“for if this is all I have ’tis more than some will ever know”
a window into the world defined by frames defined by shape much like our own
words try to clarify a picture quantify a fraction symbols drawn together and agreed upon among others language – like an ancient tree the high branches so far removed from root reaching up as if to escape or grasp the stars – themselves for we know to well not bound to this earth for we know not long – enough as the spirit thrives to live on
walking the dog up the street tonight, sure, colder than I might like (she could care less, tallying tail wags as yes votes that is), the leaves make the landscape strange and interesting, the ground is all shades and shapes, mostly maple outlines (what is this, canada, eh?), lawn and sidewalk are alike, just one canvas laid out, soon this will just be leaf litter, but now? a world of cut out paper stars that have fallen to the ground, the dog’s paws create audible pitter patter on them due to the moisture left from the days weather, and there are puddles, black lakes, hard to see by the intermittent street lamps, like I am playing pitfall back in the day, I avoid most but, PLUNK, not all, as I feel the cold water sink slowly into my walking shoes I feel some angst, I laugh to myself for making such a big deal over it for a second there, ‘just some minor unpleasantness ya dope, get over it’, maybe I should be more like the dog, taking this all in stride, the temp is just cold enough to warrant a sweat shirt, one of those heavy hoodies you break out when you don’t want the formality of a jacket (and damn those broken in sweats are like a cozy familiar blanket), the cold has chased everyone away, so, just me, the dog, the leaves and the occasional car driving past, but mostly what I notice is the crisp air, so enjoyable to inhale, refreshing like a splash to the lungs, near intoxicating, of course I can not linger to long, someone, ahem, dog, is pulling on the leash in anticipation, there is always another patch to sniff, after all, there is a campaign sign on that lawn at the top of the street, good placement I think, and I remember the world feels like it wants to explode in a couple of days, I feel the proto-anxiety seeping in, but out here, just me and the dog, things seem like they will be alright. unplug. unplug.
ah, the tease of clovers I suppose ‘weed‘ is an arbitrary term, at one point there must have been a council of nicaea to decide what is canon plant and what is considered a weed to be excluded from the collection of accepted plants, and like such meeting I am sure there is controversy on all sides then and since, however, in the endeavor, I am addressing clovers, is this a cultural thing? a north american thing influenced by the influx of irish immigration in the earlier part of last century? I could investigate such things at length, but what’s the point really? the perception is there, meaning the reality is there under-laid, the lowly clover definitively stands taller than other weeds in the pantheon of plant-dom, it captures our imagination with something that can not be quantified… luck infused with lore. luck, the word is a devil, a greased watermelon in a lake, so easily defined that every child could tell you on their tongue what luck is, but ask them, or anyone, to show it to you? or quantify it? so… I give you clovers, the chance, chance! luck’s mentor, for without chance there is no luck, always the chance of an empty hand, or a straight flush, there in the domain of luck, and somehow this power, this hope, this chance, this vote of the impossible is all in root, born into the fruit of a clover, magical, mystical, yet quite probable due to genetic variation, such a cauldron, such mythology mixed with just enough real world sense, and there you have it, the four leaf clover, hidden in the mundane of common growth we all know, like many other wonderful things, the promise, the prize, the random nature of found luck, the lottery of green, how many plants garner this esteem? (and am I only speaking of plants… or a little more?)
might I liken myself to sea glass, at once in the womb, a protected part of the greater whole, ejected out into the world, quite suddenly, my link to all I knew for those nine months, severed, cut, quite literally of course, not that I recall, but I am sure it had to happen that way, I mean, I took sex ed, I am here as well, as far as I can tell, I’m not the first, not the last, not even sure what number on the human bell curve I might grade out at, so here I am, cast, cast out into the vast ocean, rolling around in the surf, sometimes quite calm sitting on the bottom, perhaps buried in silt sleeping time away, tumbling around in the tide, slowly but quite surely the water and action are taking the edge of sharpness from my sides, grains of sand scrape across my eyes, blurring my vision over time, the pace at which these things happen feels like a slow fall, or feels like nothing at all, just perpetual tide working to grind me on down, smooth edges now, all these years down all these roads, paths in sand, driven by an unseen hand, preparing to deposit me on the shore, one day, to see the sun one last time, before I am left to disappear in that desert dune just beyond the tide, becoming just another particle of sand along with those of before and forward those I will never know.
