rebirth (perhaps)

rebirth (perhaps)

if I could live my life over again
would I be
the only one
or given a new life
an empty page
or might I prefer
to hold the knowledge
I have gained,
to start in soil
as a sprout
without the memory
of the tree
that spawned me
and set me free upon this earth
as a plotting acorn
a cloud of dandelion seed
a coconut carried to a different shore
on an indifferent sea,
or spirit energy
transformed back to light
and reborn
from forth a celestial womb
to begin the cycle all-together
and all anew (on the universe’s cue)

notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

that, so hear!
riding on the wind,
the cry of the wolf
rises up on the moonlit night
piercing all forward and all behind
crests effortlessly over my ramparts and walls
directly into my soul
directly to my heart;

for the grey that inhabits my crown
for the once saplings now laid down with leaf
for seasons past and lives have cross’t,
that pierce of hers-
the cost does haunt;

still, might I lie mostly wake
thoughts can hardly break the lure
of that call of the earthen core herself-
nor noble sword for which I held
nor conquered foe for which I thought I felled
upon my knees can not relent
spine down my soul can not repent;

for she shall always be my queen;-
in times of youth when all was the golden
eternity was upon and nothing spent
the perfection of lying together in our bed
at night, until the soft light morn
the supple fit of our perfect form,
how insidious human works did invade that space
worldly words n’ deeds the insurrection led by my disgrace;

a guise, so easy to see with hind
so easily remembered, twice fold in kind
a fool’s errand to decide by one the best for two
rather than raze the building to see again
the gleaming foundation; (abandoned dream)
a fate of two disparate streams that became a river
spilled into an endless ocean of the unity of love
dried up in a short sighted season of my famine
the destruction of a singular decision is more than a scar
heavier than an anchor of the base most stone
a crushed trachea trained under heavy breath,
like a collapsed tunnel under a grand mountain’s ground;

sometimes there is the air of escape,
from miles, from towns, in the arms of others,
but when, that call hears out, and reaches these ears
I can not bear to wonder what else, and despair.

notes… I shall never forget, I want to, I want to find that next love, but it has not materialized so far… I feel I am wired different, time and years feel like nothing to me, although not everyone is wired the same way, today could be yesterday or the day I left her, it all feels the same, regardless of time and space…

the path of our own foolishness

the path of our own foolishness

am I just a gallant buffoon
or a stark raving prancing baboon
shaking my glowing red ass
under the auspice of a harvest moon
without the pride earned by rudolph
nor the purpose with which to lead
except into a tail spin speed
corkscrew map points to the ground
round ‘d’ round ‘d’ round the night
a carousel, a bumblebee in flight
for one passenger though
my bags packed with thoughts
all they might find, in a crash in the dark
compacted into
this little black box
that lies, in abject presentation
and so I will dance, which
for the diminish, succumbs
the coma of night is comfort
the comfort of numb.

sometimes we all act the fool, in jest I must accept not reject this abject part of my humanity… for at best I am my worst and my best is met beyond my expectations my pet, but I bet I do not know anything yet, with four decades under belt I have felt many things and still stumble like a child learning first steps, because there are always more first steps, there is always first steps unless you live life standing still, but then you would be a dummy, both figuratively and literally… or maybe just a man named quinn…

the strangeness of inspiration, so muse

the strangeness of inspiration, so muse

time to put away the winter things
sleds in sheds
boots in darkness
closet corners full
less dress
car packed full
an adventure to take
under the summer sun

notes… went back in my time machine, well, not really, of course, I WOULD share that with you, if I could, of course… but I pulled up an old snippet from the year 2019 and it spoke to me, I guess, sub-consciously, and so this came about, of it, that union of my own old thought, and now, how things change, and will, always, move forward, so I should, I am trying… how hard, depends who you ask, who wants to be honest in all that, who wants to push, even if we know the cliff could be right there, I should get busy, have more urgency, but I wrap myself in the every day race and tail, reflecting on it does not move the needle, which I need to do before I am quite dead, literally.

the long wedding…

the long wedding…

Matrimony

so-
should I?
marry you
death-
now or then
why wait?
why the rush?
inevitable-
the perfect mate;
fate-
so let the courtship begin
and never end.
unless I should begin again;
reincarnation or resurrection-
so let the lantern be lit
so I may follow
into the path of light
.

one of those days, you know, when the sun hits your skin…

one of those days, you know, when the sun hits your skin…

soak up the sun
when you can,
no, no, no, not for a tan
lest your vanity
replace such absolute gravity
soak up the sun
for when else
can your truly
bathe in starlight
not at night-
not from the moon-
for that is just
a hiding reflection
a pale excuse
while you snooze.

and sometimes, you think, you clink, your tool, you fool, just love it, bring it in, the sunshine, ya feel me ? (oh and by the way I call this staccato poetry, so that is on purpose, it is the way I hear it in my mind when I write it)… as always your thoughts are appreciated, if you think I am a putz, that’s ok, I might disagree even, on most days…
the wheel.

the wheel.

wake wash rinse-
repeat
dress dash dapper-
neat;
the norm is
clocks do wane
race racing
the norm is-
death

notes… am I above the fray? the race? the rush? no… I am awash in it just the same as most, this does not mean I am unaware, I would love a world where I (and we) were all free to just do as we please, but that is not reality. there is no easy answer, I would say my advice to you (and me) is to find your refuge where you can, when you can, find a place either real or virtual or in your mind that is only yours (or those you choose to share with).

our world, in the end, is bones…

our world, in the end, is bones…

delivered from the ether
birthed onto this blessed vessel
celestial gestation,
my ordained time
to grow
seed to sapling
in this world- of- bones;
the very light of the only heaven

we know
projected onto our sacred ground
the giver of life
our only sun
so might I have this chance
this moment
a miracle –
in this- world of bones.

notes: revelation today… the words popped into my head for the past few days “this world of bones”… because that is all that is left, it is not a good record of the amazing life that has spread here, just in my short lifetime, or any time, the earth will be just a graveyard one day, even more than it already is with the dinosaurs and previous life forms… but for us… the bones will not just be our bodies but our buildings and thrivings, it will all end, and that is OK, that is the way of things, I fear for myself, of course, I don’t know how to square that peg, but I am not alone, we all have to meet that end, and so we will, I fear I will be lost to the ether, absorbed back into the universe that has no need for the meaning of me, and I will never know, I will just be gone, I hope, and pray that my spirit finds a place, but even the universe must end, and maybe that is what death is about, even the oldest thing, the only thing, must have a start and an end, this existence, my life, is no exception, but that does not make it easier to comprehend…the end.