memories etched in oak. //k\\

memories etched in oak. //k\\

and there, on the ground
I was not expecting you to appear
a ghost of oak and passed
a flash, lightning grasps the synapses
a bolt, a soul past
a page again revealed, open tome
and harken back, for she was alive then
there is nothing in this domain
no tree does remain near
no, this can not be here, not now, how?
nowhere in this cradle of maples exists
there was one but gone
the years, in creases
the sun, decreases,
the sin but to live longer than those loved
a traveler stained
tattered remains somehow stronger in the ruin
steel hardened under the constant cause of wounds
circumstance, fate
the great ghost oak awakens
the gateway, a marker
to this time of dying
so oak moon;
I know-
so oak moon;
I beseech you, I seek you
among the long of nights
for the respite of demise
may you grant wishes
upon, whisper
just whisper out, existence.

notes… sometimes the smallest things trigger a memory, this one in particular, I remember the day, much like today, not very remarkable, not very suitable, an early december rain, as I walked outside, I remember the crack, the flash, lightning arcing into that oak tree, the one that had always been, for at least my short life, FLASH! and the lightning arced out into the old basketball pole into the ground, the hair on my arms standing, the shock, well, the literal shock of being right there, seeing the death strike that killed that majestic old oak, and I remember her under that tree, and now all there is, is a patch of grass, not even a nice one, or uniform, many years have come and gone and the earth seems to hold the scar like my own, stump to root gone for so long now, but that little stretch of lawn, a scar, strange, maybe we are returned to dirt and something of us remains in that part, eventually it will all be plowed or something else, a street, a house, but for now, a reminder formed by the earth herself, and today, a subtle reminder brought in by a breeze, I literally do not see any oaks around but there was a singular leaf, a note, left there for me, and then these words came to be….

(for those new to my blog, welcome (and where ya’ been?), I write and post almost all in a whirl, off the cuff, the vast majority of what you will read here is done in one sitting, like I am doing now, flowing, that is how I do things, if you like? great, I appreciate your time, thanks.)

T2 … ~u~

T2 … ~u~

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a cup of tea, for one
just the thought of an actual formal tea set
brings pause, brings calm
but I have never met, such an instance
just on the tele, as they say
the tea-totalers, that is
our neighbors once lords and ladies;
and why do I not think of japan
a barrier of language, perhaps

I was thinking the day was dreary
but I looked up and there is sun
the mix of peppermint and honey on my tongue
is like a sauna, the sun draws out
the steam fills in, I can imagine the release
of water evaporating on the rocks
the audible nature of transformation

I am glad tea is not instant
or at least not mine
directions, steep for awhile
time to contemplate
a pause, a calm

notes… am I drinking more tea these days? well, yes, yes I am, maybe it is a ritual that will keep my head on straight in these crazy days, I have tried talismans of various sorts but right now tea seems to be the brakes I need on speeding forward…

a quick reflection… {()}

a quick reflection… {()}

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now you have gone and done –
well, you are gone
I sip my tea
yes, I am known more for quaffing coffee, as you know
but a sip or two, of you, I’m thinking of
just now, a gentle pause, a smile
a wish on lips, to you being here
but at least I had a glimpse
and you are so very far now, by miles
but not knitted up my smile
as I think of you now
a sip or two, a cup of tea

notes… a kind of in the moment thing as I was having a cup of tea this morning @ my desk, looking out at the very non inspiring industrial tinged streets of Hackensack NJ…

Resisting the Poison (a return from the land of lucid dreaming) (@)}(@)

Resisting the Poison (a return from the land of lucid dreaming) (@)}(@)

