“guardian“ am I an observer in your hall a light embedded in the wall a light post to light your way around the corners to banish shadows so you might step confidently forward and around vigilant in my stay my light always upon you from my place of servitude unnoticed, I bow to you if only to light your way forward for you may be on your way in safe good light my light underfoot
notes… this can be taken a few ways, literal (as a light), a guardian angel, or also someone who works in the background for the betterment of someone else. How you take it is your decision but I wanted to articulate all it meant to me when I wrote it today, in a fever dream, ok, when I was chilling out and listening to the classical station on my TV…
music… maybe my post makes more sense that I was listening to this… (and usually I hate operas)
at this moment the sun is veiled behind a mass of pulled cotton and slowly revealed, in setting an everlasting bulb, I might wish a night wish to witness the super nova that will end all, here at least for at least in that end I will have one more moment to share with you, my love before that great end, with you.
notes… I think we all have fantasies about such, maybe not, but probably, or at least us artistic types, or those of us that live in our head, it is probably better to be an automaton, maybe, I vacillate between wanting to be ignorant and the knowing… but I really don’t have a choice anyway, unless someone bashes me in the head with the proverbial frying pan or age robs me of my rapier whit… I just need to breathe in deep and accept everything, not surrender mind you, but just accept things as they are and concentrate on what I actually have control over… and let go of which I do not.
talk about evolution, I imagine many fans of this band are like WTF? but… they are so good musically and show it here, I like that they have evolved completely away from the start, static is boring, I hate boring…
moonlight shoulders silken folds painted toes nestled in bermuda grass like a tree reborn resplendent in your season my love and I will remember you thus with star dust molded into your form mapped upon the sky a constellation forever more my love undying for even after the light of humanity fails there you will be my love among the stars framed around my heart to uplift my soul with the love of light for all time beyond.
this brings me back to days of my youth, my father had a “provisions” route back in the day, and when I was off from school I went to work with him, in essence a provision route worked thusly, my dad (with me in tow) would travel to the meat processing plants and supply warehouses in Elizabeth and Newark NJ, pick up the raw product (whole briskets, fresh chop meat, huge wheels of cheese, snack products, fries, deli salads, condiments, you name it), and then deliver them to local bars, taverns, restaurants, and yes, the occasional strip club (we’ll get to that detail), remember there was no Costco or Restaurant Depot, it was a good business from the turn of the century forward but of course it was phased out by progress like many things, my dad had this big yellow truck, it was like driving around with the mayor of every town, I swear he knew everybody, smiling and waving like we were in a parade as he drove, he knew all the cops, all the weird locals in all the bars, “Hey Freddie K!” was just this accepted mantra, what did I know, I was a kid, I wish I was more astute or paid more attention, the amount of inspiration for character study was astounding then, some of the experiences seem so strange now that I recall them to write in these words, the smell of bars as the sunlight first hits the witness wood floors, a sort of mix of barf, beer, mold and pine cleaner evaporating, you could see dust particles floating upwards in the light, questioning drunk eyes watching, walking into a strip club before they open as an eleven year old and my only want was a quarter to play the latest video game, I am not sure why but strip clubs and bars always had the latest/newest video game cabinets back in the day, we are talking early 80’s so video games were new, hell I remember Street Fighter coming out and freaking out over it (although I am admittedly a Mr. Do man), seeing the help (ahem, strippers) getting ready (into their outfits), pinching my cheeks as I was so darn cute, but I paid it no mind, it just was, I remember Cheeques in Linden had the best damn hamburgers ever, well, they should as my dad was delivering fresh chop meat direct from Magnolia Beef, where I would see things made, you know, meat parts literally being ground down in front of me, half dead whole animals on hooks being pushed around to the various processing stations, I still remember the cold smell of dead meat, the places were cold, really cold, my dad and the workers had these white coats, and then there was the sound of the hamburger patty machine, ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk, and then paper slapped between the patties, then a case is made, rolled to the bottom and this crazy wire tie machine thing would seal the box with two ties, and then we would pack them in the truck for delivery that day, learning to use a hand truck was second nature, a wonder all these memories, someone might look at me now and see none of this, a poet, a writer, a philosopher, a nerd, who cut his teeth in the bowels of urban central new jersey’s blue collar belly, I wonder how it shaped me, or was I already there…. hum?!?
