no, quite literally just moments ago or an hour, who can be sure the skies were black with rage and blazing flash rain highway sideways, pelting the windows
so temporal, all this so trapped in moments, we become
for oh sun, now shines how light is cast against darkness in contrast I feel the despair leeching out of very my skin as if being pulled out string by string by an invisible, palpable, force of hand – yes and quite suddenly I am transformed long forgotten, the storm
The setup… so I was driving over the Verrazano bridge the day after Hurricane Ida came rumbling through, it was a glorious day weather wise (some wind), personally, eh, not so much, not bad but tiring, so this was all stuff that floated through my head as I drove over the bridge, it is an awesome sight, especially on a clear day like this, you tend to forget the fact that the water is not exactly, um… clean, especially from that vantage point, so it was more like being a bird flying over the span from Brooklyn to Staten Island (the narrows as it is called), the phrase “breakers on the narrows” is the trigger and what popped into my head, after I wrote the 1st draft I thought I missed the point by trying to make a point rather than make a picture (or share the sensation/feeling/moment)… so I included both drafts here, I don’t fret over my work, I don’t strive for perfection, I just wish to be me, as much as I can be (no one is pure imo… we all filter @ some level so I am not going to preach about how honest I am, I’m not 100% without filter… is that the goal? you bet… but I ain’t there yet…)
(1st draft) breakers on the narrows as I am passing over might I look over and from here, this is almost mystical this structure, seemingly bifrost made real this gleaming span, many thousands roam, daily and I, one of those turned into spectator by spectacle as ida has departed, the sky opens wide blue a boat’s wake, turns rows of wind swept, rakes breakers on the narrows peak frozen in motion like marching saints as I speed by this scene hundreds of feet up above in the comfort of my driving machine wanting to dive right in I imagine I can hear the sounds above the din seagulls, waves breaking onto themselves and the shore- a horn breaks the trance I am transported back to this land the common asphalt, ezpass flash transported back
(2nd draft) breakers on the narrows, tailwinds whip up clone-peaks angled on-towards the beach I can not hear the roar but do imagine as I pass above them such a scene from afar a sky wide open blue and the cleansing sensation as this flying by calms- breakers on the narrows.
the song has no link to the post other than allison was a tropical storm that ravaged texas a decade or so ago… sometimes rain is the worst part… as was the case with Ida, except super south jersey which got tornadoes (mullica river area, I love tooling around down there when I get the chance, it is like a different state)
So… you know, the moon, that thing, in mysterious ways can do mysterious things, some howl, not me, not this soul, but my mind does wander and wonder at it all...
(1) from pine tar to the bore forgive me my grace a bit too comfortable in my grave on shadow moon and misty tides a rider appears a delivery, a note of handwritten dour as we prophesied in this late hour for the signs all gesticulated in blood nurtured in the knowledge that the past has returned. (2) with a somewhat lazy eye climbs upward the ladder rung by rung up hazy sky for an obscure moon there on this late february night a caged celestial bubble lost in the pool cast in the night
under the glance of the wax for I sentinel of grace, in this- frozen- field, a garden they say, whispers of the fruit- hang all this from the gate that did pour out filling the mother burst with life and all that adorns, “choose, choose the light” whispers on shade flight in the ancient tongue woven, in dna, in instinct, into cells as pathway ancestral lines even on this cold stark barren plain a sign, a scion of the daystar stands for generations of man for the furthermore a fellow that travels, bags unpacked a beacon, the only celestial within our reach I pray, give me warmth on this coldest of the nights of this life make my hearth dance in joy and with fire’s delight, whirling smoke swirls, a tribute in chimney speak, rise up- spiral into the night, let my dreams ride such a caravan and visit with you- for but a moment to press your shoulder- in a tender embrace bask in the presence of long far and such past eyes that have seen countless spin a night, and day again, over I wish to listen to your chorus and lay ear to, listen to, your chorus as I become a phrase.
note…to those who don’t know, and a nod to those who do… most of my work is off the cuff, meaning instant, and so I do, I am experimenting lately with form and type, just feeling out the world with words, that is my hands molding the clay of the world around me… so, that’s it… and I thank you for the visit, all comments are appreciated, and I do mean all…