cast away.

cast away.

the waning late summer sun
resting on the face
of a golden still pond
this- is- calm… (pause; inhale… hold… hold… exhale…)
“pinch me my darling,
for surely I travel in the realm of dream”
but no, a sweet captive
of the great blue marble
cast out upon the blackest sea.

notes.. and never forget, we are all on the miracle ball, sure, other life is probably out there but hey, for all we know right now we might be alone, and this is the gift of our home, the goldilocks zone, this wonderful place, even the grittiest corners are better than the alternative but we should strive to bring light to all… at least that is what I see when I catch a quick reflection of a sunset in a pond off the parkway on the way home, horrid traffic, angry drivers, asphalt plows that have flattened forests, but nature still remains, look around… (and this piece wrote itself when I was driving home on the parkway tonight, right before exit 135 (clark) there is a body of water, a pond I suppose, not sure, but it is there, I would love to photograph it, or film it, but pulling over there would be dangerous, but it looks so alluring every day, it makes me smile, the sun setting over this little unknown body of water, regardless of what is going on in the world, there is windows there, thanks to nature, look through them for a little relief… the opportunities are there)
the veil.

the veil.

this self afflicted veil of darkness;
when the light hits these eyes, this skin.
emerging from my cave
I know the feeling, always have
the warming, the inner joy of temporary reprieve,
how soon my dna seems to forget however, so, waiver,
to slink back to that dying comfort
to the slow killing-
all paths lead to death
yes,
but would I rather know the land a bit more
before,
does such meandering matter,
perhaps not,
does that make me dig my own plot however
that much sooner.

I might rather then, burn my feet in the light
on that unforgiving exposed plot of sand
than reduce down into a heap of still dust
a huddled cold mass,
all that lies between, is will.

notes… maybe my thoughts are a diary, of my inner self, or not so inner, just my self… sometimes there is rain. “but it can’t rain all the time”…

light.

light.

for the night never does truly escape the sun
there is only that veiled curtain drawn
the pause of night-
the time to sleep, between the exhale
then, the awakening of the dawn
that always comes
always, until, well, not.
but the sun is never vanquished
only turned from our eyes
for a time
forgotten
for a time
in the spin
gravity’s fond trick
holds our feet strong
humanity, tethered to the earth
the agreed bond of our birth
until that release-
when our sight may cease
as dawn becomes all days
and then all nights
become all, all light.

notes… this post is based on my last post, sort of… just musing on the same topic and really enjoying the music this time out, sometimes I get it right, even if only for myself, welcome to my world folks, your thoughts and comments are appreciated but not vital, this is my thing, just throwing my art onto the shores of the world, so let it be and let each other be well… trust me on that…

cykle.

cykle.

the four days-
the cold barren
the stark bare
the slumber huddle
survival; closed eyes;
the gentle warming
on western horizon
land unlocked under toe
slow awakening
dawning eyes
adjusting to the light
stretching out
up towards the sky
blooming;
hands palms wide
to warming glory
migration towards
the water,
the ocean
holding on
until the cooling
and leaves fallen,
loops on turn
we then return
to our station.

a scrap I wrote a while ago, I find them on various thumb drives, and I am surprised but what In find but then remember the vibe so… this is mine, all thoughts are welcome, I am a curious to find out the minds of others, it does not consume me, but it does have a sense of interest to see how I swim among my peers stuck in my same years of time…

the prison of routine (s.o.c.)

the prison of routine (s.o.c.)

