Tag: NJ Poet

the waiting room…

the waiting room…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

waiting room,
there is a window
(always a window)
stopping to admire the view
ever-changing molecules
ever-flowing change
even on this calm day
or nights, the light lets pass
a signal to our brain
the waiting room
with the window
and once more
no, once only
we find
a door
(the exit … or?)

notes… written at the car dealership (I know, how romantic)… but isn’t this all a waiting room? at times… we are in our little existence, our building, our world, looking out, from a window or the sky-light that caps our ceiling on earth, something is out there beyond, and I don’t just mean the ancient alien guy, there is a door we all go through, what’s on the other side? I wish I knew… I sort of hang my hat on the ole “matter is not created or destroyed” but what if my consciousness is set aside? what then? I admit, it terrifies me, even if I won’t be aware, I will just be… “gone”.. but I did exist so… at some point in time, I was there… but that does not quell the rumors ruminating in my fear…

retreat. (in a mind, or?)

retreat. (in a mind, or?)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the desire to
lock myself in my own room
spin a yarn for a time or two
as the outer light does fade
spinning round the barrier
a protector, a soft wall
but yet a border just the same
so I might pause
and rest
ahhhh, respite
no, waking sleep
ability, to transform
and emerge
in time
-to fly (forward).

in the know (the crows)…

in the know (the crows)…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

crows on the rooftop there-
what are they trying to tell me?
(light signals switch, black eyes twitch- looking)
they are not permanent residents
at least not in this noisy cloister murder contingent;
occupying whole oak tree and surround
what is so special about this house (now)
what draws them so here and near
why do they understand better than I
they possess any land, under, the flown sky

notes… sometimes, OK, often I look out the window… and wonder, what draws a crowd, what is the call, what am I missing? something? or nothing more than a dinner bell? or deeper?

imagine-nation…

imagine-nation…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

imagination is on the wind
sometimes drying on the vine
or a snake through a valley slides out into a plain
flat-up-face-frolic lounging
in the mist of sudden rain
taken to steering flocks, of wings
teasing out sculptures from moisture forms
at times brash dervish made of hell-bind-self
to the quiet mind, a rested leaf
underneath, a blooming tree
gossamer seeds, floating about
like armadas of tiny balloons aloft
who knows where they might plant
and sprout out a thought, from the land
– or not!

a muse walks into a bar… and how would you know? maybe the peanuts make a face, or bubbles begin to race, condensation sighs, or a barstool sings as it rides across the floor, their is music in even the most mundane, after all…

machinery (parallels)

machinery (parallels)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I wonder of the running machinations
processing in those memory banks
that still dream in DOS
connections soldered
into the past
by their own regard

notes, I wanted the lines to have flow – but not perfect flow, like a machine that is input in / output out…

seconds… how they slip.

seconds… how they slip.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

seconds are the hardest to hold,
I imagine-
I recall the summer now
how soon, how soon the world returns
to cold, and how soon this becomes
the now,
pied’ down the road
by the song of blinding time
sunset, sunrise
routine and more breaths spell towards my end
I inhale all the life
that was before me
and exhale just,
time and again
my heart beats
the particles of time march, march, march on
I can not discern the flow
as much as drown
even with my head above the water
matters not
I am no captain here
no stowaway
no cavalier
a passenger or a cog perhaps
nothing more
but aware

notes… I was just looking out the window at work and wrote this as is… a few mods here and there but pretty much this, I consider this kind of observational poetry or even stream I suppose, it ain’t prose.. that’s for sure, but this is the way my mind shaves hairs.. so… here it is… for all to bare…

traffic; release-fly

traffic; release-fly

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

a loose caravan
of common black-birds
races across the near-still canvas
colors of the autumn setting sun
off, towards the quarter-crescent blue moon
they pay no notice
to the bustling parkway below
and for a moment
I. am with them

notes… I should wire my go pro to capture what I actually see, maybe, would that diminish or enhance? either way I feel the need to do so… which means it will help, two nights later the same stretch of road was the same, but darker, and two planes were crossing the same path as the birds, it was like some sort of sequel…

sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the nervous ones
perhaps the influence
of the gray-
amorphous
an endless ceiling of fog
a oneness
concealing unknowns,
outline angles shadows dart
to and through
to and fro
back and forth
more chaos than dance
less grace than chance
the lack of pattern
the lack of calm
in this suffocating dome of visual dissonance-
for even a tornado has form,
the world
all very still now
save- for the nervous birds
panic set to erratic
their movements
eat at my will
gnaw the ends of my bones
as they prattle back and forth

https://youtu.be/SI1njxeeN00

notes… just looking out of my window at work, one of those rainy days well, that does not rain, sort of dreary, and in between, I would rather have rain, and it was a weird day anyway, I got home @ 3am from work, I was converting a supermarket computer system in Hempstead NY… I do enjoy learning all the little nooks and crannies of the tri state area but those hours you always run into all sorts of construction, it is a bit disheartening when you are trying to cross the verrazanno at 3 am and you have to navigate all sorts of orange cones and what not… it is a bit surreal… most of the world is asleep (at least locally) but you are chugging along trying to get home, and still pacing $13 tolls on the EZ pass… and as usual this is something I wrote off the cuff, a few adjustments here and there but mostly as I jotted it down today…

fault, and reconciliation…

fault, and reconciliation…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

;fault bucket-
I wonder what brigade
might save
as I pass
hand to hand
so I might learn
to trust
again
for at the end
may empty
my burdens;

notes…. form in a way here, flow, like water rhythm wise, and also I meant this to look like a tipped bucket if you can see my visual clues (punctuation and it leans to one side if weighed on a scale perhaps)… sometimes I do things such as this… the funny thing is that the genesis of this thought, this poem ? researching an error in windows… seriously what more of a dork could I be… but always the muse she is guiding me, on a shoulder, in a vein… who knows? maybe I am insane… all the same, we all are to some degree, depends on the influences we listen to I suppose, I will stick by the mystery of the muse, I will… especially if it really is Selma Hayek...

on passing an old cemetery…

on passing an old cemetery…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering
o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king
pray-tell, what portents, will this bring
more dead wars-
more dead kings.

notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…