the moment: so there was a fire in the warehouse next to ours, just a fire, lots of commotion, the fire chief actually backed into my car causing about a grand in damage, didn’t say a word at the time, but we have cameras trained on the back lot, in the process of containing the fire one fireman was walking along the building with a metal pike, the purpose? to break all the windows, I wonder how he got that sweet job, the other guys were up on the roof and what not battling the fire, this guy gets to play whack-a-mole with windows, anyway, off that tangent, I was walking past the boarded up mess today, and the glass was still there on the neglected lawn, shimmering in the sunlight, and the above metaphor type thing just populated my brain, so that is the genesis of this little sprite of inspiration…
hey ! all thoughts, aspersions, and comments are always appreciated… as are killer side dishes, seriously, I love to cook, especially with hot hot chilies…
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.
the lull of white suburban noise. I contemplate the sameness of my street, for me all this has always been here, but surely this hallmark will be gone, strange to think of dinosaurs, beasts, and all manner of creatures traipsing about this space where I sit now, concrete foundation in this tamed landscape, or so for now, soft sounds amplify in space like this, a neighbor walking mistaken for some demon lurking just out of my sight’s reach, until a bright yellow breaker rolls into view, and I concentrate on their steps, how uneven they are against the lose layer of debris that resides on top of the asphalt, the non perfection of form, scrapes of humanity, I could call this a soft cool breeze tonight, but somehow it is lighter than that, almost just the subtle presence of air settling down, not enough to provoke thoughts of cold, or flight back into my hole, still waiting for the spring, patience, I know, but still it wears thin on me, the dull low roar of commercial flight reminds me I am not far from the airport, I could go anywhere right now, but where would I go? where would I be? I have trouble accurately describing the sound of passing cars driving by, I know the technical side, tires on pavement in rotation against the ground, some seem calm, others rushed, as I try to make out the muffled music during the brief encounter, or to build a story about a neighbor filling a jar full of momentary assumptions flavored by flash judgements, based on a car, driving by, in only this matter of time of my arbitrary observation, a neighbor, I only know because their house is on the same block, a stranger, in any other contextual lock, the same person walking comes back from the other direction, on the sidewalk this time, not sure why, variety I suppose or no thought to it whatsoever, my direct neighbor across the street gets delivery, no signs on the car so I can only speculate, they had a little girl, she used to play outside, I have not seen her in a few years, how little we know about those in just the next house living whole lives next to ours, I wonder what lurks in the shadows and dark spots and corners, but in all honesty, there is nothing here that can harm me for real, this tame banal suburbia, the lull of white noise, the sleepy outdoor gaze of a jersey night
notes… part of my Porch series, tonight spring crept in, I even heard some children plotting games from the yard in back of mine, just waiting until the spring shakes back and forth like my dog after a bath except spring is looking to shake off the cold yoke of winter, which certainly is stubborn this year. all thoughts, comments, questions, and quiche recipes are appreciated.
The scene: we have all seen it, the (generally) older person sitting alone on a park bench, next to some nondescript lake or pond (usually man made with a tree behind them), gathering about a flock of pigeon disciples all willing to take in the raining down of leftover bread bites all to the chagrin of the performance runners who might have to step one step out of their way (with a slight sneer) due to the feathery congregation…
I thinkwe are not as far up the food chain as we might imagine, our daily flocking and pecking is surely more dressed up than the purity of nature between morsel and mouth, all wrapped up in a procession of our perception of what we aren’t doing (but actually are, in truth), who is the person on the park bench throwing out the ‘crumbs’ we flock to? whether it be prada or godiva or lady gaga or the NFL, is our importance (pause for a selfie) more important than the pecking prods of seemingly pleasant peasant pigeons positioning on top of a patch of asphalt? top to bottom fed, this is the way of things we perceive or more likely guess, but from our location (perch), on the proverbial bench in some metaphorical park, hand rustling about in that ubiquitous brown paper bag, we dispense what passes as vittles to those below, looking down, perhaps we should pause for a second (pause) and look… up (and wonder). perspective, pass it on.