Lyrics to the song, poetry if you ask me…
“I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you and I sing you a moonlight serenade Let us stray till break of day in love’s valley of dreams Just you…“
I sat there, in too much obviousness, sometimes when you are trying to meditate, or clear your mind, you try to hard, in fact you try, that is the problem, there is the confine of time, I get it, I am the same, I have this confined space to get into my right mind during my lunch break, I like to think of music as a trigger, to allow my mind to linger and then fade into the background, I did not do a good job of it today, I was thinking about an upcoming wedding, a young cousin, the same age when I fell madly in love without the groundwork I have now to understand and worship the ground, I thought I might dedicate a poem to them, some wisdom, from me, the fool, but certainly weathered and known, of course I will cut a check to them as is custom but I would rather do something memorable outside of candelabras and the usual like… I wrote this, perhaps a start, it was my thought at the moment, in the moment, so, why not…
love is two stones in a brook where over the water perfectly flows shared experience coincided time fate in a window of all that could have ever been in billions of ever gone and since two stones in a brook side by side
notes…. I hope it makes sense to them, or maybe the ramblings of an older man who may understand or may be reaching for once what was, and perhaps what will be, once again, I hope
This april shower feels more like a november rain, the gentle rapping of manicured fingertips sounding on my windshield, not a down pour by any means, just enough rain to confuse my intermittent wiper instincts, back and forth, back and… forth, forth, back, I settle in medium, I scan the radio digital dial, rise my eyes north and traffic is negotiating with a halt, I keep my foot set to brake, I settle on the classical channel, on comes a violin concerto by mozart, it does not seem to matter which one, tail lights flare and glow, diffused and suspended in this wet prism, organized embers from a thousand volcanoes sizzle just above ground level, and the world seems, to…, slow down, like a well made movie, the musical score underneath sets the tone, the rotating yellow beacon of the tow truck reaches across three lanes, like a lighthouse that has arrived too late, I feel calm, then passing past the scene ups the pace, perhaps this music has me held in a trance, my thoughts drift and float away from the sea of red angry eyes, in fact, they seem more now like a string of xmas lights curling around this asphalt pine,
and inevitably my thoughts wander, to her, wondering what she is doing, if she is merely ok, knowing I can do nothing about it either way, a helplessness not ameliorated by my own guilt or shame of actions, I am cursed with a superb memory, I recall most all things, words, deeds, moments, the feel, that moment the morning I left, that gentle kiss to your forehead, the day my hope became terminal, these are my own monuments hewn by my hands, my own doing, whether that is good, bad or mightily indifferent, matters not in this hour or ever, sometimes the punch of this inflicts an illicit reaction of tears, sometimes a wry smile, sometimes a sheer bathing in the warmth of light, of joy, of rejoicing, I realize, for some never get the chances I have had, I know this, but the road I have chosen certainly has taken a toll and the miles long, long ago. You are still and will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, even if the chance to say so has been lost to time. (concerto ends, radio host interjects with some not so clever quip)
another accident over there, in the express lane, another tow truck on the right shoulder, amber lights spinning, I am back to the real world, driving home, under a sky with no stars, a bleak mess I think, and then… it stirs, “but I have to believe, I must believe – there is hope in all things, I am alive.”
Notes… I wrote this like many things, in my head while driving, literally on the go literature (reciting the lines and ideas in my head like a mantra), scribbled down in my journal at the clark rest stop, in the rain, and somehow it made me feel a little more sane, at least for a time. There is always hope… I hope.
music… time to chill out/meditate and turn up the bass ! check it…
*all thoughts, comments, criticism, questions (and spanish rice recipes)… are ALL appreciated my friends, thanks for the look either way even if you think I suck, I can only be me G…
sometimes it is your heart that plays tricks, which is truly the vessel with which you see things ? or is it a symposium of the mind, heart and eyes… or a want for that perfect grail, that simple carpenter’s cup that can heal all? (I wrote this poem originally 6.18.18)
notes… how do you re-wire yourself? Or fix your own wiring? Is it even possible? I know the love I speak of I destroyed by my own hands but have always felt it was still there, even if nascent, am I right that she was the “one” (probably not), so many things had to happen for us to meet, so many variables, different lifestyles (me moving 1000 miles from home), my soul feels instructed but my mind feels obstructed by the same thoughts, logic is a great thing but is by definition counter-intuitive and I remain (here). If you are looking for answers from me, don’t, I can only provide my experience for you to process. If that is what you are looking for to inform your world, than, welcome, and take a chair, can I offer you a drink? sit back, enjoy. (I wrote this poem 8.31.2018 but it only hit me now to post it).
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 ?
I knew, in the back of my mind, somewhere (in that dusty old space), among those piles of clutter, old magazines in a digital age, piled up like ancient grave markers but not as grand, more or less memories, piles of them, lying around, I figure I might use them one day, what day? probably never, but there is comfort in them, the familiar things, places I’ve been, they surely are not stepping stones, so I knew, back when this started, this experiment upon reflection, sitting out on the porch seemed like such a harmless predilection, so I knew, I told myself that this would one day (soon) seem like not the smartest endeavor, given the weather, I don’t mind the rain, but the cold, I tell myself it isn’t THAT cold, only 32, c’mon man you grew up here, be a man, toughen up, is it brave or tough to sit out in the cold? surely not, but was it worth it? for these thoughts.
notes… hey, it has been a while, I looked at my pay stub and I did 73 hours last week, sure, I don’t have kids, I get it, but 73 hours is a pretty rough week, and weak it made my writing, I have been remiss, but things ebb and flow, and so do I, I was inspired enough to post, and that is enough, for now, winter is the time of slumber, to burn lumber for warmth and more likely comfort, I am skating out to the end of the year, I just learned tonight that my uncle of age 91, fell, and is most likely done, he broke his neck, a man I worked for and respect, an intellectual (sharp as a tack), reduced to a bed ridden individual, I am not sure what will happen with my uncle sammy, that is his name, I didn’t plan to post about it, but that is what it is, I wrote the above earlier but my mind is now particular, at times like these we measure our lives against those, those who are passing, surely a life lived, but a life gone? still, it stings home. I will miss my uncle even if this is not his final night, but at 91 with a broken neck, facing surgery, do I pray ? I hope, but I know the outcome if not in this day, this is all from the cuff, my apologies, I just have to post.
Shades of My Garden 