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.
(music to read this by, let it load and start, trust me on this one…)
the heat, the weight of a summer day yoke
the intense concentration to hallucinate
the air above
the asphalt groves
a belly dancer, undulating
a snake charmer, hypnotizing
the air
like a stagnant pool
shade retreats
looking for itself
the air
so damn still
a pin could drop and never hit the ground
statues sweat without pigeon feet
the silence of the wild
is the sound of retreat
as night, sweet quench-cold drink, approaches…
lies just out of reach
fierce the brave thunderstorm
would be a most welcome site
I consider melting
into a puddle
instead of the sweltering
boiling in my own skin
even a lemon ice
is a blink reprieve
how I wish and beg for
the night to draw
the earth to yaw
how I yearn for that sweet refrain
oh, the coming of the night
if only for the time
so I might close my eyes
and delve into that sleep
to gather back my rivers
for the coming day
and flow into an endless ocean
carried on a dream
on the calm cool ocean
a feathered kiss
a breeze…
notes… I wrote this out on the porch tonight, it is what I do, or have been doing for a year now, damn, it is so much better in the summer, sitting out on my perch… er, porch, just riffing with words, this is all off the cuff stuff, some slight word changes but all written in a blink tonight, in the moment, could I perfect it ? hone it? hell yeah. but that is not the point, the point is raw, deliverance, me, my thoughts, you dig it ? great? not… well I still wake up in the morning… I think…
and if you did not get fair warning, shame on you… van halen was once the king of the damn world for a time… there was something about the maelstrom, the collection of those guys at that one time and the times at hand… all I can tell you it was a thing, I imagine that is why the Stones still tour even though I think they are completely droll…
“and the water runs dry“
when the water is gone
and the roots dry crack
when the rain is gone
and the wells wide gasp
when the sea is gone
bones pluck will lie
when the river runs stop
damns ditched run dry
when the last blood drop
mirrors fade paint bend
pick past last crop
we are at our end.
notes… just one of those gifted to me by the muse, I wrote it as is, from scratch, it made me think musically, lyrically.
“sky draft“
the sky is a story, right now
a beginning, and an end
the script reads left to right
I can not say what language this is
but the design, I recognize
over there is the fight scene
or the love scene
hard to tell, at times,
a dark cloud brooding
about halfway through
skip ahead
a bulb laid on blue
some pages appear blank
perhaps a spot for improvisation
weather or not
the story holds
or is being written
with an unseen pen
changing, shifting
but always a beginning,
always an end.
notes… we all look up (every version of humanity has), I wonder for many reasons, the fact that our sky is actually so thin and is all that separates us from what ancients used to call heaven, a little layer of air is all the separates us from space, and suffocation, and all that happens in that little layer is amazing, a whole system of intertwined water vapor, truly a wonder as it swirls asunder and not so much under, swirling clouds of water vapor, patterns in the sky, braille for the gods I suppose or just those that can fly above…
music… let me introduce you to another genre…electronic, more upbeat than ambient but still… chill… enjoy…
“if once more
I would hold your hand
in, with both of mine,
cradled.
as, the most precious, the most delicate
of all that was ever created,
was gifted,
was mine to have,
if only,
once more,
to feel the presence of your warmth
thaw these cradled lands
my hands would illuminate
in that moment
be overrun
overwhelmed
damns burst river flow forth
with love, of joy,
filling up my heart
saturating my bones
if only,
for once more –
my love.”
notes… the letters are in runes, all of their various meanings, I leave to you… (musical choice for the eve)
(written originally 6.12.2019, quite forgotten about in one of my journals, rewrote a few times since today, mostly just word positions and such, and by the way, thanks for the look and your time, I appreciate anything outside of mine, thanks)
“a profession of love
initials coupled on a rock
an ad hoc memorial
to love so temporal
or with hope
anniversaries immemorial”
written on my daily drive up the NJ Turnpike, passing Snake Hill (as it is locally known), graffiti is sometimes… sometimes… a bit more. as you pass over snake hill on the left the entire NYC skyline is on your right… clear as a bell…
>>>musical accompaniment : Warrior Soul – The Losers and Lullaby
kind of anthems for me from back in the day… they were a rebel rock band when hair bands were dominating the scene, well, they had hair, but not that hair…
and I would be remiss, if I did not say thanks for all the reads, eyeballs and all the such… now, my american friends, do not go blowing off your fingers tomorrow, hard to do here in jersey, the only thing legal fireworks wise is basically sparklers… yech… I could tell you stories about m-80s and m-90s and pool filters… but nah, not today… did I mention I write off the cuff pretty much all the time ? yeah… pretty much…
“my hope resides
in the chalice of the unborn
silent the heart
that has no song
for the word love
has not long passed this tongue
I count in years
as numbers less drawn,
might I gather dew
from that morning leaf
and renew my spring
from the gift of dawn,
yes, the sun rises
but no chariot awaits me there
I dwell here low
in hours drawn late,
I wonder,
how did I get here?
