Thoughts from the porch… (stream of consciousness)

Thoughts from the porch… (stream of consciousness)

caught-in between

this was not a day of summer, this was not a day of spring, this is not a day of well, anything… like a dew drop in a spider’s web, a captive but not the intention, I can see the trees swaying to a breeze that seems to be ignoring me, as if I am not here, as if I didn’t matter, or I didn’t get the part to this play, or a ticket to the audience even, like watching a performance in an aquarium, all the action on one side of the glass, not the one I’m on, the sky, no the sky to the ground, the air herself has been grey all day, not a hope, not a peek, not a sliver of anything other than, a stagnant lukewarm humidity hangs like a mildewed coat on a nail in a dingy forgotten corner of the garage, stale, not sure if this is drizzle, or just fog a little more organized, waiting for the break, rain or shine, but none comes, not a promise or even a hint, a rut, somewhere-in between, the day drags as hours run backwards toward dawn, for eve and morn seem one long sordid line, is this lunch or dinner time? am I vain? or a vane of the weather, a bell-weather, drawn into the consciousness of this local universe I call my locale, my home, my square yard carved out, my dome, this globe, a drone, and I am lulled into the zone, so many things to do, of such little importance, but the engine must go on, so I am told, by some soothsayer or taskmaster inside my soul, for even optimism sometimes spills a glass, milk perhaps, not to shed a tear but to prove a point over a pint, lacrimonius harmony, so here I am feeling yet left outside of all but clearly in the web – like a ad-hoc-hammock for those passing through…

notes… the photo is mine, proof positive you need to pause at times, this morning was strange, and the day, as I said, but I allowed my eye, or the world hooked me, to see the webs catching dew just outside my front door, a walk I take at least two times a day or mostly more, so today, I did not look for the spiders, because why? I know they are there by the traps they provide…

the nature of nature…

the nature of nature…

by luizclas

Birds chatter of Wisdom

birds chatter of wisdom
and sing unto that praise

onto that human ear
which what might capture
the image-a-glimpse caught in the sounds of their clamor,
the leaves bend and sway choruses in that speaking breeze
and drop fruit with what to consume knowledge
to raise up creation for a caravan of local nomads,
the seed holds and germinates within new-form hands
delivered, is enlightened in the new birth, (from that attachment)
the words of speech empower the subtleties of voice
saving from that mire that which doth spurn,
and lay down the foundation in may
build yet a union to be spoken of and carried
out far upon sailed that common wave
out into the world as the prosperous evolution
freedom of expression
freedom of expiration,
and so are we
as the birds chatter of wisdom.

notes… this is a re-work of an old work, something I don’t generally do… but there are no steadfast rules here, so this transformed, in my mind, to something else… this.

blue skies… and the dreams they engender…

blue skies… and the dreams they engender…

can it be all blue skies?
so dare I dream, and even consider such things, to know better, but wanting to forget that sentiment in the all-together, even if in the temporary transmission of that delusion, there I may seek to dwell, my perfect self, my perfect body, my perfect mind – all aligned, even if for a brief-breath, can whisk me away to dream land, a sunset over easy on the ocean, the temperature just right, the kiss of the sun just warming on cheek, water curling up on toes just cooling on feet perched in soft moist sand, for a minute for a mile, might I stretch into this thought island of mine, a breeze that wraps all around, not a sound but the steady heartbeat of soft fading waves slipping into the shoreline as far as this mind’s eye can see, to this blue sky, a photograph, to live in, to escape to, a postcard never mailed far from my soul, a destination for only me to know, held inside those most inner gates, an escape, from the every day, in plain sight, might I take this flight, to regain the trust, my trust, in the beauty of this world, unfurled, a collection learned from reality, to build brick by brick this fantasy, so may I endure and stay a minute more...

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

Photo by Jorge Fakhouri Filho on Pexels.com

are we fibers
or just strings
or links in a chain
I wonder
as I hold you closer

I imagine
we begin to combine
at the molecular level
can we now pass through each other?
or simply merge
for a moment
two spun as one
no wonder
the separation
feels
as this does

notes… lost love letters staccato style (as I call it), I am very aware of rhythm in my words and flow… maybe it is all in my head, sure, but those who get it are wired into my frequency, I do not expect that to be everyone, just you, so thanks for the time, any and all comments are appreciated

in front of a full glass door window, looking out on the backyard…

in front of a full glass door window, looking out on the backyard…

Photo by Julia Volk on Pexels.com

the winter wind bites
makes no sound
except through my bamboo
the only leaves left

I see limbs bend and move
I listen for their aches n groans
(as in my bones)
the grass is stopped
frozen

even the sun-
even the sun is drained
bright, illuminated on surfaces
but cold
as if the moon had a forest – once
slowly exhaling

inside, so quiet now
so many voices
but so quiet now
the isolation of flame
so gather
the few that remain,
huddle, huddle with me

snippet… –

snippet… –

“and what I know of
the silence of love
speaks volumes”

notes… haiku? not sure, not meant to be, strictly, that is, this is something I woke up this morning and this was scribbled (OK, typed) in notepad on my little laptop friend here, I don’t even recall writing it, but since I am a music wonk it has beats… 5 / 5/ 3, funny how the universe works such things out (hat tip, universe, in waves)