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)
‘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.
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…
the house of lost souls
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
Shades of My Garden 