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.
Tag: life poetry
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…
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.
proof of life…
proof of life
I see the words
I recognize the form
but can I ?
(actually show this)
am I this
am I here
and who will know
such is… (a life)
this banal vessel?
a carousel of magic?
a recipe of miracles?
an index card-
handwritten scrabble
worn yellowed edges
a tear or two from use
a corner missing
how the uncommon gets misplaced
and indexed
this side of learn’d heaven
such is… life.
dilemma (a short)
sentiment, reality though.
I never seem to have the time
to properly metamorphosize
so will I ever be…
externally
who I am, to be ?
notes… and so I ask you (yes you) what are we meant to be? are we free? (to be?) I’m not so sure sometimes, and others I am a blustered fool spitting in the face of an obvious tornado, what an odd fellow, one of my neighbors has a rooster now, I hear it in the morning, thankfully it is on the next block or my neighbor might not be waking up…
PS: if you have a word reaction to my work, send it in, the best I will tag back onto my post, as a reaction? a question? a continuation ? sure… any of these, so if I invoke a response from your muse… please share…
and we are told ashes?
the commonality of dust
the fragility of man
but my soul longs for the coast
even though I rose from the land
my heart yearns to be part of the sea
if eternity so blesses, this transformation
may I slip into that deep
my blood to water
forever as my keep
birth… day… (a poem about life)
So, I have crested oe’r the gateway
into the dawning of my greying age
a fading age
held in the palm
of the scales of time
in counted breathes
and a beating heart
for within this vessel of godly constraint
grows and dies, expands and retracts,
a life, my life
notes… why this song? it always makes me thinky … yeah, not exactly a technical term, I know… but accurate just the same. Angel or a Rat ? or the same ? in the same domain ? so… I was thinking…
fault, and reconciliation…
;fault bucket-
I wonder what brigade
might save
as I pass
hand to hand
so I might learn
to trust
again
for at the end
may empty
my burdens;
notes…. form in a way here, flow, like water rhythm wise, and also I meant this to look like a tipped bucket if you can see my visual clues (punctuation and it leans to one side if weighed on a scale perhaps)… sometimes I do things such as this… the funny thing is that the genesis of this thought, this poem ? researching an error in windows… seriously what more of a dork could I be… but always the muse she is guiding me, on a shoulder, in a vein… who knows? maybe I am insane… all the same, we all are to some degree, depends on the influences we listen to I suppose, I will stick by the mystery of the muse, I will… especially if it really is Selma Hayek...
fire, for we are, then we are embers, and then ash…
for I am fire-
seems the obvious enough,
and fuel for this-
shall run scant, I know this
but still persist- to burn on
I know not the source but yet can speculate
for the writers, the authors, the morai
“to the fates !”, dare I
for more puppeteers than scribes
pull on strings rather than script the divine
to fellow flames, such as they were
shelley, shakes and thoreau may contemplate
crown thy mantle with a metaphor
might they be ashes now in the evermore
but the burn-marks still inspire scores
even when spoken toward the dwindling dawn
such might believe the theogony
to spark the daughters of ananke
to dwell in this most glorious dull
a tool of the realm upon the shoal
such as the fuel does inspire
such as the wake does drain the soul
for this I know
for I, am fire.
Shades of My Garden 