just driving to work… wrote this, kind of word play, but touching on themes (as I seem to do). Drive by art…
edit 6/21 1:05am… cleaning this up for looks, maybe I shouldn’t but dammit I can not help myself.
6.20.18
poison
poi
son
hawaiian
volcanoes
equalize
What holds us back? Mostly ourselves. I am not claiming to be better or an authority on how to live. In fact the more I think about life the more confused I get. How in the ever loving world am I supposed to understand another person? We are all an amalgamation of very specific ingredients and experience coalesced into this singular experience. That is of course why we gravitate to our own tribes. Nothing spectacular there… so the question becomes how to break these walls? I could say it takes courage… but does it really? We all find our comfortable couch and love the familiarity… I am just as guilty but I see it, I see me… I want to burn like a hot stick of dynamite in the world, I am sure I have it in me… but what holds me back? or you ?
Here is something I wrote today… as is my usual jaunt this is a one take piece (literally, I thought about live posting the writing which I may do in the future)… I wonder if I should work on my work or just keep throwing out what I pen immediate. I know I could improve some words, some rhythm for sure… but should my poems be perfect … as I am surely not? I should let go of the fear.
“grounded” 6.19.18
I am a bird
grounded
shattered bones
feathers burned
scarred
torn
lying in a broken pile
of my own filth
dying-
-reflection
cast glint
glassy eyes
penetrated by the sadness
deadened by the masses.
Music? Yeah.. I got that… Paradise Lost “As I Die” … PL has been one of my faves for .. damn, that long now? I always thought this is the direction Metallica should have gone.. not the crappy one they have… I love Paradise Lost because of the name (obviously you poetic Milton freaks).. and they change sounds almost every album (even an electronic one! the awesome “Host“). I swear they should hire me as a publicist… well, maybe not.
Sometimes less is more (or so I have heard). I have a busy mind which runs and races. There was a time I tried to subdue this engine and be “like everyone else”… but I am tired of that and willing to release the reins to see where it goes. I used to have strict things in mind when it came to poetry… what exactly is it ? Is there a pure definition? I imagine it is alive, like people, and diverse, like the community of minds here (and throughout the known world). So even a simple form of simple words can hold the spark of imagination, the fire of inspiration, and capture the heart or light a thought… I wonder.
6.16.18
ego
broken
humble
6.16.18
I thought I had found
a four leaf clover
but I had
no such luck
6.16.18
fierce in name
the fear subsides
once you realize
dragonflies
do not bite
“dial” 4/26/18
why does it feel
like my sun is setting
when the clock-hands
only show noon
“dandelions” 4/27/18
last night
maybe three, four at most
this morning
a yard-full
of brazen yellow heads
threatening revolt
5/6/18
I look at my driveway
the only car is my own
I walk back inside
there is no one at home
5/14/18
power lines
bring light to millions
enlightenment to few
“ineffective” 5/22/18
a week
I weep
I pray
I fall
nothing changes
nothing at all
5/25/18
if time is a river
swim to the bank
dry off
does it stop
do you exist
“regrets” 5/28/18
the stem was cut
before the flower can bloom
now it will never be
a flower
“scheduled arrival” 6/2/18
I am sure
upon my death
I will arrive
right on time
“pain” 6/1/18
if this poem is a promise
these words are poison
stitched into wounds
forever broken
musical accompaniment ? Eric Johnson – Fatherly Downs
In the same breath EJ inspires me.. and makes me want to throw my guitars out the window…
whimsy. I have two whole days off (a rarity) so I will be out and about here in New Jersey digging for fossils… yes, you can do that here. One of the best kept secrets of NJ (ahem, besides myself) is Big Brook Park. You are allowed to just hop in and dig (so I do). But anyway here is a silly little thing I threw together the other day while looking at my stat page (as most of us surely do here on wordpress). Surely this is an inside joke for wordpress folks only… so, find art wherever you may roam (or blog).
