“summer the lover has left my bed
phases pass as the world groans colder
sheets witness to warmth now transform
a shelter for the winter come
once spring fling now just an austere dream
so here I lay, sleep, now dormant beast”
notes: just something that appeared in my noggin, then I lost it, forgot where the heck I jotted it down, man that is annoying, then I had to read (translate) my awful handwriting…. yay !
I wonder
as my life expires
if the last sound
I hear
will be
like the ending
of a record
pfft… pfft… pfft…
notes… I was locked in the dark depressing doldrums of traffic, feeling really grey, like everything around on this quite unremarkable day, so I turned on the classical music station for inspiration, the recording must have been aged, in fact later a soft whispery voice dated the piece from a recording in the 1950s, these words popped in my head, I scrambled to write them down and not smash into the car in front of me at some astounding forward speed, like 15 miles per hour as seems the pace I was meant to take this day…. (I hope you all get the rhythm of the piece, the beats that is)
…and of course thanks for the set of eyes, your time, the likes, comments, psychic suggestions, restaurant reservations, constellations… and well, everything…
“upon christ of church fairfield township nj cemetery“
for all for now
for all seasons kept
be by brother be
for here I lay
laid to rest
bound to ground
consecrated in earth
soul released to soar
to higher temple mound,
a marker, a name engraved
crumbles, to time to fall
tracing words, fading stone faces
temporal worlds, flight drifts away
embraced, in softest warmth
bathed, in most divine light
eternal grace, to triumph the night
notes… these are the ruins of my state, people who settled here before we were even a country, this cemetery is near ruin but not in total ruin, I drove by a few times and just was drawn to call to attention this place, these were all lives, loves, stories, people, all enshrined here, many hundreds of years past, that fascinates me, because soon enough this will be me, on this plane of existence at least, dust and dreams, we all come to this road, this destination, regardless of any declaration, or any direction in which we wish.
Music: a little heavy, a classic song in this person’s opinion…
stoic white church presides
night black back country road
saturday night
quite alone
notes… sometimes I see something and want to capture a moment, I call it observational poetry to convey a feeling or a thought, I was driving through Franklin Lakes NJ, Ewing Road, through all the mansions up there but right before the reservoir there is a church I have passed many times, but the singularity of it struck me tonight, for whatever reason, I suppose the calm before the storm as Sunday is the business day of god, or at least houses of same in the catholic faith.
post script, looking at this, reading this… kind of Haiku feel… ya feel me ?
music:
am I the brick in line so perfectly laid
or the tuft of grass
that has found a way
in that space
in between
and which on now would I rather be?
notes… I was driving to my local supermarket, and the median before the main road was so manicured just a few years ago, it still is nice, but I noticed the bricks all in line, and these lines just came to me, so I wrote them, as I am known to do, in one of my scribble journals that I always keep close by, I suggest you do the same, you never know when the muse or inspiration will tap you on the shoulder, so, be prepared as much as you can, without ruining the moment, let it happen…
music? ok, here is something from a band that gets no due, I tend to specialize in such things…. punk post rock anthem… unique sound, great vocals, garage honed sound…
hey ! all thoughts, comments, critiques and such… are all appreciated, let me hear from you peeps! Honestly this blog is for me, no guts and glory or fame, I do pretty OK in the real so this is just me throwin my art out there, if one person is helped or likes it… I’m good. I am on vacay next week so no idea what might happen here… probably a bunch of beach shots of south jersey and places no one goes to (but should)… we’ll see, Cape May baby…. Cape May!
