Lost.Love.Letters.

Lost.Love.Letters.

this song, this feel… damn, it always takes me back, got an album like that? the first time I was back in Florida after leaving her, I was in the Keys, the beautiful Keys, Islamorada, with my little Ipod mini, remember those, full moon night, my toes, dangling in the transparent azure ocean waves swaying, the only soul at the end of the straight out dock lined left and right with lights like a photo, watching thunderstorms come in like castles of invading nation states, floating battle stations in their own single space, separated and yet almost in wave formations, sparks of lightning- emanating, a show, just for me, just for me to know, she was listening…

notes… this is something I wrote on Facebook in one moment, one time, because it is true… and it really is… I thought I had video of it back in the day… it was surreal, and so transcendent..

the unexpected but gladly accepted injection of love into the everyday junction…

the unexpected but gladly accepted injection of love into the everyday junction…

(stream of consciousness type post, I generally call it free form, call it what you will.. just call it!)

the injection of love
(no, not some bad romcom or adult movie)
reminders, life flicking your ear lobe so you pay attention, a moment, as the feeling wells up you are reminded of other times, those eyes, I forgot her eyes, of course that is all you see these days with mask mandates and the like, the old saying, gateway to the soul and all that, overacted, but like many things scooped from some basin of truth, with some people you just have a gaze, there is something more there, an instant lock, indeed, almost a ghost-physical embrace, at some level, you feel it, you know the other person does as well, you can just tell, by the feeling in your bones, or wherever this emanated from, but there is no denying the fact, the attraction, the familiarity, the instant comfort yet butterfly fragility, we see so many eyes over so many days, a glaze, a haze, a zombie trance as we walk through, enough that the fog becomes the norm, partial blindness to the remarkable form, and then, every now and again, we encounter someone who orbits our star, becomes our moon, even if for a moment lost too soon, that instant bond, love at first sight at some level I suppose, or just a knowing, a simpatico, a fellow traveler in this world with some strange unspoken bond, yes, I forgot her eyes, not the color – but the light, all the time spent floods back in an instant, her laugh, her smile, how she destroys all my ramparts instantly, I used to be so oblivious to all this, and maybe now, as I grow longer in years, I appreciate these awakenings of time, and there is a boost in my step, a pep in my smile, an inner warmth that I can recall like a memory translated into injected elation, an elevation of the spirit just because of her presence, of course this reminds me to be both jealous and happy for those who have found their true love, and have nurtured the same into an enduring relationship, I can only imagine, or dream, or reach but I know this fate exists for me in these moments, even if I trip over the realization or miss the signs, perhaps my mind is best set looking, or perhaps my heart should lead the line.

notes… couldn’t help myself here, Hall and Oates were a staple in my household growing up, so I hated them naturally, but in retrospect they really were better than the average pop band of the day, catchy tunes and Daryl Hall is a good dude who hosts all sorts of musicians these days at his website/venue… check it out.

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

Photo by Daria Sannikova on Pexels.com

I think of you every day
like the sun rising
that simple-
that feel
a gentle warmth
on my cheek, on my eyelids,
as I see you with them closed,
I think of you every day –
the guilt is the passion of the poison
as I am a circled serpent bite embraced,
I think of you every day,
as I drive past, I drive
from the freedom tower to the empire state
as a made-up façade running along my side like a slide
as the sun glides rises up
like a passenger riding in a train
watching scenery pass by
yet, I’m in my car
almost a dream like state
I am so far – from, yes, so far from-
you,
I think of you every day
and yet
sometimes there is grace
for even in this pit of despair
from which I still breath and draw all air-
for there
there was always the truth
there was and always will be love embraced
and for that
is all that saves me
most days… most days.

notes… I wanted this to feel like my thoughts, stop and go, and yet flow – at times, is that not more real than perfection sometimes ? I realize poetry can just be this amazing stream but sometimes I am trying to create life, real life, real thoughts, and that is never perfect, do I want to create some perfect things sometimes? yes… but not this time, this is being life on purpose…

a taste of spring…

a taste of spring…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

(stream of consciousness posted prompted by a spike to 70 degrees today)

