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 ?
bound to the ground even with the occasional lift off we were born with arms not wings but even the fine feather are bound to this air-o-sphere; unless, perhaps this is truly a heaven and the rest of life in the universe wish to escape to here.
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…
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…)
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.
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…
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.
“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 thewaning 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…
Shades of My Garden 