there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering
o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king
pray-tell, what portents, will this bring
more dead wars-
more dead kings.
notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…
dear, my dear
born again?
must be september
but I can not seem to remember
musket balls to remote controls
I will not swear fealty to cross that moat
nor believe the stories you untold
over brook and crooked back
banish me then
from your impossible lands
where to tell time I had to face
the dire clock’s of dali laced
no, no mad hatter for me then
I’d rather fare the lion’s den
so I might now
exit stage right
(to all a bow
to all a good night)
notes… my notes, have this as “jumble” because… well, if you are privy to me I would say it is obvious… but I always am speaking on many levels… well, ok, often is a better description of assumption, this one has levels to it, I am referencing things in nearly every line, I do that often but not always, see how I can weave a maze of my own post? that’s fun for me, words, thoughts, a playground in which I bound about like a kangaroo hopped up on speed, g’day mate let me kick you in the face like a joey in rage… man I need to cut back the caffeine … or not…
can it be all blue skies?
so dare I dream, and even consider such things, to know better, but wanting to forget that sentiment in the all-together, even if in the temporary transmission of that delusion, there I may seek to dwell, my perfect self, my perfect body, my perfect mind – all aligned, even if for a brief-breath, can whisk me away to dream land, a sunset over easy on the ocean, the temperature just right, the kiss of the sun just warming on cheek, water curling up on toes just cooling on feet perched in soft moist sand, for a minute for a mile, might I stretch into this thought island of mine, a breeze that wraps all around, not a sound but the steady heartbeat of soft fading waves slipping into the shoreline as far as this mind’s eye can see, to this blue sky, a photograph, to live in, to escape to, a postcard never mailed far from my soul, a destination for only me to know, held inside those most inner gates, an escape, from the every day, in plain sight, might I take this flight, to regain the trust, my trust, in the beauty of this world, unfurled, a collection learned from reality, to build brick by brick this fantasy, so may I endure and stay a minute more...
in the awakening
might I tread lightly on
as the sky explodes with dreams
spread tethered out on cotton streams
a requiem for a thief,
for I am-
a consumer of all things
until I become threadbare, myself
a baron of composition
bereft of fruit
to wither into the aether
to claim my time
to cling to life
I, survive.
notes… we slide in and out of this existence to fast in cosmic time… I hope this is just a train stop in the converging line of time and dimensions…
the house of lost souls
for am I faint
my words are thoughts
only whispers in drought
carry-on in the airy realm-
for my feet are not on this ground,
my body-
but a fading shroud
a lone sense
a vague sense of place
for I was attached to but a name
now my shackle is curious bound
round the round I orbit this base
just past the touch
in the realm between
of know and known
this is this place, my home
notes… we are, in many ways a beautiful culmination a molecular miracle generation, but we are also temporal, how do we as thinking beings reconcile this? I don’t know… I know religions cover this, but how can a religion formed by us in these scant few years of human existence on this one planet, in the infinity of space, cover this? wrapping our heads around impossibility or inevitability is anathema to the human mind… because we want to survive just as the simple bird does hatching eggs in spring… that thread binds all living things, is that god speaking to us? I guess I will have to wait for my end for a real answer… or none… hence the conundrum…
“a postulation on the transient nature of self”
a colony
prescribed by the hand of time
ordered into the womb of god
delivered
and so you are
notes… sometimes things pop in my head, I could tell you I am not religious because I am not, but does that mean I do not believe in something higher… how can we just be dropped here right now on this little marble in the middle of supreme vastness ? sure, it could all be random, but I would rather think a hand is moving things behind the scenes, I’m probably wrong, so what… in the end it does not matter, so I choose to believe my life has meaning…
