’tis the oldest desire
the oldest sin
in the world of men
to live and live again
Tag: Poems
whim.
on glan day
oh eudmhor gh’st
on wind doe haunt
on gales doe ride
cross’t o’er beinns
cross’t o’er sruth
as heart of t’land
as souls of t’earth
bound by past
t’and future’s know
note: so this came to me, in words in my head, to write this in somewhat gaelic. yes, that is strange as I really do not know my true lineage being adopted… but I don’t care or question things anymore when they pop into my head, I mean, hey, I am not a psycho I think, I just have a different input to the muse to amuse and paint my art with words, so here they are so, unfold… all thoughts are always welcome.
in a simple mirror found…
‘the birdfeeder‘
wrought iron
ancient tower
in look
sold and bought
at a garden center
in years I might have forgot
some winters to fill you up
going bare barren
for an entire season
no good reason, just the passing
forgetting to refill the silo
forgetting t’was even there, at times
the nature of gravity and consumption
in the wind, swaying
a common winter night
not an occasion to stop-
so filled to the top
and spilt over
not a delicate affair
no, certainly not
like an old man in the park
shuffling hands in a paper bag, for company
more organized perhaps
but much the same rouse
much the same draw
and I can not control those who come
who find this rest stop
and sometimes a flurry
a gang of rooks, a jail break frenzy romp
rather than the gentle sweep and peck
the subtle moves of anxiety
the back and forth with caution
of those who might be prey
or at least garnish so
little ones bounce from limb to perch
or a big blue jay swoops in
also on the lurch
sometimes I wish-
to script upon the seed
with the breed
I wish to attract
oh, silly me
haven’t we all done
this very same act?
(in our own reality)
based on the real, just my bird feeder swinging on the tree outside my bedroom window and the implications there… life is a strange and wonderful thing. so…. what do you think ?
and for any noobs: (I promise to be gentle) I write in flash form, maybe my work is not perfect but it is a flash photo of what comes out of my mind and pen (ok, keyboard mostly)… so, just so you know how it works around here, this is all just me throwing my breath out there, so if you read all this, or any of this, thanks for your cherished time, I appreciate it.
something in the works…
a work I am working on… a poem in this case... this is my blog, so no rules, this is an active thing I wrote just now and want to hone bit, what that means? who knows? who cares… I am posting where I am, so deal, my blog is me and me is the blog, lol.. so f it… I might repost this poem 10 times, in the scheme of things it means nothing, so like it or not… but his was the first raw form of this particular work… why the hell do I write anyway…
driving in the driving rain
the car in front of me
is going impossibly slow, grating
glowing red tail lights bending and distorting, bends
driving down that street
passing my father’s grave
(to my right – somewhere in measurable feet)
I ponder the moment,
no monument, delayed by that goddamn plague,
just grass now, still-
a funeral only, few allowed, if only, to attend
so the plague continues to ravage, above
I truly hope, you are not there my father, below
watching, the gathering pools of rain, above
so I wonder
where you are
where will I be
and I wait to hear the voice-
that never comes
but I know where-
I must come.
nature of being.
do not fear the snake
if you are a snake
be aware
to bite first
notes… semi haiku, I mean in feel, I did not count the syllables and obviously this is not 3/5/3 of 5/7/5… but no one owns the rights to the form… (or at least I am not aware of such a copyright claim), and in terms of the content of this post… heck, this is almost laughable… these words popped into my mind while watching Conan the Barbarian (the original)… so art from Arnold.. yep… I was thinking of the snake scenes and symbolism (which is all woven throughout that movie)… so keep your eye out as to what inspires… thoughts?
storms like tides…
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
a quip from a leprechaun…
‘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…
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…
on breakers from above, a lesson in less…
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)
the peak and flow: glory
‘glory‘
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.
Shades of My Garden 