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is it possible? I feel different today (and yes my coffee has settled in), I mean, I always feel different after a few days off, but something, something has shifted, I feel it, I swear it from the bottom up, toes up spine down, is it days of optimism (ahem, and rest) welled up? perhaps, has not the usual office grime whiped off on me enough, yet? the dreary drive through driving rain (check), am I different from just a few days ago? what has changed? not much, really, something about perception versus reality I suppose, but … I just don’t know, I feel different, hopeful, even downhill among these moguls thrown out in front of me like field mines in all our lives these days, all is well, hell, not anything has changed really but a sunrise in my mind, I spent a few days dreaming, now, you might think I am joshing, no, I literally spent a few days involved in lucid dreaming, an experiment, to the best I could manage, or drive, I visited Hawaii I tell you, certainly not but my mind touched that spot, surely, I can not describe how I did thrive in that environ, especially since it was the whole cloth creation of my imagination, never been to the real place, regardless of the weather outside, the actual weather, there I resided, for a time, snuggly warm inside the real, closed my eyes with a purpose, guidebook in hand mind, as to where I might go, my own ship to steer, and so I did, some of this was mundane, arguments over meals, details about rooms, the usual insane things in our normal day to day even on vacay, but other times, I was indulged, to see friends and former, others and lovers, the never hads and the used to be familiars, it was all there at the fingertips of instant writing memory, as I went and experienced, and so real, what makes it less real? I woke from excitement, anger, passion, and rolled over for more, as the hours went, a day spent, in another world, somewhere I had not been before but could populate so easily with my mind, a charm, the shore, the breeze, the personal interactions, conversations happened, all of the recall, I could quote chapter and verse although, I wrote this journey as I went and came in REM worlds, as real as spent, and today, back in that chair, that desk, that office, I look out my window, birds traveling from rooftop to rooftop… (as have I)

“…in pieces slide, pieces slide out, we are a puzzle with nothing to solve but ourselves.” – some guy aka me

I stand at the gate and the song my heart sings is of the moonlight
I stand and I wait
for the grace of your hand
to cover the moon
the roses are blushing, a moonlight seranade

the stars, how they glow,
and tonight how their light guides my dreaming,
to you, my love,
do you know? of course you know,
my whispers in your ear streaming,
like the meteor shower above
this earth, and these heavens combined,
has brought this;
a moonlight serenade

let us stay here, as long as time
in this place of mind,
a valley of shared dreams
you and I,
our hands the circle of space and mind
all else remains frozen but our waltzing eyes

so let me not wait to drift to sleep,
come to me in that tender dream
meet me at the gate,
so to sing a sweet lullaby,
a moonlight serenade
the song of my love,
as dreams are only life as made
my darling, my love;
a moonlight
serenade.

(now you tell me, how and where I went, and I might flash you a postcard, if only you can see it)

the black swan {{_p_}}

the black swan {{_p_}}

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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~

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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)

the kingdom effect… [-]=[-]

the kingdom effect… [-]=[-]

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I do not know
if I believe in a kingdom
without a king
or a monarchy
without a queen
or a fiefdom
without a thief.
a puppet’s head propped on a spike, proper
from towers to tillers
lest the hands forget;
the rise of a river
from up on the mountain slides
fed deep from the mother
underground wells ripen fruit
spent before, spent on high
to grace life on down the line, by line, the line
but drains out into a bog
a stinking cess of rot
quicksand kills, I’m told
but the bog is a python
squeeze and swallow charm
coils wrap, breath is shallow
and all the while
glaring down from gilded hill
the sound of glassware ringing
singing songs borne on broken backs
from where all bones wash white
so this, I tell, is civilized life

staccato style.

staccato style.

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a glass of bourbon
on the hotel balcony
by the beach
a poor substitute
for a family
night prescribed
perhaps I have not tried hard enough
the way the dice fall
always a pair
and this is autumn
how many springs and summers
will I
for surely less than more
night has calling
sunset missed, I blinked
midnight scrapped, strapped, a bedouin
lies in my bed, perhaps.

notes: I am in Cape May NJ this week, one of my escape hatches, but that does not always let me free of my thoughts, as they are, and so here they are…