“first light“
first light
‘ning bug,
tonight
for spring
has truly
gone,
fuzzy
lantern
dangling
hovering
flashing
signaling,
a hazy bulb
with a halo
wavering in
the humidity-
a diffused lens
First Light… (a herald)
Tag: Poetry
blue ‘phin
in the miles of the blue
pointed eyes navigate the blur
imagine skimming
skipping along
like a trance
or a song
spinning through the air
darting among
with thrush
and a rush,
bobbing for air
when the need arise
coursing, like a vein
these are the days of pure freedom
swimming in unison
with my brethren
in these miles of the blue
stretched out in all directions
sitting bull…
so let me sit here for awhile-
longer-
to figure out
to ponder-
how to redo the past
to undo the done
and so frozen
watching the footage
over and over
always the same ending
but expecting a new one
notes… I know I am my own worst enemy… how do I battle myself, when I know myself so well.. perhaps that is true of us all… I try, I fail… but I know, I know I can try harder… so why don’t I? I know the clock is ticking, I fear it…. I know it… our lives are so finite and short… and we never know what is around the next corner, I am near the fifty year mark but still don’t live like tomorrow is the end.. I should, I know I should, “I should”… maybe that will be on my gravestone if I opt for one.. to mark a spot,.. but why bother… who will come.
lost.love.letters.
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
the birthing…
“a postulation on the transient nature of self”
a colony
prescribed by the hand of time
ordered into the womb of god
delivered
and so you are
notes… sometimes things pop in my head, I could tell you I am not religious because I am not, but does that mean I do not believe in something higher… how can we just be dropped here right now on this little marble in the middle of supreme vastness ? sure, it could all be random, but I would rather think a hand is moving things behind the scenes, I’m probably wrong, so what… in the end it does not matter, so I choose to believe my life has meaning…
particle evolution… (probably a bad title for a post, but accurate)
so then,
I am of so many leaves
when my winter makes the call
even me, a summer’s child, after all
I am so, just a grain of sand
lost in great swaths
moved by airs and seas;
I am just a lost fingerprint-
in the generations of humanity
a molecule of a mind
once mine
destined to rise again
but never to this form
myself, this again
so then,
will I travel the universe
as a particle
burst out when our sun’s end sets
to coalesce, perhaps
to exist, perhaps
once again
so then, I wish
to become
I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
rain dance…
I wish the whimsical
I pray, I dance
on the drum skins of the old gods
lying forgotten in the thunderlands
I shout out, in trance
to transform this grassy prairie
into the bounty of lush forestlands
may brooks break the backs of the deep plates
and carve-cut out the roadways
for life to venture out upon
quench the sponge until overflow
from bird to bee, proliferation
all manner of life, let this be
notes… one of those that snuck into my skull, I found myself in ancient america at the foot of the grasslands, and wondered what it would have looked like if forest had extended outward coast to coast.. so this is that work…
find your place, a nook, an escape, if even for a moment…
on calming waters
the ripples freeze-frame slide and hypnotize
a gull, on a rock, outcrop
two swans act as ostriches of the loch
the simplicity; the serenity;
moves me, sways me, fades me
on calming waters
distorted reflections like impressionist paintings
another world lies, there a-waiting,
to dive in and cleanse my soul,
shed my common clothes-
for a-while,
the hands of the mother, curved earth basin
cupped vessel filled with the universal
for water is life revealed in a mirror
from which we walked, from which we waked
from which we came; yes
on calming waters
a goose and child forage grass-ed edge
unaware of politics or the foibles of men
for this sense ties not to clocks
but perhaps to ancient sun dials,
sweeping ripples, eyes to follow
one by one, out to the horizons
gone, like my words- fallen to the shore
how many have whispered, the worship here before
and let their depths be drowned
for spirit rise, to be cleansed
for the return, to the dominion of men.
only to fall back, into the mud brick laying
the paving, straw and mud, and the modern spoke turning
the drudgery of construct- a yoke
until again
those calming waters call
until then, until that baptismal pause
shall bring renewal, from mother’s hand
notes… so I wrote this in the parking lot of a church, it was raining so I didn’t get out of the car, but this is my spot, right on the franklin lakes reservoir, it is my spring, my fountain, a spot I can go to and escape the every day right under the thumb of the every day, so I recommend you find one… or better two… or nine, sanctuary to let nature drain the stain of normal life off your pelt… it helps…
lost.love.letters.
‘statements of stalemates’
the erasure of love
the slow descent
the disappearance
the failing specter
the fabric of life
begins to falter
the path has come
to no end
in the dark.
the onus of shame
the trees, their looks bear down upon me
a whole row of judges bent the same forward
their stoic state confirms
they feast rightfully on my shame -;
peddlers of the rain-
the rumblings resonate in the scrum of my ancestors,
a small-broken bird lies, in a puddle, flat mirrored frame
surrounded by lily pads of cherry blossoms fallen
a bloodless crime-
not drowned but that of a twisted neck
captured now placed unto that final nest,
I contemplate the darkening-looming
and attempt to tabulate the celestial math
but I have no means to the master
for I am locked in the strands of man-
for- I am.
notes… this is one of those more cryptic ones that just came to me as is… so, this is how it is… the inspiration was a bunch of trees planted in a semi circle, they looked down at me, or so I felt/thought, and so it was….
Shades of My Garden 