thoughts from the porch… (a hope of light)

thoughts from the porch… (a hope of light)

(my actual vantage as I was inspired to write)

“a hope of light”
and reminders, signs, talismans, so obvious as to be screaming whispers vibrating in obedient corners, all there – hidden in the plainest of sight, a hope of light…
as today I was a wheelbarrow more than a man, drawn out like a mule, to drag payloads back and forth, never in balance like once was new, and gravity has a way of multiplying the trade pay, the yoke, the wear, and there is less lubrication these days between the ground pounding and my bearings, even I would admit the tread is worn from sun and toil, but I would argue there is still good rubber there, but after the day the wheelbarrow must go back in storage, to the garage home, bringing dings, dirt and memories caked on, reminded, nothing is ever new again once out of the box, certainly not now these years of use altered… so arrives home…
the patience I might have left the house with a full tank, that has now been spent, every inch of me ready to pounce at every little non-event, of words, of even good intent, even though I know, I am a porcupine wound, can’t everyone just see, just read, the glaring signs, and make no sound, shall I pass by, until at least I may come on down, or let the tension un-bound, I manage not to wreck the crew… somehow…
so, not wanting to tie myself into a fight or fits, I park myself outside, look upward for some guidance, to what is left of the fleeting day sky, and to be entranced by – the hope of light, that promise, the next morning, another glory yearning, and the next, until there is none, the rest seems to slip away, the tension locked in my jaw starts to fade, the pressure in my temples begins to contract, a breeze comes along to rest on my cheek, a family of deer creep along my yard, unaware of me being disarmed, for maybe a minute ago they might have sensed the will of a frothing hunter out for blood, but that base urge has melted down and gone, replaced with thankful tranquility, a cure for humanity, or perhaps just the elixir to wash away the non-humanity we engage in every day, so I bathe in – a hope of light…

all the world is a…

all the world is a…

Photo by Monica Silvestre on

dear, my dear
born again?
must be september
but I can not seem to remember
musket balls to remote controls
I will not swear fealty to cross that moat
nor believe the stories you untold
over brook and crooked back
banish me then
from your impossible lands
where to tell time I had to face
the dire clock’s of dali laced

no, no mad hatter for me then
I’d rather fare the lion’s den
so I might now
exit stage right
(to all a bow
to all a good night)

notes… my notes, have this as “jumble” because… well, if you are privy to me I would say it is obvious… but I always am speaking on many levels… well, ok, often is a better description of assumption, this one has levels to it, I am referencing things in nearly every line, I do that often but not always, see how I can weave a maze of my own post? that’s fun for me, words, thoughts, a playground in which I bound about like a kangaroo hopped up on speed, g’day mate let me kick you in the face like a joey in rage… man I need to cut back the caffeine … or not…

day moon, whimsy…

day moon, whimsy…

Photo by brenoanp on

oh dear fair moon
might I take a bite of advice
for how did you appear
in the middle of my day sky
but I suppose
you are always there
with a certain-curtain pull back
so how do you bare, then?
the view,
not ever an interloper
nor a guardian at our door
a lone-cold observer
from shore to shore,
sights from rocky atolls to fading cliffs

the observances of millennia-
maybe this is jealousy?
I’d invite you to dinner
to hear the stories of your grand tour
but can not trade for that
to bear the calamity that will ensue
so, alas, stay where you are
perhaps another lunar trip will do
oh my dear fair moon
our singular notion
our most loyal companion.
I look up, to you.

notes… the day moon always gets my eye, I call this style stop and start, like letting the words flow and then turning the faucet off suddenly, not a staccato like I do sometimes, this is deliberate to show chain of thought, or at least that is what I am going for, kind of like a fence, a smooth line and then a post… if that makes sense, if it does not, I suppose you will just move on… as always, all comments are appreciated.

a fool’s poem.

a fool’s poem.

april fool’s day
should be my birthday
for I may wish
to restrict
being only a fool
for one day
not the whole year.

notes… I started this little project a few years ago on April Fools Day.. that was not an accident, for I have been a fool, and still am, no matter how far ahead I get I know I am handled by my own limitations, trying to breach them is my mission, I fail, I stumble, but I move on anyway, head held high with foolish pride, because… well, I’m human you know. And the poem… this is meant as an exercise in diction/pace, sometimes they just come to me that way.. so here it is in simple terms… enjoy… and thanks to all who have ever taken a pause here to view my work.

moon musings.

moon musings.

