Not sure if there is such a thing. I am trying though for what it is worth. I think deep down (or not really at depth) we all know what we should do but we actually do moment to moment varies. If everyone moved in a certain way the world would surely be better… but is that the way everyone thinks? or stops to think? or should think ? Sometimes I look around and think everyone here is dead, more or less true.. so what does it matter? I guess I am searching for the answers also. Smarter and wiser people than I have pondered these questions and will… for ages. Maybe words are my sanctuary or at least a temporary refuge.
“unfamiliar” 4/1/18
I saw a creek I do not know
I have driven this stretch
of the parkway
a thousand fold
a body of water
a basin of life
flows into a forge
becomes a river
and the sea
begins
off mile-marker 131b
dmk Note: Mile markers or more specifically exits on the garden state parkway (GSP) are a very new jersey thing. For us there is a common occurrence “hey, where are you from? what exit?”. I do not claim to know if other states are like this. The GSP runs like a spine and in a way is the spine of the state from tip to toe or point to cape (as it were).. it is a part of being from this state as much as being New York’s little brother.
“easterly” 4/1/18
my neighbor’s easter chatter
in their backyard
a letter to another neighbor
washed up on my lawn
from these late spring storms
I return the lost parcel to the plastic mailbox
filled with mail already
how odd (for a sunday)
I’ve known this place
my whole life
familiar
a woman
walking her dog
whom I do not know
easter is letting out
as my neighbor’s family disperses
to travel to their homes
“goodbye grandma” a little voice
followed by the heightened whine
of the minivan pulling up the block
the sun is almost set now
peeking behind fifteen lynnwood
I guess I had not noticed
the buds on the trees
ready to burst and transform this tract
once and again
from pale green slumber
to lush with leaves
soon we’ll have summer
there is always hope
I tell myself.
“poison” 4/3/18
a toxic house is poisonous to all inhabitants
walls pulsing seething
membrane
throbbing beating
even in the calm still of night
labored – breathing
constant – pounding
never – sleeping
doors closed, air stifles
cripples motion
throats crack
strangles the air
choking choking
4/3/18
are you a wolf?
no
but yet you hunt
are you prey?
no
but yet you are stalked
As is my custom (and my burning desire to spread good tunes) here is some music to enjoy… “Steve Morse – Modoc” … known well in musical circles (one of my favorite guitar players) but outside those circles probably not so much.
Shades of My Garden 