“login” 6.8.18
wordpress
my domain
free with a plan
upgrade
menu
view site stats plan
manage
pages and posts
counting visitors
coveting followers
as close as I come to “commercial” music… R.I.P. Shannon, saw these guys at woodstock 94 (maybe I will tell you about that sometime, I wonder where Jodi is…hope you are well out there!), they were great… “No Rain” – Blind Melon
Ah, the lonely poet contemplating the one… yes, that one. Something that seems unattainable from the outside looking back. Yet… the old adage of better to have loved and lost becomes a friend.. or a mantra, or a lie we tell ourselves. I do not know if I will (or can) have anything that pure again.. the circumstance of youth and confluence of events seem like a tale that I made up in my head.. but yet, can I trust in age and experience (perhaps a little help from the universe). I am searching.
“book dedication” 4/7/18
to my one love
she is more than light
to see the way
more than breath
that fills my lungs
she is the gravity
that holds me
to everything
I will love you until the stars fade black.
dmk honest Note: I imagined I was commissioned to do a book of my poems… and I would want this to be the dedication as she is my inspiration even if I am no longer hers.
“Thoughts: On Franklin Lakes Reservoir” 4/7/18
lakes have a different voice
even when played by wind
not quite the lion’s roar
a bit more than a kitten’s purr
four quad geese patrol the known expanse
not quite an ocean
yet at once foreign and vast
the town, the road
off the far shore
all seem calmer from the distance
under the rhythmic song
of waves
one before after another
(2)
so here, sick with solitude
within everything ever created
before and past
waiting for you, ever for you
4/7/18
you were there
as our sun rise
ascending into the sky
and only those below
could worship and bask
in our glow, bathing bright light
our course crashed
like an eclipse slow burn
deepest shadow cast
in no light time has no thought
no life
unfurls in this night
now I look for you in this twilight
searching for you before my final night
yet I know right where you are
and you could not be much further
from my arms
beyond my reach
and my heart
the sun has set
as it will
helpless, helpless
ever still.
4/13/18
inside your love is still resident
at times like a cozy blanket
in the grip of my winter
or a bed of nails
as a pointed reminder
as I have tried to block and suppress
to forget
why does it plague me
so long now after I’ve left
moments years of regret
beg, I beg to forget
cycles of sun rises and sun sets
never leaving my soul to rest
musical machination for the moment…. “It’s Love” by King’s X
Of course I am saying “sexy time” in my Borat voice…. makes more sense that way (and amuses me). I don’t write about sex or sexual innuendo often, certainly not as often as I think about it (as if I have that much free time). Nothing pornographic… which is odd because I could care less about suggestive or out right lewd language. So here is 2 poems that just kind of happened .. the equivalent of a one night stand in terms of my poetry given what usually gets my pen to stand on end. (and I quite liked these poems as I wrote them or maybe it was dictated to me by the universe in one full sweaty stroke of my hand)
“room for 2” 4/4/18
as I stand there
as I bathe in you
the woman of my dreams
every contour and every seam
tailored for my hands
small of back
I place my hands
a burst of sweat
as fingers rise to shoulders
I pull you in
closer, closer.
“we meet” 6/1/18
our skin meets
I know your temperature
I know your scent
lips pressed
firm, wet
body lines
hands glide
slide
inside
you shudder
soft moan
drawn close
nibbled lobe
whispers exchanged
desires, explode
dmk note: I hope you caught all the double entendres in my intro… if not, shame on you.
musical selection, one of the goddamn sexiest song I have ever heard… “Minus the Bear: White Mystery”, no mystery, turn up the volume and be with the one you desire
Not sure if there is such a thing. I am trying though for what it is worth. I think deep down (or not really at depth) we all know what we should do but we actually do moment to moment varies. If everyone moved in a certain way the world would surely be better… but is that the way everyone thinks? or stops to think? or should think ? Sometimes I look around and think everyone here is dead, more or less true.. so what does it matter? I guess I am searching for the answers also. Smarter and wiser people than I have pondered these questions and will… for ages. Maybe words are my sanctuary or at least a temporary refuge.
