a gentle snow falls…

a gentle snow falls…

christmas cold dark fog
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there is a calming in the falling snow, not a blizzard, just what you would order online, on cue, if you could, small flakes that barely leave a mark, just gracing the branches with a hint of white glisten, a calming, as if weaving a slow blanket across the land, all these pieces somehow in silent cooperation, no wind has come to ruin this show, no biting cold to chase these eyes inside to burrow in a blanket, so I may just stand here under a street light, watching the crystals cascade, like slow motion frozen captures of rain, holding out a hand to catch a glimpse, how this snow brings back rushes of memory, sledding, snowballs, snowmen, and cocoa, the worldly melts away as I observe this little truth, a smile emerges, mostly inside, with warmth, sometimes there is perfection in things, this is one of those nights, here under the street light, just being a figure in this slice, all the while around the floating down, there is calming in – this falling snow, I close my eyes and try to commit this to dream so I may recall this again.

a gentle snow falls
the calming snow does slow pause
this frozen moment


notes… I consider this part of my porch series, as I was engaged in the mundane, taking out the garbage but I was thrust into a snow globe, a nice one without so much shaking, I was consumed by how calm and beautiful tonight was, just a simple thing, maybe we forget, I am trying to stop and admire the world I am alive in.

which piece are you?

which piece are you?

chess chess pieces glass macro
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“chess”

send in the clowns
the fools who lead
sent out by crowns
the pawns in line
fall double first time
the king’s have their castles
and gold to trade
life is gained
ground is granted
suitors fallow
bloodlines planted


notes… written 11/13/18, slight chess metaphors but also not, of course “send in the clowns” is an obvious reference (well at least to me – but I also mean jesters), and that is how this poem started (ever been there, where one line just makes the others in your head?), it led me to think about how those in power send out those who are not (and I am not saying I would be above that if I was given the realm, being moral without the choice to not be moral is easy to talk about), back to the lines – pawns can move two spaces so that is the “double” reference, the king line is in reference to “castling” in chess (double meaning to me, you work out the details), then after I was kind of was mixing that with the way royal bloodlines have propagated over time (ahem, via incest)… am I explaining to much?  eh… I felt like it this time.  Sometimes rhymes have more than they seem, or at least hope to be.

Music : Thought Industry – My Famous Mistake

These boys were doing strange atmosphere way before it was cool (think Tool meets Helmet with prog tones)

And yeah… I have been keeping up with my Media Review page lately

dreams speak sometimes.

dreams speak sometimes.

red sun purple dream
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I step off into the night

flight into dreams

the visual crew

a familiar brew

and you,

peeking around the corner

my heart donor

wake me up before I go

tap my shoulder before I leave

pinch this dream and make it so

wake me up before I go,

promise me, my love, don’t go.


written 6.7.18, I was thinking of her again today so.  I also seem to forget about all these things written down these months in my journals (in pursuit of the new shiny thing), and yes, that is a WHAM! reference in there (I am a child of the 80’s after all) – and a Star Trek next gen reference (I’m such a nerd).  I think winter is dragging me down a bit, and work has me in loops, I am writing but I don’t seem to be finishing … ya here me my fellow writers/artists? yeah… you’ve all been there.  Sometimes going back can inform going forward, well, at least that is what I am telling myself (and you apparently).  I had an install in Yonkers NY last night, strange area, kind of nice but kind of not?  Totally strange windy roads, total hell in the winter with the degree of the hills. Anyway, thanks for stopping by.

music: Faun – Federkleid

I think I have posted that before but eh.. who cares, I was listening to it today for some inspiration, some came, but not a full boat, oh well, we will see what happens in the morn.

the faints of snow…

the faints of snow…

img_2517

faints of snow
trace on the outlines
by the wind

as if drawn
move of perfect form
slight of ice

at this simple act
crystals born
on time and again
to the earth and back
meaning found

and to know a place
moment still
of all that breath’s life
does find grace


Notes… this is the alter Haiku form 3/5/3 with some improv in there… I don’t know why sometimes I write this way when the muse so instructs me so. in the third stanza I am referencing that all water has been recycled countless times here on earth through history, we think of rain as some thing, but it is water that maybe was blood two million years ago, and the last stanza is about that everything finds an end, I hope that is peace, but I know it is an end, either way.

The composition of joy…

The composition of joy…

adorable autumn baby blur
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“might I come to understand
the composition of joy
like an alchemist
to turn the basest of thought
to that of golden bliss”


“the exposition of joy”

I had a good amount of time on my hands this morning (quite unexpectedly), as my usually terrible commute was especially more awful this morning (to the Nth degree), for the life of me I do not understand why an accident @ 1:40 in the morning impacts my commute @ 9am… clearly something is off, but anyway, enough with my complaining, as I said I was pondering the world, our earth, the pearl of this solar system as it were, looking out at my not so remarkable field of vision, and just a feeling of calm passed over me, as I watched some random flags flowing on some random bridge bisecting the turnpike, all the infinite things that had to occur in the billions of years of this universe for this moment to become a possibility, is this bliss? No. But what is? I wonder about the material composition of joy (if there is such a thing). We know we have a limited time parking our butts on this sphere but are we aware? What is the DNA of joy? Is it walking outside on a rolling grey day? I say “rolling grey” because that is how the clouds look right now, almost as if we were on the floor of the ocean, looking up, and watching the waves roll over, in some way we are under that ocean even if only atmosphere, the ocean of air, is this accepting fate, feeling my place in this great debate of atoms ? or am I swimming in waters with too much depth, after all I am just sitting here, in my car, on my way to work, the most common of things, but how many would trade places with me?  right now?  so surely I should have joy, in all this, in all things, regardless of the point, or my feelings, I need to channel this, because what is the alternative?


