in the house of the dying sun, a knock on the door an uncle a cousin a brother and I forgot to remember- that he is gone for father has traveled on into the land beyond (our senses). the wife, a sister, my mother left with the charge for every crack and nook imbued with the marriage of years strolling through photobooks slow motion silent cinema tales snapshots of a life no longer in motion told and closed, the deacon of my being struggles struggles for reason for faith to believe in our fates for a reason, for a meaning, I yearn for the voice of dominion for guidance, for wisdom for the power to accept as we must, and accept there is no choice no choice in the matter for soon enough I will join you father and once more be of your manor.
notes… been mired in the weather so not posting too much, I have been writing however, just not posting, sometimes life gets in the way, you know ? Thanks for all the looks and comments, I appreciate your time and stopping by.
my beautiful flower for what have I done poisoned my garden ’till kingdom come
notes… since my father passed I have been posting photos on my facebook page daily, and of course I wound up running across photos of her, mirsa, my true love, the major screw up I can never mend, well, I hope but that was many years ago, time is supposed to mend or heal, not so much here, I try not dwell but honestly it is always there, somewhere, some days just rise and it is all I can think about, just happened to coincide with V-day, I used to make her special meals, with red themes, heart shaped veg or the like, always something ambitious, I miss those days, but I am still here and there are days ahead, so that has to be my focus, but seeing those old photos, the closeness, her holding me and me her, in addition to my old dog, Chestnut, whom I loved so very much, and made mistakes like any first time parent, memories, of all the animals we had, practically a zoo, birds (amazon yellow front, parakeet, parotlet, monk parakeet), a degu, pacus, turtles (mississippi mud and soft shell), a mexican tarantula, a sugar glider and a texas ground squirrel… yeah it was pretty nuts, and I leaving out the scorpions and betas… retrospect always breeds romanticism, but who am I to argue with my own feelings? but accept them.
“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)
yet the laughter of a playground chatter of simple times for summer’s early friend has disappeared and even the yolk of death ousted for a child’s smile of walking pets in this backwoods jungle gym of civilization chalk scratchings underfoot graffiti lines and tags color
notes… yeah, I am old school, metal head, rap, OG hip hop, classical, electronica, ambient, alt…. do I surprise you yet? nah… pay attention, I got all my kids in detention but pay attention they are all in attendance just they can’t all be present for this romance, so… I have walked the streets of suburbia, and I also know all the worst parts of most towns… not many people have my shared experience, I go from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side, from Toms River to Franklin Lakes, from Hazleton to Center City – hey PA, south bronx, got ya, people forget and lament, laurelton and the rock beach away, out of the reach of bay ridge… I travel all of it… (ahem, I really do…)
*and this one is staccato pace… the poem that is… just so you know, I do things in purpose, I am not some enigma, or a puzzle, is there layers ? sure… but for me I want at least some visceral before you start peeling the onion, so….. have at it. and thanks for any and all those who read me, I do appreciate your thoughts.
in the hall of the black swan fooled by randomness comforted by circumstance a guild filled fat with this chance of history a horseshoe a polaroid for I can tell you the sky is blue and the world is round might the faint death cries of gallileo haunt for fate’s rope tightly bound around your eyes – for you see: this blindfold is a master thief not seen, not felt, a diabolical minion of stealth a night shifting from darkness shadow slide shadow in a black hole to consume all in regal fold and ornate dress to change the bend a prism lens a desire the cosmic wave background pulses an echo a pebble placed pond ripples skips in loops of perfect eight align and then- the elegant black swan – at last will mate and pair to sequence – the cosmos at large.
Notes… I am being pointed here, not obscure. We’ll see who gets my meanings, any takers?
against the setting, purple rippling sky reminds, in countenance shadow doth reflect I dream of your form with empty hands out-stretched; my body swells with starvation in the famine of the death of sensation (your touch), illusion bores and marks the eyes falling on to moon lit-skin, an ache born upon the conscience of time.
in distant mind voice reflects to listen with my eyes the song of your words upon my ear (as I admire how they escape from the supple valley of your lips). the many places of daily travel warm (and light) with the presence of your candle’s glow and yet cold as the lands that separate live souls; with hands entwine and walk the path upon fantasy rides the thoughts of man, Upon that gallant-fanciful steed might glide the miles in memory; -but yet what warmth does this night-shadow bring? The song to sing in faintest past and yet all is owed, on to the future.
palm upon palm, (might I flourish for a moment in your scent) falling hapless rather than to this lament I drift to sleep amongst the fear of dreaming- and do I deny what my mind decrees? The ancient charm of dreams pulls so heartily at my ropes and binds, dancing and prancing logic and delirium In all the cotillion-; embraced, and all the body waits for the texture of her naked skin baring against the dew that forms; contours are the guide of hands instinct as the guide of minds, And sweet sufferance is this bliss un-achieved in the day-light hours, finds the night to write a script of wish, a castle from which to survey and capture lands beyond and afar from worldly reach, and yet lucid as the life a picture framed in the eye of mind a committed memory, in a curved line.
Notes… generally speaking my works I post are 96.2% off the cuff (a totally arbitrary number made up for this post, but you get my drift), this post is certainly not, this is something old, pre-me being the blog hound dog that I am these days, if I had to guess this is in the neighborhood of 15 years old, something I wrote and stowed in a box, with other poems, which I might reveal, given the feel, if I feel like it, and I might, I had this typed out and folded up stuck in an old book, it was always one of those I ‘liked’ straight away, the title, the whole darn thing, I am sure my fellow fellowship of writers/artists out there get that, there is always those that you just ‘love’ right off the bat, and this is such a dove, I did alter it a bit, given my modern taste and flair, or whatever I am doing these days. So, hope you enjoy it… As always your thoughts, likes, and adulating praise is always appreciated… any good non obvious habanero chili recipes are also warranted… (damn I love the hot chilis)
on occasion little things like this pop in my head, today, @ work for example, which is strange, usually work is not the place I am musing, must be a friday thing…. anyway, without further pause…
A prayer to absorb from those who came before might I turn to the wind and hear your voices bathe in your wisdom if only for a moment if only a small slice of the vast share with me your vision so I might not repeat the past