“unfamiliar” 4/1/18
I saw a creek I do not know
I have driven this stretch
of the parkway
a thousand fold
a body of water
a basin of life
flows into a forge
becomes a river
and the sea
begins
off mile-marker 131b
dmk Note: Mile markers or more specifically exits on the garden state parkway (GSP) are a very new jersey thing. For us there is a common occurrence “hey, where are you from? what exit?”. I do not claim to know if other states are like this. The GSP runs like a spine and in a way is the spine of the state from tip to toe or point to cape (as it were).. it is a part of being from this state as much as being New York’s little brother.
“easterly” 4/1/18
my neighbor’s easter chatter
in their backyard
a letter to another neighbor
washed up on my lawn
from these late spring storms
I return the lost parcel to the plastic mailbox
filled with mail already
how odd (for a sunday)
I’ve known this place
my whole life
familiar
a woman
walking her dog
whom I do not know
easter is letting out
as my neighbor’s family disperses
to travel to their homes
“goodbye grandma” a little voice
followed by the heightened whine
of the minivan pulling up the block
the sun is almost set now
peeking behind fifteen lynnwood
I guess I had not noticed
the buds on the trees
ready to burst and transform this tract
once and again
from pale green slumber
to lush with leaves
soon we’ll have summer
there is always hope
I tell myself.
“poison” 4/3/18
a toxic house is poisonous to all inhabitants
walls pulsing seething
membrane
throbbing beating
even in the calm still of night
labored – breathing
constant – pounding
never – sleeping
doors closed, air stifles
cripples motion
throats crack
strangles the air
choking choking
4/3/18
are you a wolf?
no
but yet you hunt
are you prey?
no
but yet you are stalked
As is my custom (and my burning desire to spread good tunes) here is some music to enjoy… “Steve Morse – Modoc” … known well in musical circles (one of my favorite guitar players) but outside those circles probably not so much.
A truly American spirit. I wanted to lighten the mood a bit today (lovely day in the northeast USA). So here is some amusing musings on Bourbon. Why? I recently scoped out a cool documentary about the drink: “Neat: The Story of Bourbon“. Like a good documentary should you wind up having a good time and learning a thing or two. So with that in mind here are some booze inspired numbers for your consumption (and mental inebriation). Live life, love life people.
6.7.18
Bourbon
makes great friends
but a poor alarm clock
6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and neat
and the while later
crooked crossed feet
6.8.18
Bourbon
screams and kicks
fiery
and down the hatch
time plays
one eye opens
who is this person in my bed?
6.8.18
Bourbon
straight and slick
burns the tongue
for only quick
tap on the shoulder
from you know who
temptation bout reach for more
but one more knock
you’re on the floor
Musical choice? OK… I’m going to be obvious here… “George Thorogood – One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer (Live)”
Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated (unless I am in a foul mood… then all bets are off)
The universe has a way of sending words into my mind and then to my pen (quite literally I scrawl in journals I have stashed every which where). The inspiration today is not so inspiring (Anthony Bourdain, a fellow New Jersey traveler). Sure, we all will buy the farm at some point but somehow the prospect (and specter) of suicide deadens even a beautiful spring day. Spring should be the time of blossoms not burial.
6.8.2018
suicide
the right to die
on your own time
but what about those
you leave behind
6.8.2018
springtime
for blossoms not burials
but for you my friend
you decided
this is the end
so hope at least
the peace you seek
is yours to grasp
to ever last
6.8.2018
demons in the rear view mirror
much closer
than they appear
Music… Boa “Rain”
I really did not plan on posting this the day before the Belmont Stakes (really, I swear). I wonder where inspiration really comes from. Divine spark ? (as it were). I have always sort of written poems in these veins… sort of like Ozymandias (one of the first poems I really remember striking me). This is another work that is word for word (sans punctuation) exactly what I jotted down in an instance (inspiration – Divine Equine?).
“once a stallion” 3/28/2018
I was once a glorious Stallion.
thundering through fertile fields,
as carved in stone
from the Roman age
power , engraved
in a glance
my mere stance falls tall
cast of my shadow confidence upon
in the noon sun hour
glistening to behold.
DMK note: R.I.P. to Anthony Bourdain, I suppose we have all contemplated suicide but it still comes as a shock when we see someone who seemingly “has it all” go that way. Take happiness where you can get it… and hold on to it… as long as you have breath you have hope.
Shades of My Garden 