sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

the nervous ones
perhaps the influence
of the gray-
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…

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

blue ‘phin

Photo by Guillaume Hankenne on

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

notes… I think the music fits the feel of this one… of course I am partial, I am me you know, this is my blog so…
rain dance…

rain dance…

Photo by Binyamin Mellish on

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…

snap thought/write…

snap thought/write…

Photo by Daniel Frank on

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.

arboreal dreams.

brown leaf
Photo by hiwa talaei on

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…

a metaphor, or an observational poem.

a metaphor, or an observational poem.

brown white and orange small bird perched on wood near pine tree leaf
Photo by Pixabay on

am I just a bird
searching through
fields of grass
hoping for
a single worm

notes: all about the rise and fall of the syllables, well, at least to me, one of those I call “haiku-feel”, you know, not haiku in the strict sense, sometimes simple is simple…. seems reasonable, at least to this mind…

a poem of circumstance…

a poem of circumstance…

sparrow perched on bench
Photo by Vladyslav Dukhin on

hope not for omens
preparing dinner
a thud, a dull glass thud
I have heard this before
but why today
since many long I can not even say
since I heard that sound
so distinct
a missile, a blind kamikaze mistake
and there she is
delicate little bird
curled up on the planks
outside my kitchen window
lying lifeless, I know this
this was an ending note
with hope I throw on my coat anyway
slip on my outside slippers
and gently cradle the little
hoping for a twitch
wishing a miracle
but no, a head tossed to and fro
in the tide of past life now
so little bird
I lay you down
may you rest
upon this ground

notes… just sometimes things happen, and you are no longer an observer but the recounter of a story, of a life, and so it was…

location, nature, all these things… what else do you expect of me…

location, nature, all these things… what else do you expect of me…

this was inspired here but my experience was this… the rest, well you can fill in for yourself, as I expect you would…

upon opperman’s pond
beauty beyond beauty be
snow worn on trees
witness, jury, frozen pond
the slow captured still photo
a face of ice
milky glass window
outlined with banks of snow
halted in the cold
what now sleeps below
forever within this hibernation dirge
there remains a joy
the indomitable force of life