the waning late summer sun
resting on the face
of a golden still pond
this- is- calm… (pause; inhale… hold… hold… exhale…)
“pinch me my darling,
for surely I travel in the realm of dream”
but no, a sweet captive
of the great blue marble
cast out upon the blackest sea.
Tag: Nature Poems
in the moment.
a conjuration-
I am-
suddenly found ‘midst
an unusual sun shower
a downpour
of cherry blossom petals
a shame,
for they will never feel
the real kiss
of the true summer sun
so I must
for them
notes… this is what haiku is to me, not the form, the beauty. I was going to my car after work in the blah industrial section of Hackensack , NJ where I work, there are cherry blossoms lining the side street, warehouses line both sides, but yet… cherry blossoms are the there, in line, that attract the wild birds of the area, such as they are, we even get quaker parrots from time to time, so, there I was, in the middle of a storm, of petals… and I took a moment to inhale and observe, beauty is there in daily things.. just take a second and look for it…
a quick wink.
descent;
soaking in the last breaths
of the smoky slumber sun
sets.
Notes… just a quick glance at the sky while driving home, even after some forty odd years on this globe I can still be amazed, the days are nearly never the same, sometimes the paint up there is just different, all just moments, snap shots, moving pictures, shorts really, all stitched together in the feature that is our life, so sometimes you have to sit back and watch the dailies to see how the whole project is going…
sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…
the nervous ones
perhaps the influence
of the gray-
amorphous
an endless ceiling of fog
a oneness
concealing unknowns,
outline angles shadows dart
to and through
to and fro
back and forth
more chaos than dance
less grace than chance
the lack of pattern
the lack of calm
in this suffocating dome of visual dissonance-
for even a tornado has form,
the world
all very still now
save- for the nervous birds
panic set to erratic
their movements
eat at my will
gnaw the ends of my bones
as they prattle back and forth
notes… just looking out of my window at work, one of those rainy days well, that does not rain, sort of dreary, and in between, I would rather have rain, and it was a weird day anyway, I got home @ 3am from work, I was converting a supermarket computer system in Hempstead NY… I do enjoy learning all the little nooks and crannies of the tri state area but those hours you always run into all sorts of construction, it is a bit disheartening when you are trying to cross the verrazanno at 3 am and you have to navigate all sorts of orange cones and what not… it is a bit surreal… most of the world is asleep (at least locally) but you are chugging along trying to get home, and still pacing $13 tolls on the EZ pass… and as usual this is something I wrote off the cuff, a few adjustments here and there but mostly as I jotted it down today…
on breakers from above, a lesson in less…
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)
blue ‘phin
in the miles of the blue
pointed eyes navigate the blur
imagine skimming
skipping along
like a trance
or a song
spinning through the air
darting among
with thrush
and a rush,
bobbing for air
when the need arise
coursing, like a vein
these are the days of pure freedom
swimming in unison
with my brethren
in these miles of the blue
stretched out in all directions
rain dance…
I wish the whimsical
I pray, I dance
on the drum skins of the old gods
lying forgotten in the thunderlands
I shout out, in trance
to transform this grassy prairie
into the bounty of lush forestlands
may brooks break the backs of the deep plates
and carve-cut out the roadways
for life to venture out upon
quench the sponge until overflow
from bird to bee, proliferation
all manner of life, let this be
notes… one of those that snuck into my skull, I found myself in ancient america at the foot of the grasslands, and wondered what it would have looked like if forest had extended outward coast to coast.. so this is that work…
.autumn has arrived
“autumn whisper“
leaves of color
the cloak of death
a barren trunk
succumbs to rest
“sssleep, sleep my friend
may your roots bear fruit
in the coming spring again
sssleep, sleep my friend”
snap thought/write…
tonight the temp is just right
cold enough to be colder than
I can just smell
the sweet leaves that fell wet
so many more to go
but this line between
seasons in change
I lament the summer
but feel ready for fall
prepared by all the signals
my mind is made ready
standing-waiting in a train station stop
waiting to board the transition on
notes… just walked outside, my windows are open but I am not getting inside this lovely wave of fall air, refreshment indeed in some sense, not reprieve from a scorching day, more like comfort in a perfect blanket zone, comfortable, soothing, but yet hints of fall, the slightly sweet smell of rotting leaves, dying leaves, the intoxicating sweet smell of decay, hinted, and the cricket choir is still living, and loud, but not as much or so much, some what subdued, like the temperature, a bull tamed, a wild horse tamed but yet will fade away into the cold, but right now that feels OK, no, it feels fantastic, relief… sweet belief. oh yeah, and this was something I just wrote in my head when I stepped outside, so, that is what it is, kind of haiku feel…
arboreal dreams.
for in the spring
I dared to dream
unfolded to soaking in
the light that fuels the green
the daring leaf
for I could be a ballerina
toe to tip pirouette a spin
a dizzying mood
the ardent explorer
a ship riding the tide
the temporary waterways
of august thundershowers
the lazy slouch
content to not much else
sunbathe all the hours on
sleep till noon or dawn the day star
and once a tempest passed
I remember well, the fear, shaking
such force upon my lap
and others fled or ripped, and gone
visited by birds
maybe I might fly among them
carried by the wind
onto some mysterious foreign lands
I can feel the drying in my veins
the light remains but how the warmth has faded
for all these I might have been
my last grasp, to grass, browned and spent
notes… just something that popped into my head today, I could have expanded it I suppose, worked the clay, worked the mold, but it is not my way, ole ‘one draft dave’ they call me, well, ok, no one calls me that, in fact that is a terrible nickname, forget I mentioned it, let’s just keep that between us, shall we? anyway, can’t a leaf dream? who knows? why not? this work was about that thought and the weird cadence in my mind today (do you grab it?), maybe it works, maybe not, either way here it is…
Shades of My Garden 