phrase… (or phase) a moon enchantment…

phrase… (or phase) a moon enchantment…

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under the glance of the wax for I
sentinel of grace, in this- frozen- field,
a garden they say,
whispers of the fruit- hang
all this from the gate that did pour out
filling the mother burst with life
and all that adorns,
“choose, choose the light”
whispers on shade flight in the ancient tongue
woven,
in dna, in instinct, into cells as pathway ancestral lines
even on this cold stark barren plain
a sign, a scion of the daystar stands
for generations of man
for the furthermore
a fellow that travels, bags unpacked
a beacon, the only celestial within our reach
I pray,
give me warmth on this coldest of the nights of this life
make my hearth dance in joy and with fire’s delight,
whirling smoke swirls, a tribute
in chimney speak, rise up- spiral into the night,
let my dreams ride such a caravan
and visit with you- for but a moment
to press your shoulder- in a tender embrace
bask in the presence of long far and such past
eyes that have seen countless spin
a night, and day again, over
I wish to listen to your chorus
and lay
ear to, listen to, your chorus
as I become a phrase.

note…to those who don’t know, and a nod to those who do… most of my work is off the cuff, meaning instant, and so I do, I am experimenting lately with form and type, just feeling out the world with words, that is my hands molding the clay of the world around me… so, that’s it… and I thank you for the visit, all comments are appreciated, and I do mean all…

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun

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among the heavenly bodies we round
cycles
orbits
life rises, drowns and rises again
all in this procession
far flung on the flight wing of a galaxy
cast out in an endless ocean
can this be the only outpost of hope?
of life?
in all this, just a drift
an arm, a wisp of stars
our star, the one
the one we call, the sun
which has defined our direction for all time
such as can be counted and summed
in the presence of the sun
gives us a center
a ballast
a balance, with focus
a singular form in the form we always have known
our nook, our den
our private fortress
this little blue marble of life
a miracle boat afloat
in just this time
in my eye
to our minds
tethered to a galaxy drifting
our fate
lie and awake
open and closed in mother’s eye
all in this –
the presence of the sun.

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are we a marker, an outlier, an anomaly, can we be? just this little branch, this dash, this splash of hope dangling off a limb of one of endless-countless galaxies, can we be alone, even in our own stretch of these woods? the possibility, yes, the possibility is there, but I choose to believe otherwise; why? I could argue the numbers, the sheer amount of possibilities that lay forth with such numbers bound out into infinity, but something inside, a gut, a feel, an instinct, maybe foolish pride, maybe I want to believe we are not just dust on a mere wind blowing by, sure, that is a fair assessment, but what else? can we pretend to know everything, in our little stint, our production run here, the perspective is almost hard to fit, not long ago this was it, terra firma, just the earth, and now the discussions turn towards mars and beyond, but these are just the closest neighbors, there is so much more, where the voyagers have now gone, barely a scratch off the heliosphere, can this twist of tiny now fate be all? the trinkets on my mantle tell a story of a life that will be swallowed and gone, blink, and yet, we live on, multiplying, generations like a constant beating heart of creation, our self importance tethered to a rock, rolling around a common star, ours, as if the sun will blink when we are gone, or just continue on, until she too runs out of the gift, the surge, the power, the sheer will of chemical interactions will cease, and then what of these, these stories, these lives, what will survive if not beams, remnants, something beyond what can be held in hands and hearts, something more, something higher, and how will we know this transformation or communicate with the others? or is there nothing, just nothing, perhaps. but I would rather invest in the wavelength, the energy ribbon, the promise, of hope. of life. for we are alive now, nothing can change that, not even the stoppage of time, so I believe, choose to believe, we survive.