So… you know, the moon, that thing, in mysterious ways can do mysterious things, some howl, not me, not this soul, but my mind does wander and wonder at it all...

from pine tar to the bore
forgive me my grace
a bit too comfortable in my grave
on shadow moon
and misty tides
a rider appears
a delivery, a note of handwritten dour
as we prophesied
in this late hour
for the signs all gesticulated in blood
nurtured in the knowledge
that the past has returned.
with a somewhat lazy eye
climbs upward the ladder
rung by rung up hazy sky
for an obscure moon there
on this late february night
a caged celestial bubble
lost in the pool
cast in the night

Red Mill, historic site, Paramus NJ

Red Mill, historic site, Paramus NJ

road nature trees branches
Photo by Pixabay on

I made a pact with myself, when I started this blog, that my goal was honesty and personal growth, part of that movement in the nation me is to actively notice things that I see everyday and check them out (instead of passively passing them by), essentially we should see beauty every chance we get, and I also think history is beautiful, there are ugly moments, sure, but history is a vehicle in which we can gain experience without having to live through something ourselves… and learn.  Even in a country as new as this (in the scheme of thing’s america is very new) we have plenty of history, especially here in new jersey.  So saturday I decided to check out this place I have driven by hundreds of times…

I have mixed feelings about the place, I like that it is a little enclave in the middle of major roads (Route 4, 208, rt 80 is not too far), there is a nice path from the lot through the park (it splits, I only went left this time), it is interesting that the park literally is in people’s backyards when you are walking, some owners have gates that open to the park, others, well, their fences seem less comfortable if you get my drift, unfortunately the nakedness of the winter reveals the debris and litter of humanity, is it overwhelming ? no, but certainly noticeable, I picked up a few pieces as I always do, but this place is in serious need of a dedicated patrol to pick up the flotsam, a little effort goes a long way, I guess this is the paramus river, I should google it but I don’t feel like it, the roar of the tiny rapids does pose some nice sound and almost (almost) drowns out the car traffic buzzing about and over, I shall check this out further in the future… it did not inspire a thought on the spot, but upon reflection tonight I wrote this (first draft just for this post):

upon red mill
the common ground now a park
with visions before the founding
now nestled between highways and routes
older than the country still
may outlast the bustle ’bout
and shared the land with history books
for washington surely crossed this little nook
and burr in yuletide of times sure partook
certainly before his career paced north to new york
and even lafayette on his farewell tour
did endure to pass these grounds
and now casual walkers, bikers and pavement encircle
the visitors of note leave their bags and baubles
but I might imagine the red mill will grist for it’s own will
and endure on beyond more generations

I posted a couple of quick vids on my youtube account as well to give you a, that promise I made to myself… maybe I honored it here, but I am still struggling to be ‘it’ all the time, there are plenty of times I don’t stop and admire… or do the right thing, I’m working on it, so should you, we are barely here in the scheme of things, I know it so easy to say that, I know, I am just a guy and I do not live up to my own standards, but I am trying, I want everyone to give effort, and make this world better, step by step.

sometimes the early bird…

sometimes the early bird…

aerial photography of green grass field surrounded with mountain during sunset
Photo by Hassan OUAJBIR on


walk among the dawn

witness breaks upon first light

first shadow, last refuge of night

amid the birds, morning report

our burning star, vessel of light

burning within, the spark of life

stroll between these beams

warmth from the mother’s hand

shall awake this slumber land

all is told and quick be gone

rises up, so ends the dawn

notes… I was being very specific using the word ‘report’ as it pertains to signal cannons mostly used to announce a ship coming into port, so I am mixing some metaphors here. The rest (I hope) speaks for itself. I wrote this @ my desk today, which is weird for me as it is high pressure but these just popped in there (ghostbusters reference).

