driving along-
riverside park;
an old couple
I wonder-
if I will make it that far
or alone;
surrounded by leaves
yellow is the favorite color
of this autumn
so far.
(work brings me here)
(nyc)
(in passing)
(I do believe I am far but)
(and I fear this)
(the yellow was bursting)
(soon there will be nothing)
(in passing)
Contemplation… composition… hence the mission, earth to houston, me to houston… is there anybody out there ?
descent;
soaking in the last breaths
of the smoky slumber sun
sets.
Notes… just a quick glance at the sky while driving home, even after some forty odd years on this globe I can still be amazed, the days are nearly never the same, sometimes the paint up there is just different, all just moments, snap shots, moving pictures, shorts really, all stitched together in the feature that is our life, so sometimes you have to sit back and watch the dailies to see how the whole project is going…
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…
no, quite literally
just moments ago
or an hour, who can be sure
the skies were black with rage
and blazing flash
rain highway sideways, pelting the windows
so temporal, all this
so trapped in moments, we become
for oh sun, now shines
how light is cast against darkness
in contrast
I feel the despair leeching out of very my skin
as if being pulled out string by string
by an invisible, palpable, force of hand – yes
and quite suddenly
I am transformed
long forgotten, the storm
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
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…
“first light“
first light
‘ning bug,
tonight
for spring
has truly
gone,
fuzzy
lantern
dangling
hovering
flashing
signaling,
a hazy bulb
with a halo
wavering in
the humidity-
a diffused lens
the silk spun of a winter morn
a slight of grey
weighs –
up on over the land
a sheer coat of form
from that of man across earth herself
a pause-
the luster
of slumber frost
notes… woke up this morning (seems obvious), grabbed my cup of joe from the kcup kiosk installed in my kitchen (starbucks columbia in my uber fancy yeti travel mug – sheesh I’m a coffee dork), throwing my stuff in the car, the phone, the clipboard with all my nonesuch, and I notice it, that perfect coating, that sprayed on amazing coating of frost across the lawn and all the eyes (barely open) can take in, such perfection, sure, it’s damn cold, twenty degrees ain’t no joke, but even in the grip of all this, the little shimmering reflections all around, so I reflected on it for a moment, and this is what I found…
new year drive
up that same stretch
the same pavement
different constructions signs perhaps
the same general perception
some time has passed
enough to grow a beard, maybe
slightly longer than that
there is a different feel
yet the birds still sway
back and forth over the meadowlands
over the roadway
like giant hollow swings
billboards, toll booths
wet with new year rain
the same
the same as last year’s rain
as far as I can tell –
I await for a thread of sunshine
notes: this is a feel thing, this was my first day back at the office in a month, since I had covid and since my father passed, you almost expect the world to be different, you feel different, you look at things differently, but everything else, feels the same or acts that way, so I wanted this work to be… mundane…
for of a pauper
or from a prince
from a line of kings
or of a reign of khans;
that comes
that which speaks all languages
and none.
a last supper, perhaps
the thought had crossed my mind, after
father,
for all your faults
all the times I thought I knew better, still
my father;
meatloaf and corn
paper plate
fruit cup
struggling with the plastic fork,
as I must watch
the constant beep of various machines
trying to understand the strange menagerie
of this common foreign land,
meatloaf and corn
I ignore the bits upon your shirt
the dots of gravy
the unshaved look,
focus on just being here
visiting hours, for this is surely not home
there are different rules here
absolute rules here
for no matter who’s father
least not mine
in a bed
stranded, helpless, reduced
tubes, bruised skin arms
asking about the rutgers score
the masquerade of familiar
what of the outside can be brought in
drapes are the thinnest walls
the clock, sits, only the third hand seems to move
time is giving me more now
as forced conversations run out
then there is time
just the time to be
together, silently
for now,
father.
little yellow star
buttercup
for summer has come
notes… well, I must confess I went full on form haiku here, but it makes sense to me, these little flowers in my lawn only bloom in the summer sun, I was out there sweating my,… well never mind, it was hot, let’s say it that way, but those little flowers, the only ones that populate lawns beside dandelions, have you tasted them? the name is not misplaced, they taste great, something I learned in day camp decades ago. and you know, I have not repeated the experience, I should…
Shades of My Garden 