thoughts, from the porch…

thoughts, from the porch…

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the moon is in league

and so it descends, frozen invisible prison bars, a brisk cold, hints dropped like falling petals scattered earlier in these past weeks, the crisp bite of fall I called such, but now, full teeth bared gleaming white, the ring leader, the pied piper, reverse reflecting the sun’s light to dominate the sky of night, the stark dearth star, a cold dead desert hypnotizing our hemisphere into submission, sleep… a full moon, of course, conjured up’for hallow’s eve, just as the leaves have been stripped from many trees, that inescapable gaze blazes down on this landscape, no clouds, no shroud to hide in, no, open resistance, a brazen demonstration of barren isolation, Winter; that which slows life like a vice twisting in a thimble, at barely – a – pace, the feel has a beacon, a symbol, a scion, the brightest object in the sky as the world turns cold and colder, twist once more, snow, yes, snow, this morning there was snow, not the type to warm your heart on a christmas morning viewed from a cheery warm window sipping hot cocoa, no, dead falling, falling heavy wet white wolf pelts slapping on the windshield, letting you know the summer you once knew is quite gone, and certainly I did not outfit myself in the proper jacket to deal with this early assault, but no matter, I will not linger here, being stared at, examined, scrutinized, by that dead eye hanging in the sky, the cold isolation, the green of the world has peeled back in reflex, but I was watching, I swear I was watching this time, how did I miss this, the coming loud tide of the cold wave, my breath rises out up into space, drawn up by that nocturnal beaming thief, as I walk I feel the presence of being followed, stalked, tracked across the sky behind my shoulder, just over my shoulder, footstep by footstep by footstep, I notice my feet, the fallen, the fallen leaves are a patchwork quilt, in the day a beautiful sight, but night, now, wet and soaked, dank slippery wetness, the kind where you want to rush inside and peel off your drenched clothes, sit wrapped blanket by a fire, the brand of cold that turns skin blue, the body shrinks back into a shell, yes, the chills, run, run up the spine and through the teeth, chatter, I must devine that my ancestors were not of alpine stock, not if this is my evolved shock, even now, years worn down, years documented on my paycheck to this universe, still, some nights, the moon is a sinister beast, dead reveling in an earthly feast. (and so I retreat, cuddle up with my dog, and sleep)

an affirmation…

an affirmation…

light mountains sky night
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is the price of life
forgetting your past existence

for memories are energy, and there is only a finite amount, sure, the universe is larger than what we can wrap our current head around but everything has bounds, everything has limits, what if there is only so much to go around, kind of a more physics way of approaching the idea of the Guf, a universal recycling program if you will, less ashes to ashes more us to us, obviously you were meant to be, you are here reading this, so that is proof positive, matter is not destroyed but relived or reworked, energy is the same, there is only a finite amount of material, and then pause on the cosmic odds, your life, my life, so strange to consider that stars actually did align for all this, the entirety of all existence is culminated in your consciousness, the grooming of billions of years, bodies in motion, the cosmos endless ocean, to produce that note, that wonderful sound of you, you were meant to be born and live right now.

 

a little prayer of sorts…

a little prayer of sorts…

brown field under cloudy sky at night
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“I pray to the sun –
for guidance
to the moon –
to ease my mind
to the stars –
as a reminder of infinite possibility
to all these –
as all humanity once does once has once will
may the light become my pathway
until my heart beats still”

notes… not a religious thing, more of a spiritual thing, the more years I hang on this familiar mantle I try to just look out and observe all this around me, it is astounding, and yet so nothing compared to the everything, what a dilemma, but it teaches you to love what you have – not what you can never have, does it always hold? hey, I can only try, this is my first time at life (as far as I know), nothing is perfect, nothing is always 100% right, but damn there is beauty in this world I endeavor to enjoy…

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

photo of supernova in galaxy
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what if, the beams, the light, the starlight we have all known since we could look skyward at night, what if the light was actually a stream of information, a story, a history, an encapsulation of time, maybe it is but we have not the tools to access the data or comprehend the language, as we know – light from the stars we see now could be thousands or if not millions of years old by the time it pierces our eyes, so what if that is somehow a series of photographs captured in a light stream, an album, snapshots, a step by step catalog of a star’s life above from the past until the moment that instant penetrates our eyes and enters into the ripe groves of our minds, think of how generations of imaginations have looked up and wondered, since human kind began, is this all coincidence? the constellations drawn upon with lines, connect the dots, why? the draw, the fascination, perhaps our subconscious is reacting to an underground radio station broadcasting beyond AM or FM, there are parts of the universe far older than our young civilization, what fantastic tales might these reaches bring, stars are truly brilliant torches of inspiration swimming in the vast darkness… but are they more? so the more I look, so the more I yearn, to know, and in there lies hope, for all that, beyond our own.

notes… one of those things that bounces around my ole noggin being a space wonk that I am, the sky is easier to see these days here in suburban Jersey, although the views in rural Maryland where I disappear, er, I mean vacation at least once a year, are just spectacular with the naked eye (although I ponied up this year for a telescope, hopefully photos to come when I get good at it), but think about it, digest it, mull about it a bit, when you see a star you are not seeing a light bulb you just turned on, you are literally looking at the past, something from thousands of years ago or older, you are not looking at ‘now’… pretty mind blowing that just the night sky itself is not real, or at least not current for the most part, imagine if you walked around every day with eyes seeing ten years ago, 100 years ago, or so… well, we kind of forget that is what we are doing with the stars above… so chew on that for awhile my friends… oh and listen to some space rock care of my favorite Canadians (RIP Piggy, but the new guy is pretty damn good, this was the crux of Piggy’s guitar work imo, not that anyone cares but damn I will sing his praises until I’m gone, I like unicorns, so be it)…

an extended hand.