a taste of spring, a little bird on a twig, a series of chirps evolves into song, the sun, not quit strong enough to completely thaw, nor to make my face have the brooding fear of a tan, but a blue sky and a bright sun can lighten the disposition of gravity, still snow survives, around the edges, under the hedges, melting tides reveal masks strewn about in the gutters, a grim reminder of the times we are emerging from, less a tunnel and more a moratorium, a pause, a break in the norm, all holidays vanished along with those lost, a year seems gone, lost, like this never happened, but I do sense this, a taste of spring, seventy degrees seems like the last mile marker on the road to a vacation destination, a little finch, just inches above me, I swear he is dancing a jig, or at least bouncing around, and the snow’s retreat, even the dull green of the lawn is a treat, a feast for the eyes, lonely stark dirtied snow has a toll, like walls, the glow of the setting sun, behind the everyday house across the street, somehow looks more regal, so I will soak this in for now, into my skin, trigger memories of better days, of hope, of waves gently rolling over my toes as a I stroll down my favorite sandy venue soon enough, I have not come out of this time as whole as I once was, but I still am, so hope is resolve, in this – a taste of spring.

Bolero… an inspired post…

Bolero… an inspired post…

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(stream of consciousness freeform post, me sitting in my office with music and then… this.)

as bolero plays I am inextricably drawn, no, transported to a transformation, into the dawn of seasons, to spring, to observe the saplings, the probing buds, all the green things, the rise of life from fallow-dead-white fields, months shallow now filled eyes out to the horizon brim, plum blossoms sun-bursting in celestial parades, off carried by a gentle hand – a tender breeze, seed stars dance like human figurines, in this glorious ballroom of renewal, yes, bolero, more so than vivaldi’s reckoning, I do not know why, but that reminds me of spring in full swing, not this, not the uprising whistling just past the thaw, the burgeoning tide of dawn, where bird’s chatter is that much more amplified – melody, more – harmony, epiphany, the perfect score for the painted landscape being re-born, yes, bolero, tickles my ear, punches the ticket when I am on board, elucidates a dreaming dream to sweep away the doldrums of this daily day, for I see snow, and the icy remains, but no, bolero has brought me the inspired warmth of spring – if only for a moment as graces my auditorium.

outside in the cold…

outside in the cold…

Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

(a stream of consciousness post)

I felt an uncomfortable sensation, like I was some where I did not belong, sure, the air is still and calm, and the sounds I hear are more like a glacier’s song, but here?? on a standard street in new jersey suburbia, I was awaiting the proverbial jumping cat to normalize the scene with banality, no luck there, sudden subtle whooshing water sounds, creaks and cracks, little pops, especially when the wind played cover for the under, fog, on a cold winter night? I can taste the moisture on my tongue somewhat, something is thawing, something is coming, that slight frozen fog suspended in air… or my eyes, I am not sure if I am in the dream state between or this is some parallel I have stepped into between worlds, I look to my neighbor’s house, all the lights are out, except those landscape domes buried in half a foot of snow, a semi circle, almost like a buried ufo, or proof of roswell is buried there, prints, prints across the white ‘scape, evidence, a trace, things have been skulking about but the melt makes a succinct inspection impossible, a cat, a dog, a fox, who knows, a person lost in the storm, probably not on that score, but these are written stories on the temporary ice canvas laid out, soon to become a book and flow into a stream, into the ocean, and off into the vast consciousness of the world continued and forgotten, all twined together like our daily lives, just these frozen at this one time, inextricably linked by binds of time and circumstance, and I can not decipher them before this alexandria burns into the ground, such is the way of the world, but I do not have to like it, and again, I hear more strange sounds, the closer I walk towards the more silence raises up to block my ears, the wind, a loki, shakes the tree above me raining down perfect droplet bombs of sub chill local tree rain, not from a cloud, at least not now, they hit me to distract from the creeping doom I imagine is out there… or I know is out there, but not tonight, not here, I return to the warmth of my hearth and home, to the domain of my screen, and these words, a survivor as long as fate may grant me, able to write my words at night so faintly, I hope my echo can carry in this chasm and catch the wind on the other side.

notes… as usual, all thoughts and comments are appreciated. good, bad, indifferent, did you read this? I wonder. did you experience?

