“my sin is stone
bearing upon my bones
I wish this was a story I read
and not the one I wrote”
notes… sometimes I dwell, I wish I was a dumb moron, a dump truck who could just tilt back and leave a pile of dirt behind, but I am just not wired that way, I wish I was an electrician so I might fix myself… but what else would I screw up in the process?
music? even on this topic… I am going light and fun here…
(pay attention to the words, OK stupid)
the lull of white suburban noise.
I contemplate the sameness of my street, for me all this has always been here, but surely this hallmark will be gone, strange to think of dinosaurs, beasts, and all manner of creatures traipsing about this space where I sit now, concrete foundation in this tamed landscape, or so for now, soft sounds amplify in space like this, a neighbor walking mistaken for some demon lurking just out of my sight’s reach, until a bright yellow breaker rolls into view, and I concentrate on their steps, how uneven they are against the lose layer of debris that resides on top of the asphalt, the non perfection of form, scrapes of humanity, I could call this a soft cool breeze tonight, but somehow it is lighter than that, almost just the subtle presence of air settling down, not enough to provoke thoughts of cold, or flight back into my hole, still waiting for the spring, patience, I know, but still it wears thin on me, the dull low roar of commercial flight reminds me I am not far from the airport, I could go anywhere right now, but where would I go? where would I be? I have trouble accurately describing the sound of passing cars driving by, I know the technical side, tires on pavement in rotation against the ground, some seem calm, others rushed, as I try to make out the muffled music during the brief encounter, or to build a story about a neighbor filling a jar full of momentary assumptions flavored by flash judgements, based on a car, driving by, in only this matter of time of my arbitrary observation, a neighbor, I only know because their house is on the same block, a stranger, in any other contextual lock, the same person walking comes back from the other direction, on the sidewalk this time, not sure why, variety I suppose or no thought to it whatsoever, my direct neighbor across the street gets delivery, no signs on the car so I can only speculate, they had a little girl, she used to play outside, I have not seen her in a few years, how little we know about those in just the next house living whole lives next to ours, I wonder what lurks in the shadows and dark spots and corners, but in all honesty, there is nothing here that can harm me for real, this tame banal suburbia, the lull of white noise, the sleepy outdoor gaze of a jersey night
notes… part of my Porch series, tonight spring crept in, I even heard some children plotting games from the yard in back of mine, just waiting until the spring shakes back and forth like my dog after a bath except spring is looking to shake off the cold yoke of winter, which certainly is stubborn this year. all thoughts, comments, questions, and quiche recipes are appreciated.
“the theory of everything,
a flash of light
and then the ending”
written 3/19, sometimes I like to distill things into base ingredients, this would be one of those times.
music… to groove by…put on your buds (or better yet pump up the home system to feel the bass in your people space)
I wish I could tell you
how well I have come along
without you,
of a life fulfilled
I wish I could tell you
my decision was wrong,
all those years ago,
half my humanity gone
I pray you have fared better
and forgotten my name
I wish I could tell you
my love still endures
but, the hour is late
and time has passed over this house
I have never forgiven
myself
if only
a decision made with two,
I close my eyes
to conceal all this from my sight
if only I could tell you –
you were ever the only one
one day
I will pass from this earth
I wish only
to be by your side
transformed into light
with you, my eternal love
with you, once and final more
music…
that says it all my friends… (this poem written 3/6, thinking about her… while listening to this song)
sitting in an irish bar, alone
in the month of st patrick
having the obligatory guinness
of course, sunday bloody sunday
comes on
there is no tv to stare at, in the corner I have chosen
so i do not have to pretend
I listen in to the revelers
recalling stories they have told each other a hundred times
I catch now familiar names
and begin to experience the stories myself
landscape absorbing the tales
their jocularity is infusion
even if, for just a moment
i finish with an ipa
feeling I have interloped quite enough
i leave a good tip
as if to stake a claim
but I am just passing through
a phantom
in a local’s place
drifting between stories and pints
notes… written tuesday 3/12 when I decided to visit a local irish pub for some grub, this to me, is observational poetry, I am trying to take you into the moment, not sure if I succeed, that is up to you, with those eyes, reading this with your mind, thanks for the read, your comments are always appreciated.