an extended hand.

hand touching glass
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if I could reach out my hand, as a receptacle, a device, a receiver, across the entire world, and touch all cultures, would I gain the answers? I imagine – I can out stretch my hand, more astral than physical mind you, outward, into the universe, as far as my imagination tethers or allows, for surely I can not imagine beyond my own imagination, even though the cosmos must probe past those regions I can not fathom, if I could reach out toward and into that infinity, even just for a glimpse of that all reality, what would I see? would that knowledge satisfy my human curiosity or make it billion fold explode, I wonder, all there is to see out there, in between the dead space, space, like death itself a web that holds us all in, a trap we can not escape, but life persists, even in the darkest of dark depths explored, and that is just here, on this one little sphere, I wish I could know more else, other worlds, other selves, surely life is out there, how could it only be here? if I only could outstretch my hand and touch the universe as a whole, I wish, and I dream it so.

The Marvel Marble…

The Marvel Marble…

so behold, that bright marble, a miracle, just another globe in a pantheon of globes in a universe of spinning discs of light, glass encased perfectly situated ball locked in an invisible dance, trance, with a sun and her children spawn, in the outer regions of one tendril of a galaxy’s arm, all racing along a hidden path with purpose, the macro, from afar, a small blue dot winks on the horizon of the heliosphere, and zoomed in closer reveals, an ant colony scrambling about with seeming importance, unaware of perspective, distances so great that they can not be measured nor traveled yet we bustle about, about this marvel of a marble, and from the down here we look out, with our clever inventions and intentions, our human projections, so slight cast out into that great expanse, the art, the gallery of god, strewn across a canvas so massive we will never see the whole cloth, or even the fabric onto which this vision is projected, the strings, imperceptible stitches, the concepts, all tie time together and flow, we can not be alone, for just the ornaments on this holiday tree alone must have some sliver of this gift, this life, so many forms travel on just this little darling of a marvel, this fascinating rolling marble, suspended by magical natural forces, we take them all for granted as they blanket us in wonder, whether designed or natural happenings, the definitions of impossible are quite shattered by our mere presence, there must be more out there, if even we have not seen all the flavors on our own planet, the depths, the dark, the corners un-found or lost for generations, drowned in magma, locked in miles of ice unseen, how much has been before and how much more to come, we are but a footnote in the grand procession, the thrust, the flow, the river of life as branches, arms, reaching in every direction, even to dead ends and new beginnings, life carves through this valley forever changing the landscape as we ballroom dance swing around mother sun, destructive nuclear fire, that yet brings life and desire, our desire, to thrive, inhabit, love, all on this, the blue, marvel marble, floating endlessly in the sky, in space, a womb of the most precious thing of all, life.

“my mind can venture where my body can not”

stitches, musing, and the day moon (I know, does not exactly roll off the tongue)…

stitches, musing, and the day moon (I know, does not exactly roll off the tongue)…

sky clouds blue half moon
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days like today are a welcome respite, the thermometer taking a break from the grasp of winter (albeit a mild one so far, I must admit), the temperature reaching up spring heights, the sun blazing down more like June, the sky that lovely shade of  absolute pure blue, ah yes, today should be different, will it ? I doubt it… Monday… glorious Monday… we dance… our dance…
I take my lunch break at the apportioned time, and begin to muse, or doze off, or both… head fades back into the pillow, or head rest, which is not as poetic…
so I bend to inner thought, are stitches just stitches or paths for where the fabric should go, all the arrows, the lines, the signs, all around us guiding the chaos, in this, this petri dish of our existence, from the smallest germ, up through the grass, into the trees, to humans walking these streets, to the birds that rule the air, sharing space with massive water vapor arrangements, up to the brink, the clink of glass, the sky ceiling, space and the companion nothingness, suffocation beyond the gate, now onward, up there, the lack of anything, the possibility of everything, a juxta-pose, all out there that lies beyond, and days like this, the breed of hope, the seed of new thought, just overlooking, you, day-moon, so out of reach, a silent observer, a constant distant friend, a constant reminder, for night is your usual domain, or so we perceive that haunt to be, but to you, locked in circles, lock stepped in orbit in orbits, a procession dance, at a glance, caress the tides as you have watched as very continents divide, the rise and fall, from molecules to dinosaurs, and to these eyes, upon close examination, your face, shaped by the memories of universal sojourners across the wake and landed, impacted, and even we, this tiny race have spent time on your domicile, our, you, our closest neighbor just that far beyond our life cocoon cradle, left dead staring as a reminder, or to inspire, as your one face faces us un-tired, stranger in the blue, day-moon, I feel as if I can hold you in my hand, up to my ear, and listen carefully to unveil your memory, and know of all things that happened here, watching life spin, just, out of reach…