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

Photo by Hiu1ebfu Hou00e0ng on Pexels.com

my beautiful flower
for what have I done
poisoned my garden
’till kingdom come

notes… since my father passed I have been posting photos on my facebook page daily, and of course I wound up running across photos of her, my true love, the major screw up I can never mend, well, I hope but that was many years ago, time is supposed to mend or heal, not so much here, I try not dwell but honestly it is always there, somewhere, some days just rise and it is all I can think about, just happened to coincide with V-day, I used to make her special meals, with red themes, heart shaped veg or the like, always something ambitious, I miss those days, but I am still here and there are days ahead, so that has to be my focus, but seeing those old photos, the closeness, her holding me and me her, in addition to my old dog, Chestnut, whom I loved so very much, and made mistakes like any first time parent, memories, of all the animals we had, practically a zoo, birds (amazon yellow front, parakeet, parotlet, monk parakeet), a degu, pacus, turtles (mississippi mud and soft shell), a mexican tarantula, a sugar glider and a texas ground squirrel… yeah it was pretty nuts, and I leaving out the scorpions and betas… retrospect always breeds romanticism, but who am I to argue with my own feelings? but accept them.

snippet… –

snippet… –

“and what I know of
the silence of love
speaks volumes”

notes… haiku? not sure, not meant to be, strictly, that is, this is something I woke up this morning and this was scribbled (OK, typed) in notepad on my little laptop friend here, I don’t even recall writing it, but since I am a music wonk it has beats… 5 / 5/ 3, funny how the universe works such things out (hat tip, universe, in waves)

lost.love.letters. \\\\\

lost.love.letters. \\\\\

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.com

perhaps this is causality
and I am the casualty of-
the rain
a grey veil of gloom over
even silver linings wane
not some days
not all days
today, one of those lingering
an insidious thought invades, breaks the levy
‘I have nothing’
or feel that way
perhaps only because I ‘had’
I can not stop the swell, the surge
the rush back, a rampaging flood now converges
that a bound fist in my abdomen confirms
my eyes well,
we all want to travel back, to rewrite;
and we do, in a way, down that path, in our mind
but know, always know the foundation
the truth is in the earth, hands clench this
the cruelty of the steadiness of dirt
support of life and burial of the dead roots
as far reach as heaven, up into the air
roots buried, anchors, always, memories
a library, a curated collection
rows and rows of known, wanton forgotten
I am alone-
most days this is not a bother
some days a marker, a visitor, my own host
I scrape for false shelter
draw out the homilies on my lips
all the words I left out
a mantra to my burden
to wait out the storm and pretend some more.

note… to any new people (as I am seeing more traffic), hello you (waving), my work is off the cuff, one off, unless otherwise noted, perfect? no way man…. but I post it… and here it is… when I write the thing it is visceral, you get me facial, that’s all… and if you like it … great, if not, also great, I appreciate the read, the time, your eyes, thanks… we are existing right now at this time…. which is a miracle, billions of the years of the universe have brought us together… for corn dogs… well, er, at least that or more I hope, so all your comments, recipes, thoughts, coherent rants and advice for my garden – are appreciated. I am the bamboo whisperer… I tell ya…

and will I… ?

and will I… ?

Photo by Lina Kivaka on Pexels.com

(1)
climb
will I see paris before I die?
to savor love upon the bridge of locks
hide’n dance n’the shadows of triumph
rise in the tower on champs de mars
n’dip my bones in the river siene

to see the frozen steps of everest
be fed from the kindred spirit hands of tibet
brail-read the walls of the khyber pass
and flow into the ganges herself as everlast

to witness pink waves of flamingos
island hops the flock n’galapagos
count time with a tortoise there
with an iguana squad scout the surf
shooting salt skyward with a puff

from the seven hills of italy
romulus and remus might guide my way
past the seven twined of istanbul
pass the gate to the holy lands
on to salted pillars of the deadly sea

may I lay down along
the nazca lines
and so align
along orion’s belt
all,
before I die,
will I see paris, one more time?

(2)
stuck on an island divorced from pangea long ago
“will I see paris before I die?”
I asked the also flightless kakapo
“surely you did not expect me to answer, for that would be absurd”
I thought the bird might mutter
but what is more absurd than a flightless bird?
“have you bothered to look in the mirror?, SIR” rocco concurred
fair point, for a stranger in a strange land
a spectrum island if there has ever been
even in this waking dream
I keep thinking I might run into a hobbit or two
surely up for a brew or some song and more ale or two
but the maori tell me of more
a place to jump into the hereafter
if only I could muster the muster
to disappear into the tasman sea

notes… again, I stipulate, that sometimes things just come to me, or occur to me @ random, this is one of those works, just random universe influenced onto my thoughts, I can not explain it fully nor do I care to, at this point in my life I prefer to let it flow, so here it goes…