Notes: this was written back on wednessday, I had off today for the first time in almost two weeks, so, yes I was busy and neglecting my little corner of the multiverse here lately.  So anyone who read this, thanks, I hope it helps or inspires or at least makes your third toe itch. thanks.

sometimes looking back sucks.

sometimes looking back sucks.

ash beach bonfire campfire
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10.20.2018

I finally, look upon the ashes of my labor

the totality, the all is but none

the time spent building, gone

the moment to realize with flame in vein, instead

I can not walk the path back

I can not remember all choirs of turns that lead to all, this

nothingness

I will rebuild, but something less

as this, has levied a toll

more than these words may address


notes… I am an optimist and realist both… so sometimes I need to reflect.  I have made plenty of mistakes in my life, I hope to find happiness and also realize that the opportunities of youth are not there anymore, but yet there is hope, there is always hope, at least that is what I tell myself, I just hope that those I have wronged can forgive me, as I can not forgive myself.  I try to believe that regret or the past does not matter. But the past is what is written, it is there, it is done, it can never not be… and that is what bothers me most.  I know I can not change it… I can only change going forward, but it does not alleviate the past…  and should it ?

observational.

observational.

apartment apartment building architecture building
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I don’t know if this is a thing, and frankly I don’t care to google it… I call this observational poetry, meaning, I have a natural disposition to composition so… I might just want to describe a scene, is that not what some painter’s do with their brush? a landscape ? so here it goes…

12.17.2018 “sitting in a parking lot across from a building at night”

office building

a rectangle of squares

fifteen by three tall

the light is on in a corner

third floor

I wonder who is there

white car

two doors

is it theirs

some trees are black lines against the night

others bathed in false upright light

branches bright with no leaves to hide them

hover above patterns parallel parking lines

I can see the lobby

empty chairs

lights half on

all seems still

so calm

from the outside.

I back out of my spot

and move on


notes… been busy with life, when you work 6 days a week, every week art can be stifled, and also it is winter, and I am a bear in creative hibernation (actually I have a ton to get to but I can’t seem to get to it).  I admit I have fear about running out of ideas, but I am actually hindered by not giving my ideas the time to germinate sometimes, usually I am on the spot and so damn immediate, but inspiration comes and goes, or perhaps my drive goes through throes, there is so much out there to inspire, even in this little space I occupy, here (and I try to remember that).

music – temple of the dog – hunger strike

probably the best culmination of the “seattle” sound… I never loved Pearl Jam nor Soundgarden, but there was some real talent in that whole pool (Alice in Chains as well)… but this song… resonates, at least to me, and that is enough of an admission.

Thanks for all comments, follows, and corn bread recipes (although I would really like some deep cajun recipes).

more musing about stars…

more musing about stars…

sky space dark galaxy
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As you might know I am a stargazer and a SETI aficionado so it influences my work often, and this would be one of those works, when I think of topics things just flow, it is just the way I write, I mean, cmon man how can you not look up there and wonder! ?


1.2.19 “constellation”

if I might be a constellation
once a nebula in contemplation
expanding outward toward the never
procession onward with the season’s lever
all from a man’s eye might notice the change
and map these stars with lighted frames
magical creatures and mystical charms
our imaginings drawn upon cosmic forms
our first attempt to travel there
even if only to see beyond
but imagine a world outside our own
light that travels at the speed of dawn
still yet older than our ancient spawn,
might I be a constellation
and favor back
plot the earth with mine own tack
and see a marble of brightest blue
tracking cross my nightly view
and report to all in time’s sake
stories, myths, and legend’s take
upon that which what we devise
a range of spectrum in these eyes
to pass down the rumination of stars
the engine of pure imagination – ours

find beauty, everywhere.

find beauty, everywhere.

beautiful blooming blossom bright
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find beauty wherever you may go…(take a look)

12/31/18

in a flowerpot
admire all the beauty
even in the dirt

(OK, I went the haiku way which I usually don’t but when it writes itself, what am I to do ?)


there is nothing new about this year, it is another day, another chance, the ritual has value (renewal if you hold it true), but time, time, the actual thing “time” could care less if you are in summer bliss or winter hiding, remember this.  Take a breath, really, take a moment and (STOP) look at the most mundane of things and see the miracles residing there.  All the things that conspired in the course of history just for you to read these words (and me to write them) is an amazingly insane concoction… is it all just random?  maybe. maybe not.  I do not propose to know what creates these things but they are there if you look, it may be all science, and that is fine by me, either way the amazing exists right under our noses, our everyday snouts, if we care to look.

new year’s reflection.

new year’s reflection.

brown book page
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scraps we hold” 8.28.2018

a scrap of paper

a scrap of words

a scrap of film

is all you’ll have

when I’m gone

(and these electrical impulses).

I circle my index and thumb

together

as if searching for a grain of sand

or

of a trace of man – so soon gone.


life is a tenuous lot, be thankful for what ya got…