the why (to ponder)

the why (to ponder)

drowning in thinking
perhaps tired of inking
these inklings
epithets to
dreams from
threats of
a new whirlwind
a cascade due
an avalanche down
doubts weighted by fear
the desperate climb out
claws from down under
pulling downward’sunder
but I mustn’t-
I mustn’t succumb
I must fight
for each breath
for that reach
for life
regardless
or… or…
what?

notes: unlike other animal life we question our existence, but when push comes to shove we do fight to survive, mostly… mostly… are we free from the same death panic ? I doubt it, I am not, mostly in daily life I am but I know I look to the stars and see light that is thousands or billions of years old, does someone see mine ?

doubt, creeping, even in the impervious.

doubt, creeping, even in the impervious.

rattling;;
If I am so impervious
if my armor so impeccable
the unmitigated gate of my plate
the glimmer blinds others in the sun,
then the words of said others
shall have no quarter here;
whisper mills-
gin mills-
water talk,
should then not bother me
like this at all-
rattling;;

notes: I am generally one to not care about the words of others, I pride myself that way, I present myself that way, but I suppose not the most stout fort has a fault, or a weakness, sometimes, the words seep in, like poison, like reason, and I am as much as human as all… even if I pretend to hold myself above it all…

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

drift

the stretching- beautiful blue sky out-
as I drive, the span over the meadowlands,
tree tops, now budding, in this spring
my mind wanders- dreams- drifts- as it should
and then inward; there is that moment of inner inspection reflection;
looking for that place
where my mind will rest
and my heart might forget, (her)
all these years-
and still-
no one compares to you, my love
for each replaced thread, so abandoned
I am reminded-
and so long,
even the fear has long since departed
the familiar denial has settled in
the submission
to the cold acceptance
with only your memory
to keep me warm
until I go. (there)

(and I pray someday to see you again-
for sometimes the hope, the dream is all I have)

sometimes I am mysterious, or arcane, or sometimes I am a merchant of simplicity… depends on the world and how my mind drifts, this was today… (I wrote this piece listening to this song, why? who knows… it was what made me think, made me muse, so I am tried to bring you to the same place, where I put the song on repeat and my mind on repeat until a mantra bubbled up to understand, so it did, profound? loud? soft? correct? righteous? nah… just me.. and maybe you, these days it is what it is, and sometimes I am OK with that even if I wish for the bliss, I realize I had a time in the sun, would I like another? yes…)

the strangeness of inspiration, so muse

the strangeness of inspiration, so muse

time to put away the winter things
sleds in sheds
boots in darkness
closet corners full
less dress
car packed full
an adventure to take
under the summer sun

notes… went back in my time machine, well, not really, of course, I WOULD share that with you, if I could, of course… but I pulled up an old snippet from the year 2019 and it spoke to me, I guess, sub-consciously, and so this came about, of it, that union of my own old thought, and now, how things change, and will, always, move forward, so I should, I am trying… how hard, depends who you ask, who wants to be honest in all that, who wants to push, even if we know the cliff could be right there, I should get busy, have more urgency, but I wrap myself in the every day race and tail, reflecting on it does not move the needle, which I need to do before I am quite dead, literally.

in the moment.

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…

the long wedding…

the long wedding…

Matrimony

so-
should I?
marry you
death-
now or then
why wait?
why the rush?
inevitable-
the perfect mate;
fate-
so let the courtship begin
and never end.
unless I should begin again;
reincarnation or resurrection-
so let the lantern be lit
so I may follow
into the path of light
.

function. (the nature of)

function. (the nature of)

there stands no reason
to interrogate the vulture
for we know where

his beak has been
in between

flesh and bone
in between.
-function;
not I, peacock.

question the nature of self, or at least look in the mirror for the reveal… so? what’s in your nature?

moonlit drive…

moonlit drive…

“might I walk you to the moon tonight?”
and whom am I talking to?
myself, that inner voice, speaking right now actually
but to what audience?
just the inner auditorium made for one? perhaps
often right, there is ecstasy in the ordinary
driving home, typical highway
night has been looming sooner, as she does in fall
how soon we forget, and then just accept
so distraction can be a slide into the dreaming world
“may I describe the moon tonight?”
or more simply the sky, more a scene
like flying over a silent desert,
after a day of scorching infernos downward, blinds eye
now resting, under the gracious umbrella of night
as the lamp lens intense set

the landscape can sigh
as majestic purples multiply
and mate, with curtains of magenta
forming layers, like tourist sand in bottles
the colors inhabit the boundary
impregnating the horizon with splendor
until full surrender, inhabits
my focus is trained only on that above the horizon
not the wheel in my hand, the artificial lighting,
the concrete cells and paved grounds
the reality that surrounds, softens as I fly above into the night
I imagine laying prone, only to peer upwards now
the moon, but a quicksilver-sliver, a wink,
not a quarter full, just a peeking-boo
a november moon
as cold as the
waning light
there to bear witness, through the night
and I feel I can hang a hammock there
from star to star
under that silent tide
on this ride
and so I might.

notes… I found this on my desktop temp folder, forgot to post it when I wrote it back in November… so strange, these things are almost like children to me and I would have sworn I posted it… but I looked back and had not (but soooo recall the creation)… one of those I wrote driving home at night, the muse sweeps in, sweeps away the banal, plants a seed, I try to be the good farmer and raise the idea as my own… that’s all I know… does it work? I suppose you are the last word on that. Do you dream of flying off into the moon when stuck in traffic? (and should I tell people to play the song before reading the post? hmmm… I am willing to take suggestions on that one, I always thought it was obvious.. which it isn’t I guess, the rule is not always a rule, savy ?) … and your time, thoughts and likes are greatly appreciated, have something you want me to check out ? say it… I’m not a mind reader…