the song of spring awaits the gates of winter passing slumbers under forests waking snow is melting eyes now rise bulbs bear bursting
the song of spring awaits the grass the birth of seed for those once lost a sweet reprieve
notes… I could delve into the layers I was weaving, but nah, I am still working six days a week through all this covid madness, and back at work physically every other day, my job intersects the poorest and richest communities in the tri state area, I will literally be in Bed Sty one day and Franklin Lakes NJ the next (many NY Giants/athletes there – Go Giants, sorry, couldn’t resist, glad my parents were not Jets fans) … talk about interesting… and my specialty, self check outs (NCR), orders are out the door these days as you can imagine
joy! with joy! the uplifting the song of spring played up on Vivaldi’s strings the germination of possibility a rebirthing machine the seed shall touch lead forth to harvest then of joyous host this is the entrance, the start the promise of life from a new born star
notes… I went back into my notes from last year and found this little thing, spring was certainly different last year, and I suppose this reflects that, I must admit it brings back the memory of the glory of spring, the feelings, they were so muted this year, they are slowly creeping back, with a mask of course, kind of dipping a toe in the pool before moving forward… it is easy to forget how in a short time all this will be behind us, it will.
I woke up drowning caught in the undertow so normal now the flow and I am lost to the surface to the sun I wonder under without struggle further, further down from the sun surrounded by depths a siren of fathoms the light stretched hand spires in flight can not even guide these hands, lost hands no grip, no will, slides down a hole why was I asleep at all I would rather never have known
notes… I have said it before, but it bears repeating, I had some serious asthma attack when I was in my teens, I am talking turning blue and barely making it, being pumped full of adrenaline so hard that I walked around my house for 96 hours straight without sleep, no complaint, that is barely hardship compared to some but damn it made an impression, breath, we take it for granted, even me, but I have been on the other side of it, and I expect it to kill me honestly, I think we all romanticize our own death, slipping away in our sleep while whispering to our loved ones, it is rarely like that, I waver now and again, sometimes I want to be the wolf in the face of it, knowing what is happening and fighting to the end, I used to want to die in my sleep and not know… but reality is… I will have no choice how it goes.
titles and lands befall faith to leave a legacy for crown and cape belong shroud a tapestry cover-all chapters written by the sinners winters won, castles stone high, blue bloodlines pulse in reign across those european plains and yet mighty disease may pass black the night black the mass for even this creeping death kneels! before the many thrones a monarch, and his court of butterflies with iron horses of noble might upon the back of serf shall the break for the glory of titles, lands, imperial weight all glory to the king all hail to her the queen caste out upon the scene records top down history ground into down under plow for the common folk unmarked burials fields of nameless flowers even now, even now
notes… I did go through a mild medieval obsession at one point (college), I actually collect swords as well (medieval and japanese mostly), kind of like art to me, if you want really good stuff check out Kult of Athena, great site, not a plug, no money for me, just a recommendation, and in terms of medieval literature you have to read the letters of Heloise and Abelard… maybe one of the most romantic things ever… for us dreamers anyway, And would be remiss if I did not throw out some darts of thanks for the love, likes, eyes, and all else. I write for me and just put it out there, no agenda, just take it or leave it, I am glad there is anyone (you) who takes their valuable time to read it. We are all stuck here on this planet right now for some reason… or no reason, but we are here together at this exact point in time, all of the universe made this happen, pretty neat my friends… thanks.
“there is no safe room in which to abandon to the light of day, nor the ire of night cares not what struggles beneath the universe does not discriminate fate has no favored prey”
notes… be safe but also be prudent as to the ways of the universe, we are but a cog, we exist, and the universe deemed us necessary in the history of all things, take some solace in this…
I saw an older man sitting straight on a bench hands in black jacket pockets facing the cold lake solitary confinement for being outdoors on this coldest day of may
notes... (haiku feel, ya feel me?) this was a record breaking day here, granted our weather records do not go back that far really but anyway, it was cold, I was driving to grab some dindin after work kicked me in the ass and head (you would think I would learn to be able to zen it out by now), and I hit… a squall, as in snow, seriously, my car read 33 degrees, that is pretty low for may in these parts, I was driving by one of my favorite spots in my local little world and listening to the recording below… (classical music is good decompression you know, well, at least for me, and that is generally who I am concerned about, go figure…)
the gallery of the cherry blossoms hung among this, the haunted spring for if march showers bring promise we can not await their offering in the quiet of april showers quarrel more prayers wait for the arrival of the summer sun
notes… haiku feel (for me), sort of, one of those as I say ‘wrote itself’, sometimes I feel like the words come from somewhere else, I could take all the credit, but when I think about it the universe has collaborated to create me at this instant (and you, incidentally)… so, a lot had to happen for this little post of words, and it actually did…
upon the entrance of coventry dawn
forced to march single file toe
asked to be masked identities known
filed past great strong walls silent
such walls with no signs, but stained with mandate
while on the outside the great thousands die
the weak, the old, the ill –
those who can not pay up the price,
and there on massed in great coventry hall
those huddled with luck, a buck and more
for all the protection this frail fort proceeds
all but will with a tiny breach
to crash down with vicious might
a wave, a break, the weight of blight
in that previous moment of told hope
within the seed of doom a fire took
for this dragon has teeth we’ve seen
the world has turned time into a stretch on lean
the privilege of life has but one catch
survival has born down to just one match
notes… to show you how strange inspiration is… the first line of this poem literally just ‘came to me’, I had no idea what it meant, and then I googled “Coventry“, yeah, strange, it all made sense in my head after that, and as I always say my poetry is what it is, I have always gravitated towards the classical models (shelley, lord Byron etc.)… so for whatever reason, if there is one I write this way, why fight it? There is no right way to do art, just produce your art from within, listen to yourself, you are literally billions of years in the making, might as well make your mark, my friends…
Shades of My Garden 