the prison of routine, some might say the harshest confinement is the one constructed by yourself for yourself, well, this has some truth to it but the main difference in the mortar and brick is choice, when someone other locks the door and walks away with the key you are left at their mercy, for at least with your own device there is hope and light, a fight, a chance, a choice, so you should make steps forward this, however… lurking… fear is out there, out there beyond the walls, defanged, defamed, barely noticeable sliding around the edges of inevitable periphery, never fully vanquished but certainly downgraded from the moment to moment memory residing in these temples, but as most coins there is certainly two sides, a sly-silent partner, an ally, a comfort. for they work in concert you see, to relieve you of the daring of the new, with the quiet contentment of the known sold-old, so you tell yourself with conviction “What’s so bad about this, really?”, pushing down, suppressing or ignoring, that truth, the truth, what you know as the truth, what you have walled up yourself against all (or most) vulnerability, out of sight, out of mind, contentment blinds, that familiar, blanket of the finest kind, a warm snuggly atmosphere wrapped around surround, a cocoon- not of enchantment or rebirth or transformation even, but that to preserve a line of time, trying to stop the march that only goes on, a set, a play where the stage remains the same with some of the props changing, floating in and out of creation, but the base floor remains the same, so to close your eyes there is no serpent there to strike, only clean-dreams, safe dreams, the only rain- not the biting kind, the kind of quench of a summer drench to leech-instant the heat off your skin and in an instant spark steam on the heated grounds, summer scenes with not a rumor of winter, which must, of course, always come, but in this place, this palace of reinforced concrete is the con, your own prison of routine, worse than the singing of the sirens on the open seas, for at least you have heard their tale or read it so, from others lost, upon those sharpened rocks, but when upon – you crash out on to your very own, where stones and sticks to not break, but are lock and key, a willing iron mask for you to keep (in your own keep). so that is the prison, of my routine, and even scribing, scribbling, the realization of this, the seduction of self is deadly-slow bliss.

notes… this is one of those pieces bouncing around my head for days, well… the title was and the rest was like a train that followed on the tracks as I laid them, all in one flow, all of ten minutes maybe, takes longer to post and look pretty than it does to write… but I like adding the videos and such, that’s more for me than anyone else, if other people (you) dig it, thanks, that’s cool, this is more of a gallery though to hang up my art and let people walk through… except the cool thing is this is a better suggestion box than most museums have…

palaces in plain sight.

palaces in plain sight.

within the salt’on sea
the sky is slates of ice
cracks ‘cross of bended light
the sun’s but a dream far night
for the warmth is the warp of gravity
deep inside the core
of that, the salt’on sea

in a frozen landscape, or a floating sea of ice, is there land, is there hope, is there life, the physics still exists in the gymnasts in such realms so let it be… imagination…

(as always your thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated, even if you think I suck, that’s cool too, I do this as a posting of art, nothing more, I do not expect everyone to get it, love it, or even care… just putting a little piece of the me out there into the ether, and hey, maybe you dig the tunes.. I have a lot of thoughts about that… and I also write media reviews, so check them out, I am funnier than you think… well, at least I tell myself that.)

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 ?

purpose in words

purpose in words

prayer from a distance
does not carry on the air
nor land
or on the back of a feather
the ocean may rise
to engulf the poles
but not even a voice of thunder
can span the globe
in one full jump

but the voice of many
may be the boat of hope to sail
so, I pray, still.

there is hope, and hopelessness… and yes, none of this may matter in this matter, but you have a choice, I choose to live in the sun, as best I can (and I fail more than not, but my choice is not the reason for my failure, my humanity is, such as it is).

your thoughts and comments are always appreciated, my friends.

the old salt

the old salt

out-water on the er’ly
the first slip o’r the dawn
no time to downtown, Boys
no time to downtown, Boys
until thy work ‘st done

so man the eye, spy the cape
let rigs be jigs and let the soul ‘s be damn’d
for might the blessed sea-
provide the bounty such we seek
for skill and pride, for on luck ‘n shuck
with silent words and surl’y looks
pray! fill these hooks might we crown ‘t-day
no time for downtown, Boys
no time for downtown, Boys
until soaked ‘nd milked to the full on day

toil into that twilight-
under bark and bare and shipward slight
a reward of’ta whiskey might ‘et prepare
life in a shot (or two or three to spare)
if mig’t please the mistress of the sea
with her bounty bless’d one day next
no time to downtown, Boys
no time to downtown, Boys
’till paid is the toll
the toll in full t’ rest.

notes… sometimes things just pop in my head, I love the ocean, and fishing, and the almost romantic version of the history of such just offshore from here, people don’t think of New Jersey that way but we are, as usual this was scribbled into a pizza box of all things as I was driving home tonight, maybe it was the music, I am not sure, but I stopped really worrying about all that long ago, I just post the flow of what is going down this river powered by the universe, for I am just a channel, brought to life for a reason… at least that is the hope, and why not.