scrimshaw
if teeth could tell tales
instead of having them pass by
from the mouths of babes
spawned in the maws of whales
food for thought, a pictograph
etched enamel, weathered hands
captured memory of the sea
a voyage through the seven and creatures be
words wrapped wisdom around a molar born
or an incisor’s whit captured nautical dawns
“This is the tooth of a sperm whale that was caught near the Galapagos islands by the crew of the ship Adam [of London], and made 100 barrels of oil in the year 1817.” (an early scrimshaw inscription)
“lively sketches of whales and whaling-scenes, graven by the fishermen themselves on Sperm Whale-teeth, or ladies’ busks wrought out of the Right Whale-bone, and other skrimshander articles” – Moby Dick by Melville
Scrimshaw collection @ the Museum of New Zealand – Te Papa Tongarewa
Music? gotta go nautical with one of my all time faves…
A “prow” is the portion of a ship’s bow (ahem, front of ship) that is above the water, in old times adorned with various carvings, creatures and maidens…
notes: Scrimshaw ? yeah, I know, what the? sometimes, ok, often things just pop in my mind, “it just popped in there” – ray
observation, like a movie, like a dream, like the terror of sleepy hollow approaching, the leaves parting, dancing as if on cue and string, all the ingredients stirring, in a wind mixer, a blender, in the wake of motion of cars travelling down the highway, even if I understand all the thermal and aerodynamics of the phenomena I am astounded by the coordination of all, not even a rehearsal, just the fall, the leaves in just the right place, in just such a way as to peel off like parting waves and curl off into the wake, albeit behind cars in inward looping curls, but again, all the random perfection that had to happen, the leaves fallen just so, the wind at the right flow, the dryness of the air so nothing is sticking, the amazing spectacle of driving through autumn leaves left on the road, so simple, so over looked, amazement hidden under your nose… and tires…
notes… I am up in Pleasantville NY (‘Westchester is Bestchester’ as they say around here) for work (for a few days now), huddled in a hotel as the temperature drops into real winter depths, actually colder than usual even for real winter, out of my element in a new town, you think I would be used to it by now, but as I rode along the road I felt like I was in a Lexus commercial or something the way the leaves perfectly rode up my ride and danced around… so, you know, I write things… this being one of those, I try to to keep up when I am on the road but when you work 12-15 hour days, and some in a row, time eats you up and leisure becomes the revelation of good water pressure in the hotel you are staying in… ah, another continental breakfast to take in….
and by the way for those not in the know, I am literally not that far from Sleepy Hollow, it is a real place after all and is awesome in the fall as you might imagine, if you are in the NYC area consider visiting especially halloween time… they dress up the town as you might think and it has a vibe…
o’ sad Jack
once ferocious teeth scowled
now, sagging, inward,
to the side
as your mouth collapses
and the roof caves in
your short age
your short time in the sun
so briefly, gone
witness to all the leaves
now quartered and drawn
a mouth once alight with writhing flame
throwing shadows on demon’s bane
casting out into the night
flickering dance candle light
for you have seen better days
hollowed out for hallows eve
has left you less whole with no reprieve
and like the shrinking land repose
off into the landfill you must go
yet let not all hope be squashed
for come next fall
we pick your kin
notes… just something somewhat silly that the muse bequeathed to me today…
music… sort of weird and inspired… damn good band…
on golden rod bend sun sheen
strolls on by the strident king
glides on through and between
these careful rows of winter wheat
Oh, Alexander!
keeper of the namesake
halter to the great mantle
a border past beyond barriers
ties brothers out landscape born
for in the eyes of the conqueror
begets the lion’s roar
notes… I imagine a conqueror must be both fierce and strong… but at times pauses to admire the landscape in between battle that bear namesake… and also I am invoking the elysian fields type of view as well, there is other commentary in this poem, we will see how many of you get it, I have no idea why this popped into my head, it just did, who am I to argue with the universe? I just work here…
the autumn apple
reservoir of the summer sun
for within your flesh
for within your keep
the star seeds of life
key to the generations
core to root
earth to bore
the autumn apple
full and ripe
the seasons full bloom
now fully landed
upon your hand
notes… apples are a fall fruit, get it, they fall ! waka waka waka… but one of the sure sign of the fall is the apple harvest, cider and cider donuts… mmmm cider donuts…
Shades of My Garden 