we are, in the air…

we are, in the air…

on the air’e

nary a worry
bare’ing on the cloud countenance
fair recompense
for seasons spent –
in blankets
distant time
now in slumber
in the gloaming
a solid azure temple looms
testament to that coming soon
if joy had a soul and a mate
written ‘cross this beaming sky
even up on the skin of suns
doth sing, doth rejoice
hymns of the life of promise
for even death’s dark heart, is warm’d
I would not foretell a gospel of such emancipation-
the atmosphere, she is in courtship
with every breath drawn in
on the air’e –
rides sensations
eyes that have had this common pause
this common cause down unto a leaf
the beauty say keep
from within my hand
into the very ground
reflecting back, our wonders
spin-spinning faster
the sunlight slides
out across the landscape
flat shadows stretch long
they affirm my existence
for now, at least – for now.

whimsy…

whimsy…

Photo by Noelle Otto on Pexels.com

in search of rain
or perhaps some wine
promise to sing
whichever lends me the time
to dance the whirl
to let go of the world
a hop, a skip, a jump from a curb
fly for an instant
downward splash
forget all troubles
blank-in the past
ignore the future
tunnel-in-to now
take a deep sip
take a bow,
take this all in-
for this is now
soak up the time
for your time is now.
(with joyous intent)

egalitarian flight ~~^~~

egalitarian flight ~~^~~

Photo by Nav Photography on Pexels.com

(wings are not always feathers)
for might I – fly?
even then-
imagine, a butterfly in flight
is an exercise
the so-delicate the so-soft the ballet pirouette
yet effort lies root the rouse;
to my friend, the hummingbird
a dervish of the common earth
a-wings a-blur
hand a scepter to the nectar queen
move forward from that pounding heart,
I might rather be a simple gull and glide
on above ocean tides, falls and rise
suspended as with silken threads, drawn a puppets ride
swaying forth like a child’s swing
as someone else pushes-
perhaps… even that… the hands of god.

the manor… [“_“]

the manor… [“_“]

Photo by Deeana Creates on Pexels.com

the manor

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.

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

Photo by Hiu1ebfu Hou00e0ng on Pexels.com

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, 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.

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)

urban /~~~$%

urban /~~~$%

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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.

the black swan {{_p_}}

the black swan {{_p_}}

Photo by Henry & Co. on Pexels.com

rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno

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?

Sound of bow against the sky }}—> ~0~

Sound of bow against the sky }}—> ~0~

Photo by Manuela Kohl on Pexels.com

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)