I am trying to find a way, a reminder, some token to remind me every minute (or as much as possible) how incredibly miraculous life truly is, the amount of factors for life to develop (right at this exact moment) all these billions of years… take our planet on a purely scientific scale (I won’t get too heady, I promise), we don’t think about this everyday (or enough), we are right now (look at your feet) standing on rock islands floating on immensely insane amounts of magma that could torch us to cinder in a hot second, the crust of the planet, our “terra firma” is so incredibly thin, think of the Earth as an apple (whatever varietal strokes your fancy), the crust would be as deep as the skin of said apple (are you getting warmer yet?), furthermore our atmosphere (when viewed from space) is this little thin blue haze that barely extends out off the surface, add to that lucky potion the magnetic field that shields us just enough from the sun’s harmful radiation (but let’s in just enough to let life thrive), just for all those factors to collide and let me be present to type these words – in sheer amazement at the process of time and place, humbling, how do I hold this perspective ? or more surely, how do I apply this jolt, this feeling of almost infinite discovery of the miracle of everything, life itself, this draws me to understand why people wear crosses or other religious symbols, does that work? is the pendant around your neck or a tat’ enough? personally I am not religious in the religious affiliation sense, but I hold no grudge for my fellow travelers who are (I used to be that guy who thought he had all the answers and that those who believe were dumb, yeah, that was me), I am still looking for my personal ah-ha moment (not ‘take me on’), maybe I will never find the end of this path before I meet the end of this path, but! perspective, so much of our little corner of the galaxy (our city block in the country of the milky way if you will) is wrapped in such wonder that I might never wrap my head around it completely, but I know this… nothing we know of or probably will ever know of in our limited lifetime will ever account for all of “this”, I can only hope my foray into the mental exercise of perspective can help to remind me, every blade of grass, the look in my dog’s eyes, the touch of a loved one, the call of gulls as the surf rolls in and again, the stars carousel in the sky… this is a miracle, this life, always remember that as best you may in any times you may despair, think about the amount of things that had to happen just for you to be here, at this moment, truly an incredible miracle of reality.
If anyone has a good idea on how to remind myself or others (instead of just falling into daily routine)… all suggestions are appreciated! thanks.
music ? damn it, I am going guilty pleasure here, I don’t know why I love this tune so much… it is catchy as hell, I dare ya to tell me otherwise…
as I look out beyond
just my reach of site, this pond
for this is all I may ever see
of the oceans and seven told of seas
even this common ground
upon a leaf that has found
upon my gaze in scales not bound
a body of water clear as glass
in the palm of a leafy frond
turned tan by age
and gravity down
for within this earthly confine
waves and a shore all but mine
the life and eternal in this space
a moment of infinity to embrace
volume means nothing to scale of meaning
atoms are the fabric of all things
from a galaxy down
in my hands I do hold
all and nothing of all ever told
notes… written 1.7, I was thinking about how things are perceived through the perception of our scale, meaning how we process things because we are a certain size (and exist in a certain space), if we were atoms surely a little water in a fallen leaf would be an ocean, if we were a galaxy our planetary oceans would be a tear drop by comparison, all about scale, so to me there is universes within universes in everything but we experience what we do because of where we are by sheer chance (or destiny depending on your belief), but either way the universe , all of time, conspired for you to read this at this moment in the time of all things, of all existence as we can perceive it, my head hurts… but contemplate that for a moment (pausing, waiting for you to contemplate, c’mon, I don’t have all day, well, ok, maybe I do, but that is none of your business)
music ? I have been into binaural beats lately for all sorts of things: