simple, sunrise.

simple, sunrise.

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sunrise-
for surely
you realize
I have waited up for you
all night,
like a train that arrives at the station,
yes, I have the brochure
the times and destinations listed-
but still,
the vanguard on the shadow loom
prompts fear on the loose
as time drips slowly down
fears bread and brood
rampaging now – out of sight
slightest sounds reflect
until- that morning light –
a morsel of salvation
as mana from heaven.

notes… restless night, waiting for the birdsong, waiting for the sun, anticipation causing anxiety tapping insomnia, not my usual gig, not my usual thing, but every once in a while the night is long, longer than others, at least in thought, at least in my craw, so it was…

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.

egalitarian flight ~~^~~

egalitarian flight ~~^~~

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(wings are not always feathers)
for might I – fly?
even then-
imagine, a butterfly in flight
is an exercise
the so-delicate the so-soft the ballet pirouette
yet effort lies root the rouse;
to my friend, the hummingbird
a dervish of the common earth
a-wings a-blur
hand a scepter to the nectar queen
move forward from that pounding heart,
I might rather be a simple gull and glide
on above ocean tides, falls and rise
suspended as with silken threads, drawn a puppets ride
swaying forth like a child’s swing
as someone else pushes-
perhaps… even that… the hands of god.

‘that’s swell, clamshell’

‘that’s swell, clamshell’

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the casual calamity of the common clamshell;
back in the day
an ashtray
an art project
finger-painted
adornments to elevate the rock garden
once whole with life
two halves are just a shell
of the former self

notes… sometimes I am whimsical but still philosophical …this would be one of those times, don’t deny your inner loki if you have one, care to indulge, just don’t extend to hurt, that’s all

a poem as a vessel…

a poem as a vessel…

close up of candle over black background
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faint
a long forgotten candle burns
flickers… slowly, in silence
in the dark
crater crowns a mound of melted wax
shapes the form, sunken
barely moving shadows trance
in the corner
of a long forgotten chamber

notes… I call this “vessel poetry”, meaning I am intending to be vague so the reader fills in their own details, sure, this could be taken at pure literal (visual) meaning, that’s cool, I did have a literal specific picture in mind, kind of a forgotten grey wood cabin with no windows that light still comes through all the old lines in the wood, in the corner some old candle ready to die on a silver plate with one of those ring handles almost like a mug, next to a dead fireplace with dead embers… but I also thought about more (and specific things) when I wrote it… what did you think about ?

So we are mostly water… so I am told…

So we are mostly water… so I am told…

abstract art artistic autumn
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H2one
bodies of water
so we are
holding our ocean within,
internal gravity
we capture moisture
from the outer-world,
internal irrigation
so our inner fauna
can stave off extinction
all that flows in our rivers and channels
not just rafts of cells
or the pulse of marrow
but bolts of electric information
memories, thoughts
joys, pain
the self,
the self contained
eco system one
the only ocean
we are masters of
and yet still do not know
nor have mapped
all the depths
and fathoms
of our own.

music ? as usual my parade of under rated bands as I scream their names in the blog wind…

>>>>> Mindfunk – Wierd Water

notes…. wrote this back in July (with a couple of tweaks tonight), man that feels like a long time ago… the summer is nearing an end, I feel like I missed something, but I do love the fall, not like face planting, I mean the season in general, it is when I vacation, when people go back to school I usually shoot off to somewhere for a couple of weeks… tomorrow? off to dig for fossils here in new jersey, yes, I typed that right… if all goes well I might report, and you can retort, or be a sport… and leave me a like, a comment, a question, a new and interesting way to deal with super hot chiles… I could write a blog on just that, but that would not be my voice alone, so I will let others handle that… but damn I love hot chiles….

perception…

perception…

art blur close up fidget spinner
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the sound of my
bathroom exhaust fan rattling
from years of revolutions,
outside
I put my ear to the ground
to listen for that very sound
but to the surface dwellers
this is imperceptible
or on a frequency
not given
this is a frequency
for which
I am not equipped.

notes… I call this observational poetry, something catches my eye (or ear) with a hook of metaphor, what for ? I don’t know, ask the muse, I just work here.

chalk outline.

chalk outline.

pink leafed trees on green grass field
Photo by Jan Krnc on Pexels.com

a grand scene
within the confines of hours
cherry blossoms to the slaughter
dashed petals in a downpour
littered about the earthen floor,
a grand scene
laid out with random care
cast out runes
read upon them
the fate of these
fallen blooms

notes: cherry blossoms are a big thing here in NJ and also DC, but they are very temporary, that is what I was writing about, it was like walking up on a murder scene, all of a sudden, in one afternoon from full bloom to all the petals trounced on the ground, it made me think of some CSI scene, yellow tape and all (poem written originally 5.21, slightly adjusted tonight).

music ?  (a bit of a guilty pleasure pick)

>>>Gin Blossoms – Found Out About You

The battlefield of life.

The battlefield of life.

black steel helmet near black and gray handle sword
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12.21.2018 “upon these fields…”

upon these fields of lore

where the dead shall walk no more

where the perilous battle fought

when all souls they will succumb

under sword and under feet

their blood remains within this earth

 

upon these fields of lore

those before me shall walk no more

nor haunt these fields

with voices still

ghosts only in the eyes

of those remaining here

 

as another shall pass

from this ground to the greatest of halls

I mourn for this one I know too well

for walk this path we all shall know

and mourn the death in the time to come


dedicated, with love, to my uncle, Samuel Goldberg, may you find a righteous endeavor in the next life.