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.
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…
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…
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…
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)
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
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…
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…
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…