the poem of course, is historically one of the greatest in history… all poets aspire to write such wall crumbling words, we need to internalize same and live our lives this way. Do I do it ? No.. I aspire to it. These are wonderful words and an amazing example of why word art matters. We must remember that art does matter but also the sentiment of truth anchors the best of art. The truth being that we have this little slice of time to be relevant, to be actually US, to be ourselves, we will blink and be gone… we only have this little time, instead of living many of us are wrapped up in nothing (myself included).. how do we escape this pattern and LIVE as free people, free from perception, allegation, the chains of oppression of society and the expectations of same. If you are expecting answers, I am sorry, I am seeking them as well.
My porch series, tonight’s entry (and after that a bunch I forgot to post here, I think I posted them on Facebook, my bad… but just click on the porch series link to see them in order if you would like):
9/23/18 (porch series)
I thought it might be a clear night
but it is not
there are no stars
just a muddled shade of black mixed gray
the only light, artificial
from the light of my porch, behind me
usually under siege with moths
but not tonight, the fort is oddly quiet
the subtle chill is no longer on the breeze
as there is none this eve
the subtle chill has settled, into being, no need for a vehicle
time pushes the notch hand towards harvest
all the year’s resources spent
on a last bounty of the fall, before comes
as close as the world comes to death
the time as life bears down to hold
hold on, to dear life
wait out this coming cold reign.
and some will emerge, into the March
and others, will be lost, buried forever by the calming frost
swept under the sea of seasons
written into the ever revolving story,
maybe I should move back to a place
where the seasons are more
hot and blazing, less humid or raining
would I miss these reminders
these stage backdrops changing
the season’s play, performing, before me
brings both terror and inspiration
just cause to outlast the procession,
knowing one day the curtains will close (not just for intermission)
for all those, those who pay attention, or merely attendants
and, for me,
in which of these would I prefer to end?
as if I have some choice
but – if given a choice?
a blanket of snow, or the warm hand of august sun?
the miraculous burst of bloom or the flash of fire across autumn trees before the fall,
might I be a greedy soul
I wish for – all of these.
7.31.2018 (porch series)
a july breeze, warm and inviting
darkly clouds wavering, breaking – heading north
framed in against the tones of the setting sun
reflecting onto their cousins
illusion drawn on a cloud pallet
as the minutes draw the light, dimmer
I try to perceive the breeze, as an image
as it casually weaves through the leaves
all the life, in this little window frame
this tiny capture of my eyes
this valley of my perception
all struggles to survive
the trees, the flowers,
the mosquitoes having at my legs
I understand
but our minds, our mind’s reason
we know, like seasons – there is an end
to what end – ?
I do not know
I inhale the breeze
I absorb the gasp of the sun
to inform me
to give me answers, for I have none.
7.24.2018 (porch series)
the world is spinning, in complete control
clouds moving, sliding on, the lake the sky
while others seem still
but yet we are perpetual motion, unaware spinning
ever held, down, by gravity
this, our normality.
if I were to describe this to a stranger,
not of this place
they might think me mad, or just perhaps
of great imagination
a story teller for the ages
perhaps,
but these are our facts, we accept
we are born bound, by this, gravity
this force
feet firmly, on this ground
for so few of us, will ever know space
or anything that lies beyond.
6.3.18 (this was really the first one I wrote.. I think…)
sitting on my porch alone
neighbors all around
bustling in and out
of noisy cars and busy homes
sitting on my porch alone
listening to birds they sing
in foreign languages
foreign tongues, to me
a rabbit pays me no mind
a robin retreats
the wind bends and sweeps
sliding waves of leaves, calm
I want to leave, and go back
correct the mistakes, of my past
I sit on my porch alone
there are people inside
I surely know
all around
out here,
all alone
Did you really!? get this far ? If so you have my sincere thanks. I would ask you to follow me if you are so inclined and kind. Comments are always appreciated and critique is coveted above all, insults are cool too, any input is great, I am just running this thing off the cuff, a nut and his laptop… set loose on the world.
Music? well… I play guitar (not great) but I seek out those who do, and this cat? whoboy… he is just fire on the ocean imo…
Just trying something different, the origin was a few words and trying to be simple, and also honoring what I heard in my head (beat wise). so in my head I thought:
but I was also envisioning this happening as I drive (as most of us in the northeast USA do this time of year, especially november)… so I was not sure how to post it, I wrote it out originally as:
deer / cross / road / swerve
and I guess that works but it wasn’t totally sufficient to me, I can not draw to save my life, and my handwriting I refer to as “encrypted” because only I can read it, the lines seemed … to be missing something, so I wanted to amp it up with multimedia, ideally I wanted real paint brush strokes in between… that would work, but this is the best I could do with what I have in front of me. Just me trying something a little bit off my usual path, it just hit me there to go this way, as I say the muse is the muse and I go that way.
