’m available for parties, no balloon animals (just can’t do that) and no ponies (I’m allergic) )…

afterglow backlit beautiful crescent moon
Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com

eclipse…
maybe my problem is over stimulated blindness, looking at the sun can be overwhelming, at times an eclipse might be most useful, something between you and everything, blocking enough so you can see the periphery and the outline, not all the light at once so you can appreciate the whole that much more when it is revealed again, there is a lesson in there somewhere, the patience of it all, as the curtain is slowly drawn and then reversed until full dawn, so maybe I will think of an eclipse if I am ever overwhelmed, and remember not to take in the whole ball of sun at once (as I tend to do, becoming a localized Atlas with not the shoulders he had), realize my limitations and take in what I can instead of swallowing whole, surely though I will falter and draw to close, fall like Icarus into the sea, and hopefully not drown this time, or the next, like all things practice in this, and practice becomes habit and habit becomes your work clothing, and then you forget the change ever happened at all, because you are comparing things as you go…

photo of person standing on rocks
Photo by Stijn Dijkstra on Pexels.com

so I suppose my fear (or discomfort) is un-grounded, I should not have apprehension for a family gathering, if I cause rumors or a stir, it matters about as much as a car spider scuttling across my window at night, or a leaf slowly swaying back and forth as it inevitably lands on the ground, have I cleared myself of the fear completely? some part of me still clings, but somehow, after examination, I feel some relief… and I suppose that is progress, besides the sky is very blue today, there is a cloud that looks like a mile fern leaf, the wind is gently turning the purple leaves of the cherry blossom outside this concrete box where I work, it all seems right… it all seems OK… at least for now, and that is all you can hope for sometimes…

music tonight

>>> Covet – Howl

finger-style electric, mellow but exciting, and if you play the technical level is mind blowing, they are playing the TLA in Philly in September, hell yell I will be there… (I couldn’t make the Brooklyn show on the 16th this month.. grrrr)

thoughts from my porch, on the eve of holiday…

thoughts from my porch, on the eve of holiday…

light painting at night
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

(music to read by, soft acoustic, trust me, and part 2)

be a cliche, today was that summer day, hot, sun bearing down, blacktop hot enough to burn bare feet, I think my plants have adjusted too well to this year’s heavy rains, they have become accustomed to what seemed always available @ immediate now, so we share that weakness of assumption in the snapshot, so, just a mere two days without storm and they all look thirsty, sagging in the swelter, not wishing to see them suffer further, and quite proud of my shiny green thumb, I unreel the hose, and let loose the valve, left squeak, left full turn – squeak, left full circle – stop, I hear the flow rush of the water filling up the coils, I reach down to grab the the iron spray-head, forgetting it was sitting in the blistering sun all day, and damn it’s blazing hot, I juggle and fumble just to squeeze the thing to get the cold water going, I spray my hands immediately, sweet relief, I shower my bamboo, my pride and joy plant wise, my personal banzai, really, each year as it grows into a bigger ball, some of the water hits the driveway, and turns to steam immediately, and there is that smell, not of water, of the chemicals and minerals in the water, escaping as gases in the steam, definitely metallic in nature, one of those smells that remains utterly distinct in life, lake water, charcoal on a fired up grill, the first cut into a ripe pineapple, technology does not seem to touch these things, they were the same and are the same for a hundred years, to generations of summer culture.
So, this is a holiday, seems like another day to me, admittedly I expected much more noise outside than this, it is rather quite calm, maybe the heavy weight of the sun has beaten the starch out of life a little today, and the world is in resting phase, but I am sure, on the night, will come the fireworks, to light the sky, mark the occasion, scare my dog, overtures and songs, a holiday throng when fireworks are certainly foreign born.
For me, nothing is different tonight, just sitting here contemplating life, fate, the past, the future, what it all means as if I have the means to solve this puzzle in the first place, as the sun sits between the V of two branches, I understand how holidays can isolate, make you feel lonely, all the joyous sounding around, and you are not part of it, of course some of that is by choice, yes I must confess I am not the social butterfly I once never was, has this past year been better, yes, by slow standards, although change happens all around us all the time, inner, personal change does not seem up to speed, the relics of the past, deeds, memories, they are bindings much stronger in comfort than landing first foot in the new world, landing, with wonder, and fear, will that new land be as “good” as the old I left (or should have fled), the fear, even if home was built on the cold stone face of misery, misery loves comfort, for even the walls of a prison can become familiar horizons, to the point where beyond those walls no longer matters, this is why I struggle to construct pillars of reminder, the truth is rather easy and consistent in most things, we know what is right, what must or should be done, in our deepest well lurks the truth, what we know, that our days are quite literally numbered, there is a countdown as to which we are bound but not allowed to witness, but we know of it’s existence, do we all live in the moment, as if this may be our last minute? do I? maybe this is my reminder, my map, my guide, taking the time to let the “important” world slide away and just consider thoughts in writing, and maybe the rest will arrive, in it’s own time, trust not in despair, you know what is there, trust in the fact, that you are alive, you have a choice, choose the nuptials of love and hope, whenever you can, fail, more than succeed, likely, but it is apparent, that for most of us, this was never meant to be easy…

oh yeah, this is part of my ongoing porch project thing… just me, sitting out there, playing guitar more lately but also with my little notebook scribbling all this, I wonder what my neighbors think….

porch poem from the other night…

porch poem from the other night…

bright daylight environment forest
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

yes, see, the world has awoken
the bounty of spring has now been open
life leaps forward sky and ground
for the trees are fullest now
full now within the grand display
however within lies a great irony
they cast more shadow now
than on any winter day


I wrote this other night when I was writing this post, I am little behind in my work (posting things that is)  because last night I got home after 3am from my real world work, something like an 18 hour day top to bottom, not a complaint, just a statement of fact, I wonder how many of you have jobs that require these overnight hours (no diss to you parents out there, I get it, not comparing), it is a strange existence, things are surreal, driving back and forth from the Poconos during a crazy rainstorm, fog and downpours of epic proportions, dodging 18 wheelers on route 80 screaming by in the night kicking up temporary tempests of road rain, windshield wipers from zero to 60 and back again, driving out there seems like there is no civilization and then… boom, you pass the Delaware Water Gap (literally like passing through a gap, you see the river and both sides, kind of like a crotch) and then, then there is … life, towns, seemingly created on the fly out of nowhere, a relief, and then the after, driving back, the sheer stark darkness out there, the narrow corridor that is route 80 and 202 (I think) out there, isolating, trying to concentrate and make sure you see your lanes, coffee as a copilot or a hope, following the lanes, the reflectors, trying to read the minds of the other drivers and their endeavors, speeding up when deemed, moving over when demons race at inexorable speed, but in the end, I made it home, and sam (the dog) was waiting, something about a dog just wanting to go outside made it all worth it, she has no idea what I go through in a day, she is just there, just the same, so I gave her an extra treat… don’t tell anyone…