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
‘leprechaun sure- as far as I know been called a ‘lesserchaun’ perhaps I’m lesser than some; I have my enchanted coin but it’s not minted of any gold but my luck runs just the same on the hot side of cold‘
I almost imagined this one as a conversation, one sided, of what a leprechaun might say to someone in passing, the ‘little people’ but yet they are magical and the pride of rainbows, so, I was trying to weave in playful nature and also deception in a little ditty… I can not explain what compels me to write such things, I just do…
lights in the tunnel by chance by circumstance the nexus of all history in a fleeting glance through one doorway that led to a singular path so two lights – became a pair to navigate the darkness – as a binary star
long straight and winding foot on bare a litter of babes with which to bear and so once the road came dark fork a separation aimed to dim such spark (for a time) for even death will not restrain (for all time)
the pair once ordained to be as one reunited now somewhere gone from this world – somewhere beyond these lights in the tunnel at once-more one
notes… this poem is dedicated to my late aunt and uncle, they died apart in some ways, but in some ways together… nothing was the same since my uncle passed, not just in my house I might guess, I hear things come in threes, maybe this was three, my uncle, my father, my aunt, more of a trio that might be a tornado for my mother, I wonder, she knew them all longer, and closer, and the family has not recovered, covid has sapped whatever ‘together’ was left it seems, I hope I am wrong, but I have more faith in being right on this one (but I still hope), it doesn’t seem worth the fight if you are the only one fighting the dam breaking, especially since you are not the one who built it, you are just downstream from the cemented choices others made.. and the guilt and grime… the weight of that, unable to shed, even after death… the past can never be won, sure, you can fight it all you want, but you can never win, we all do it, myself included, but looking out a window out onto the broken meadows of others makes it so easy to see…
the music, this is always about timelessness to me, orbital was ahead of their time, intelligent and evocative in a genre not always known for such things, they were different, an amalgamation and inspiration… one of those bands that I found at the right time and also a glaring reminder of my failures, they came around in Miami at their peak and I was pissed at the missus, I opted not to go, in principal, and being a stubborn moron, willing to die on my cross of principles rather than give in for an evening, and they were really good tickets seat wise, but I had my pride, my dumb pride, now I have a great memory of not going, with the one I loved more than anything, just out of spite, a dumb fight, and yes, retrospect is so easy, but so is level headed thinking, I could have a hall of fame of regret…
I also wonder how many people even read this far, these are my true thoughts, not just my art, I just hope with all my babbling I have helped a person or two to realize their own foibles, maybe then this is all worth it, until then I will keep shooting spitballs into the universe…
The setup… so I was driving over the Verrazano bridge the day after Hurricane Ida came rumbling through, it was a glorious day weather wise (some wind), personally, eh, not so much, not bad but tiring, so this was all stuff that floated through my head as I drove over the bridge, it is an awesome sight, especially on a clear day like this, you tend to forget the fact that the water is not exactly, um… clean, especially from that vantage point, so it was more like being a bird flying over the span from Brooklyn to Staten Island (the narrows as it is called), the phrase “breakers on the narrows” is the trigger and what popped into my head, after I wrote the 1st draft I thought I missed the point by trying to make a point rather than make a picture (or share the sensation/feeling/moment)… so I included both drafts here, I don’t fret over my work, I don’t strive for perfection, I just wish to be me, as much as I can be (no one is pure imo… we all filter @ some level so I am not going to preach about how honest I am, I’m not 100% without filter… is that the goal? you bet… but I ain’t there yet…)
(1st draft) breakers on the narrows as I am passing over might I look over and from here, this is almost mystical this structure, seemingly bifrost made real this gleaming span, many thousands roam, daily and I, one of those turned into spectator by spectacle as ida has departed, the sky opens wide blue a boat’s wake, turns rows of wind swept, rakes breakers on the narrows peak frozen in motion like marching saints as I speed by this scene hundreds of feet up above in the comfort of my driving machine wanting to dive right in I imagine I can hear the sounds above the din seagulls, waves breaking onto themselves and the shore- a horn breaks the trance I am transported back to this land the common asphalt, ezpass flash transported back
(2nd draft) breakers on the narrows, tailwinds whip up clone-peaks angled on-towards the beach I can not hear the roar but do imagine as I pass above them such a scene from afar a sky wide open blue and the cleansing sensation as this flying by calms- breakers on the narrows.
the song has no link to the post other than allison was a tropical storm that ravaged texas a decade or so ago… sometimes rain is the worst part… as was the case with Ida, except super south jersey which got tornadoes (mullica river area, I love tooling around down there when I get the chance, it is like a different state)
for I recall the gilded halls the glory, of my own memory like a museum, for all I know marble is slow to fade locked-staring into a slower realization; on those days I was the prize a stunning stallion gliding by like flashes, stills, brief catches all this resident inside, but spent days behind-number greater now went for alas there still remains a spark for I recall the time I was a king and now my throne is bare and so has been to stride these halls and live again in the past, what seems now hidden within a shell, broken mantle given the glory shines less dim suns-set in eyes, a horizon looms might I capture one more ray of light and ride out this diminished glory ‘fore the tomb.
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…
a thing I do from time to time… just snippets or things I never finished, I always intended to finish, but I am a creature of the moment usually so I do not go back, maybe I will… nah, probably not, so here is some snippets, do with them what you will.. my orphans, take care of them in your head…
(1) erotic patterns curves sultry lines drawn in sand a back, a palm by the hands of wind sliding across the mounds silently caressing grain by grain
(2) the psalms of wind and the homilies of wings
I really like (2)… now, I have to admit it has nothing to do with (1) except me posting them together, and in a weird way it makes sense together… but they were just scraps, but who knows? maybe this is what the universe wanted to impose, and so it is.. because it has happened, am I getting to vague ?
in the awakening might I tread lightly on as the sky explodes with dreams spread tethered out on cotton streams a requiem for a thief, for I am- a consumer of all things until I become threadbare, myself a baron of composition bereft of fruit to wither into the aether to claim my time to cling to life I, survive.
notes… we slide in and out of this existence to fast in cosmic time… I hope this is just a train stop in the converging line of time and dimensions…
for am I faint my words are thoughts only whispers in drought carry-on in the airy realm- for my feet are not on this ground, my body- but a fading shroud a lone sense a vague sense of place for I was attached to but a name now my shackle is curious bound round the round I orbit this base just past the touch in the realm between of know and known this is this place, my home
notes… we are, in many ways a beautiful culmination a molecular miracle generation, but we are also temporal, how do we as thinking beings reconcile this? I don’t know… I know religions cover this, but how can a religion formed by us in these scant few years of human existence on this one planet, in the infinity of space, cover this? wrapping our heads around impossibility or inevitability is anathema to the human mind… because we want to survive just as the simple bird does hatching eggs in spring… that thread binds all living things, is that god speaking to us? I guess I will have to wait for my end for a real answer… or none… hence the conundrum…
in the miles of the blue pointed eyes navigate the blur imagine skimming skipping along like a trance or a song spinning through the air darting among with thrush and a rush, bobbing for air when the need arise coursing, like a vein these are the days of pure freedom swimming in unison with my brethren in these miles of the blue stretched out in all directions