Revision 2am… I am looking at it now still not satisfied… I want it to read like:
continuing my series of just parking my big white butt outside and looking at the small window of the world I can see here in new jersey suburbia. I am a little behind so I am posting two posts that represent two weeks, I am posting tonight’s first (and last week’s just under) because if feels more vital to me, I am trying to carve out the time to post on time, in my head I have a plan but the world seems to disagree with me… often, but I will endeavor to keep doing this project, sort of like the “picture a day” thing people do online, it is revealing, I hope this experiment turns out worth it, if not, well, then it doesn’t… but I am certainly more optimist than not so, with that all said…
9.16.18 (porch series)
this is one of those fall nights
where everything seems the way described in books
the temperature has fallen into comfort
into just cool enough
especially on the back of the memory of an angry blistering summer
(but that even now seems so faraway
weeks wipe memories faster than time can build candles on a cake);
leaves have two lives now
clinging to branches or littering the floor
all from verdant green move to vivid spectrum now
swatches of the dead adorn
but no rebirth can occur without the purge, I know,
this same hour in which I write, is much later now
the ancients association of death with night
the night that approaches and slowly suffocates the daylight
day by day swallowed night by night longer into winter, a descent,
all life is strangled to slumber
each phase of the passing days
subtracts a piece of the orchestra
summer full bloom is certainly a symphony
(or cacophony for some)
but now the year moves to loom on ever still
the lights burn out from the peak fire of life
leaves fall, insects lose their songs
the rain will become hard blocks
but – I should remain in now
not dwell on such dire things
even if I might be quite used to them
why faster should I wish their arrival
for now – enjoy, this nearly flawless night
something of which I might wish I could capture
in a moving minute moment picture
wrapped up in ball of cloth, stuffed in my pocket,
so I might take it out and wrap around
to block out
the whatever “importance” is swirling about,
and come back, to now
sitting here under the hazy crescent moon
drawing deep breaths
exhaling –
to become a component of this night
under the hazy tender glow
of a crescent moon.
9.10.2018 (porch series)
in an instant, seemingly
the summer has given way
already the silent stalk of winter
inhabits the shadows
the rain, once soothing, once relief
now speaks of longer nights
and trades in the rumors of the coming cold
fall it seems is just a balance beam
between, walking along artfully to an inevitable end
the cycle which began will but start again
as is all things
but this is a different matter
to try and capture the unfolding
to observe the obvious march
towards winter’s holding
do I delight? or mourn?
but as yet I know reborn
but there must be, that firstlast kiss of death –
the step that must come before the stairs
before we can resurrect.
Music… dramatic, with classical instruments and modern ones… you might notice patterns, I might call them taste…
Anyone who has read my blog (thanks by the way) should know by now I endeavor to sit out on my porch and observe the world, I kind of want to do this as an experiment over the course of time so you can track my thoughts along the course of a year, I write “from the porch” often but not every day, but still it should be an interesting experience to see where this goes. Tonight’s edition is actually something(s) I wrote and totally forgot about. I am not saying these are all masterpieces, more often they are set pieces to capture the moment… I have so many journals laying around (I try to have one ready wherever I go: my car, my outdoor backpack, work etc etc).. so somehow these entries missed being posted (could be me working 60-70 hours a week… nah….) but anyway I want to post them and then I will put them in order in the series (because I like order, you may call it OCD… damn you) so anyway without all my verbose droning…
“porch” (series) 6.10.2018
the rise and fall of the cicada’s song
the humidity has lost a bit of its teeth
but is still warm to the touch
a young lone jack rabbit nibbling on my lawn
the distant hum of airliners crossing some miles away
the birds chatter dims in the fading tones of light orange
the cicadas song comes and goes flowing over
the summer night – still there is light
this late hour when winter would be pressing sleep
the summer stays awake with the possibility of day
The oppressive ire of a humid summer broke in a big way yesterday, the temperature dropped to the point of going from summer shorts to a fall jacket overnight, I can’t say today was one of those miserable gray days you might think of, but it did rain all day, kind of off and on, never to hard never gone, I was going to go out and try to write out on my porch, but it is raining man… so I didn’t, but my mind did start up the writing engine as I was taking out the garbage (ah yes the regal authority of suburban life) and I thought about the rain (and as usual things we take for granted). I love the way rain sounds, I am one of those people who listens to “white noise” at night to sleep, usually ocean waves (my fave) or rain storms (especially with rolling thunder)… but then a little gnome of realization grabbed my ear and whispered… “rain is silent you fool”, after a little soul searching about listening to a figment of imagination I had to tend to agree…
Rain does not make noise. Rain is the percussion section of nature’s orchestra. All the sounds we associate with rain or storms is certainly “not rain”. Wind ? Thunder? The trees whipping, cars whipping down the street whoosh as they go by, jumping in a puddle splash, the ground rumbling from thunder claps… all not rain. Rain is the sound of impact. Think about that, something that only makes sound upon impact… and everything it impacts makes a different sound… but we process that as “rain” but it is surely not. Rain is a silent lot, as it hits your earlobe, your car hood, your driveway, a thousand leaves, all of these… so remarkably different in all aspects. Rain is not like a voice, a voice is the sound of you, it may have a different impact on the intended target but the sound.. the sound is not impact, the perception is, quite different from rain. So then…
I thought further, about water, in general… do waves make a sound? or is it their impetus movement against the shore ? Do ice cubes make a rap or is it the impact with your glass? or the crack as they dissipate ? Waterfalls, where is the sound found ?
I guess, remember to look at all things and think, observe how the world really works.
so after my philosophy blathering… “philosophy is the talk on a cereal box, religion is a smile on a dog”
one of my all time favorites… enjoy, smile, smile at the world, because a scowl doesn’t help anything. do I do that all the time ? nah… but I am trying.
I think I would rather much prefer to live among the towers of flowers, given the preference of perspective, thank you very much.
(semi crappy photos from a rest area on the GSP, find beauty wherever you may go – it is there, just look and observe! This time of year there are just these vast fields of wild flowers all over the parkway…I felt I had to grab some pics, I should grab some more because in a blink these little suns will be gone…)
weird trippy music for my weird mood dude (and dudettes)….
So of course the unofficial end of summer has come to pass, to be honest for me this is just another week, I do not have a pool to drain (labor day weekend is usually the last day people keep their pools open, in these parts at least), I actually worked yesterday so it was just my normal one day off weekend (that’s not a complaint, that is just how my job rolls (over me)), the traffic didn’t seem totally out of control, in fact I made it to the office on time (a 26 mile drive that can take from one hour to two… yikes, that I will complain about…), anyway, a server blew up around 4:30 and I got stuck working until about 8:30pm this evening, again, it is the job I chose so… (can I still say it sucks sometimes though? ok, it sucked today…) but anyway, here I am at my keyboard, sort of drained from the waterboarding of work today… just looking to post some simpler thoughts, just ideas, maybe not even complete (or my better) works, but that’s ok, you might not notice the difference anyway… besides I liked some of the ideas, this is not a beauty contest, hopefully it is just a glimpse into my mind for understanding, mine or yours, you have the menu, so order something up amigo !
5/31/18
O’ moon
master of the tides
are you yet tired?
As you gently roam
the sky
waxing and waning
rising and falling
living and dying
tied to the tides
but in the sky
alone, roaming.
5/31/18
dissipate
into particles
disappear
out into the cosmos
retain consciousness
spared
spread among the stars
I am the milky way
I am a galaxy
finally
expanding
eternally
“legacy” 6.1.18
when I pass
will these words remain
in a book
on a page
kept alive
for posterity
when I am just
a memory
“broke” 6.1.18
how could I have been so wrong
how could I have been so wrong
not a mantra
not a song
but a dirge
I have destroyed all that’s worth
“place” 6.11.18
you’ve come to a different truth
where our love did not exist
please tell me
is there something I missed
“truth” 6.12.18
I would like
to loan you my truth
so you will know
and in return
please lend me yours
notes… not much to say here, just, I do like the ideas here, perfect? nah. neither am I, or you, or anything (except Mr. Do, but that’s my opinion…)
hell, I am a child of the 80’s after all, to me this song is like the soundtrack to about 52 movies… nothing is more 80’s than this, and suddenly nostalgia seems to be a thing, but I was there… trust me, most of the music sucked monkey balls, but what was good…. was damn good…
When 6pm rolled around I didn’t think I had any thoughts in me, well, I had thoughts but they seemed to want to crawl back into a comfy bed and curl up with my mypillow and just… not create – nap but I could not (I was on call today for work.. and in short, it sucked for hours), so then after those facts I had dinner (as I usually do) and sat outside for awhile, just hanging out listening to the summer sounds (decompressing), distant kid voices, the occasional roar of an airliner (I am not too far from Newark airport after all), the din of insects, the chatter of the neighborhood walkers (mostly foreign languages), some dogs barking… I have to say it is cathartic, I recommend taking the appointment time (if you can) and just observe the space around you, especially for creative types, you can develop stories just based on what you see, so after all my blathering what I am trying to say is I did write… whether it is good or not ? meh… not important, I was in the moment, so like it or not, here was my shot…
9.3.2018
the summer seems to have lost some breath, some steam
as if she knows she is in the final stretch,
after just mere hours yesterday as I declared her death
she reared up in full form, regalia, glory,
with mighty vengeance
unleashing a torrent of gripping heat
and concentrated lens,
the type of day that makes waves
in the sight of asphalt,
the type of day barefoot burns,
necks bare red in a seeming instant,
no, this is not convection
she set this all the way to broil,
but here I sit in lovely aftermath
now that the sun has faded down
quickly drains out the wrath.
summer seems she is spent
but she will not go willingly –
as is all things.
“sunlight, because we see you” 9.3.2018
we perceive the sunlight as pulling back
when we are really spinning away, tethered to the land
we perceive the sun as rising up
when we are really hurtling toward, hidden forces,
those who do not believe
in something you can not see
take you for granted
every waking moment
Gravity and Time
they go about being
paying no attention to
us. the dust, the wind, the rain, evolution, airplanes, messaging –
all the same, to them
they were here, before the human show
they will see the epilogue, and a thousand more,
I wonder if there are forces out there
that they yet fear ?
music.. hmm, I love to post my damn opinionated musical selections 🙂
EJ… I don’t know what to say, either you get him or don’t, too me he plays with “joy”, it is so apparent, just.. go see him in person, you will thank me, no ego, no hubris, the guy is just the baddest ass player but plays with joy, hard to explain, even with my damn vocabulary.
I finally made a page for this “series” or whatever it may be, my attempt at just creating my art as it is on the fly, on spot, on my porch. But here is what I wrote tonight (well, last night since I am schedule posting this for the morning , remember I will never tell you something is new if I post it if it is not, I will always post my dates of writing same, that is just me because I am really trying to post me, or at least the best approximation thereof), when I post older stuff, you will know, does it matter in the long run ? probably not, but I am me and I will be Mr. Me all the damn time.
9.2.2018 “from the porch” (series)
so here I am once again
the hour is late august
no, early september
(although they speak a version of the same language)
ambitious leaves
are now beginning to fall
either precocious –
or tired of the season summer
and her beating heat,
I find myself staring
at the leaves of my japanese maple
knowing, but yet wondering
if they are even alive
in this still non breeze
this quiet of not quite night
I don’t even see any tremble,
trees barely seem alive
unless they are pushed and persuaded
their growth, seems to happen
in a different time
quit different, than the flow of mine,
hard to comprehend, understand
or wrap around my head, my mind,
I try to think of some clever metaphor
for trees,
my roots welling up, bolstering the pillar, of my trunk
branching out
the leaves, how ever do they fulfill
the sun, driving the hunger
burning the oil of chlorophyll,
but I wonder, what are my leaves?
obviously I am the core, the tree itself
trunk and branch
always there, in all seasons, even winter bare,
so what are my leaves?
are they feelings? people?
but what in my life do I have all
and then – none more,
so I suppose this is a failed metaphor,
failure, we’ve all worn the shawl
failure, even in words sounds so dire
but yet, should be as natural as the breathing air,
all the many species
that have come to past
and those that survived
not by a straight line
with a dollop of luck
or just a plain old long shot,
so flip failure on heads
on tails
you might just find
hope, even on summer’s end.
“on the eve of labor day” (porch series) 9.2.2018
I witness the world sleep walking
even the clouds seem crawling across skyward dreams
only one cricket seems to care with lonely declare
the once raging blaze of the fireflies in peak – is dying out
only a few embers remain here and about
the temperature has not yet quite broken
but soon enough will
yet in a way I still mourn
yet knowing you will return once more
but for me, this means one less,
a few leaves have already leapt to begin their slumber
Shades of My Garden 