music… no correlation, I just was listening to this today so… 2 versions of the same folk song adaptation, some great singers as well…

Schei es in die Winde – Faun

Omnos – Eluviete

Swiss and German are pretty close in a lingual speaking sense, very different people though (except in the small Austrian towns from my experience at least).  Of course Eluviete had my fave singer (Anna Murphy) so I posted a live version there so you can see how friggin amazing she is in the real.

The garbage we see…

The garbage we see…

grey beverage bottle
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on

We see garbage, and refuse every day, especially in urban centers, what do we do ?  I pick up what I can, I carry bags to pick up litter, whenever I hike I bring a bag and collect anything that should not be there, am I some hero ? hell no.  but a little effort goes a long way, see some flotsam ? take some action. I am not some radical environmentalist, just do we need to see garbage flying about the streets ?  Pick it up, do the simple things, it is just like smiling, do the little things. So… I was driving home tonight from a customer sight (and damn I have an email to shoot out, thanks for reminding me) and saw in the intersection of Magnolia and Oak Tree Road some dancing things due to the wind, it turned out to be garbage… and it inspired this…

the fault of the wind 10.27.2018

there was no parade, today
human debris
plastic bags, paper, not leaves
’tis the fault of the wind
pages dancing swirling on corner ends
across my path, to fast to catch
blown on by
into the trees and the oceans
’tis the fault of the wind

From the porch (continuing series)

From the porch (continuing series)

america american flag architecture bridge
Photo by Lex Photography on

This is part of my “from the porch” series where I am writing from my, um, porch, just channeling whatever comes in on the antennae, so without further delay…


long gone are the soft summer nights

on this night full moon high

the august sun, is faded words on bristled pages now

the silence – – –

the silence and the still drowns out

still, desperate leaves cling

on the now loudly breeze, passing

once comfort now certain coming

for all fruits shall meet the earth

and ground, and fall, and rot

in the cold space, as the calendar turns

hope is easily dashed upon these shores

lashed by what was no more

the world retreats curls into a womb

to be born again anew (with hope)

so might a slumber rest

and unshined eyes forget

dreams to carry through this death

may a door emerge on waking breath

Back to my regularly scheduled programming.

Back to my regularly scheduled programming.

ball shaped beach blur close up
Photo by asim alnamat on

Back at the old homestead after a much needed and much enjoyed romp on the Jersey shore in one of my favorite places (Cape May NJ), I still have lots to post from that trip but I am going with what I usually do on the weekends, and that is post some of what I consider simpler poetry, in word or theme, just things I have written that I like, and maybe someone else will (and as usual I always post the dates these were written, they seem so new to me but damn I can’t believe some of these are months old)



where have the years of my life gone

where have they lead

what has been achieved

when all is said,

are children

an accomplishment

what has it all been

time, time, time

marching forward

I am stranded behind

but not

I am towed along

no escape

time always flowing

in one direction

to my end

real” 7.10.2018


why would I dwell there?

there…  at there, is no hope

better in my mind

my heart

can lead

to the truth

I wish

to be.

I surrender” 7.10.2018

So I will grant you

the right of way

even though you are wrong

I do not have the energy

to argue with you,



a blade, to fillet your bones

rib by rib, peel the skin

one by one, strips of flesh

slow reveal, the pleasure death

– revenge.

notes: I really like the last two, the last one is a bit sinister and seems relevant coming up to halloween, I also think the timing of the words works as read, but I am biased being that I wrote it…

music?  hmmm….

Paradise Lost – Ordinary Days

Sort of the odd ball album from a usual metal/goth/doom band… I think this song is slick and sexy, especially considering the band’s history (death/doom metal start).  Damn catchy, an oddity, like me, this is what makes the world interesting. so what do you think ? reading this?  do I make any sense whatsoever ?