where can I go?
but this light of hope
grows dim, and slow
dim, and, slow
dissipates.”
notes… I would love to tell you I am a bulwark against pessimism, and generally I usually am, but I have my moments of weakness, I am human, I embrace them, I see my shortcomings, so is it OK to despair? I think it is for a time, what are the mountains without the valleys ? the point is to see the valley, when you are in it, and gather to climb the mountain again, you never win, you always fall down, just keep up the trail, is it logical, no, but either that or just lay down and let the world run over you, you have a choice, a loss, a setback, they happen, dust yourself off and give fate the stink eye… walk the path, I am trying, and failing mostly, but I will get up and push that rock back up the hill, even with a bunion…
music…
>>> Eric Johnson – When the Sun Meets the Sky (live)
c’mon, sweet tone… a soft song, great on a summer night such as this…
“every breath erodes
from within
every exhale
mere life spent
like sand grinding finely
against the sphinx’s claws
taming out the fierce over time
rounding down the paws,
enticing yet another sleep
under blankets of coming sand
inducing that slumber
until I succumb
waiting, to be discovered again”
notes… wrote this way back in July of last year, revisited tonight, I liked it then, like it more now… maybe I should not be such a stubborn ass and revisit work, but I am who I am, so this one is a rewrite, I like it like I like all my new work, even though this is old work, I am sure the shine will wear off, it always does, something like a curse…
music, the link above is Carbon Based Lifeforms, ambient space type music, I love it, I must confess, so that is all.. have a nice sunday, I think I will be out in the wilderness tomorrow, in the wilds of new jersey, yes they exist, maybe just off a roadway but damn we have some lovely parks, I am sure of it….
“even without
the palpable perception
the noose is present,
this will be the end
of all of this,
a silence in the wind,
set to hang set to swing
in judgment,
for we are all given
a certain length
and to what lengths
do we go
for more
– rope.”
notes: instead of being morbid, or moribund, let me share a story of life, I was sitting on my porch the other night, whipped out the old acoustic guitar, boy am I out of practice, and lack of callous, but I suppose I have been playing for 20 years now or so… so I can dazzle with some riffs but I know I am not up to par compared to those who bang on the drums all day, anyway, so I was just riffing around on some blues (easy stuff) and some other riffs I know (mostly old metallica), I’m behind my japanese maple, kind of hidden, one of the neighborhood deer sauntered up, slowly, I tried to be still, but would hit a chord now and again as the deer grazed, the deer was not afraid… mostly confused… I would strum a chord or play a note and the the poor deer just looked, tilted it’s head as if to say.. what the hell is that? I can imagine this suburban deer has heard many things, cars, garbage cans, barking dogs, but the strum on an acoustic guitar from 4 feet away ? doubtful… and clean notes of picking sunday bloody sunday ? nah… after a what seemed like a long time (a few minutes) the deer casually disappeared across the street into my neighbor’s yard which has tons of trees… I don’t know what my expectations are from such encounters… well, actually I do, I hope to convey to the animal that I am no threat, it’s stupid honestly, but honest, a wild animal is not going to understand me… but I put the vibe out there anyway…
music… something a little nerdy musically tonight (a lesson in genre perhaps?), sometimes called “math rock“, that’s not fair, but neither is life, so, basically to me math rock describes music that is not quite “progressive” but yet is definitely not mainstream, virtuoso level playing that is mind bending as a player but if you just listen… there is a space between classical and rock and jazz… I think this is it…
…this poem originally written 4.30, looked over and revised tonight… added punctuation and some words… I always promise to tell you all when I write stuff… why? honesty, does it matter? nah…. but yes… to me….
“I wear a carved jade stone
I can not feel the hands
of the mark of the creator
just what has been left behind
from that act of creation
this does not mean
this piece
was not meant
for me.“
notes… this is personal haiku for me, not the form but the feel and function of what I understand haiku to be, the staccato nature, a question and a truth, is that not haiku? and I literally wear my toki or my manaia daily… I connect to the sea faring way of the maori tradition, not by religion but by spirit if that makes sense… it does to me, at least.
Shades of My Garden 