A rare saturday off for me, I must admit I slept in (I love laying in bed listening to binaural beats as nature rages outside whipping across the bamboo I planted making such a specific sound), I am a big believer in recharging batteries of the self, especially since I work 6 days a week and more than 9 hours a day usually, what sucks is friday peeked @ 70 degrees but today? not so much… barely 40’s, what a tease, but it was warm enough this afternoon to sit outside, let the dog roll around in the yard (man she hates to be clean), and sit and just let the breeze wash over me, let the sun warm me enough to be out there, watch the birds, try to sound locate the calls of the familiar ones, and for once I just did voice memos into my phone, so here they are….
“those pure of heart
but grave of experience
are doomed to make mistakes”
“tangled wind chimes
only sound
in the strongest winds”
“the songbirds call
against the coming of the night
for soon they will be silent”
notes… like my last post these are haiku to me, at least in spirit, I clearly have no control of the muse, she comes to me in all forms, I admit I have fear I will lose the talent to write, there are times I think what the hell will I write next? and some panic there, but the muse, so far has been fair and keeps delivering the mail to this address.
music (says a me)…
so I am totally partial to Anna’s vocals… after seeing this band live I was just sold down the river as a silly fanboy…
spring rain
in a cemetery
brings life
notes… written tonight while I was watching the punisher on my exercise bike, yeah, inspiration works like that, I say ‘not haiku’ because this is clearly not in the strictest form, but if you are really into the form it has a feel about it, to me, this has the feel, of course you are the judge, jury and likes-a-cuitioner of that.
music? have to recall some odd ball…
yeah, that bass line just rules you, admit it. they had integrity before it was cool. years and years ago….
point one, I was enjoying a rather common evening picking up a few items at the local supermarket (Wegmans, and I love the damn place), so being that I had just over 7 items and less than 15 I was relegated to the 15 or less lane (seems obvious), I generally pride myself in keeping my cool and apparently I was about to be put through the gauntlet of said pride, as luck, fate, or damn circumstance would have it, the gentleman (and I am stretching the word here) in front of me had way more than the appointed 15 items, that in itself is enough for a force-able slap across the face, but I showed restraint, point two, the cashier did not admonish this monster of the shop-way in any way shape or form, I train cashiers, or well used to at work and I always made that a point of emphasis, are these people actively f’ng with me ? (I think to myself, where is kutcher? but that show is long gone, bad reference on my part) So I relegate to swallow my growing, throbbing rage and think of better days, “hey, what is the outcome here if I confront this unspeakable evil?”, so I regress to pretend interest in the candies and periodicals lining the grocery runway toward the cashier, all the while trying to hide my side stink eye at the thorn sticking so sorely in my side, THREE! the cashier moved at a glacial pace, and also did not know her produce codes, inside baseball here THE CODES ARE ON THE STICKERS!!!! ARRRGHGGGHGGH!!! I am surprised I am not vibrating out of my shoes at this point, but I tap myself on the shoulder (figuratively now, otherwise that would be weird), and I pause and decide against any action as any outcome will not be just worth it, I just need to hold on and let the storm pass, FOUR… finally, I mean finally, the order is scanned and bagged, but is my ordeal done? oh nelly no no, not a chance in this hell I was getting out that easy, not only did gentleman “x” bring a party to the one person line he decides to finalize the transaction in slow order, FIVE… shopper loyalty card, does he have a swipe-able one ? nah… are you kidding? he pulls out a key ring that would make Tolkien drool, with a key fob for every store to perhaps inhabit a 100 mile radius of this place for the past three decades (or more), so one by one like the dewey decimal hell of my youth he goes through them, would it be in the first 20 flop ? of course not… I think I am out of my body at this point looking down upon the scene as my soul wants to depart this world, finally… and I mean finally finally (as my eyes seer) he finds the right card, ok… we’re good, oh wait, oh shit, this goddamn m-f’r has not even paid yet… if he pays in change, that’s f’n it, I have rights dammit, people have been killed for lesser transgressions, SIX…SIX…SIX… pick up sticks to beat this person with… just put your damn credit/debit card in the slot already, you could have done this AT ANY TIME during the transaction!! AHHHHH!!!! (admittedly it is worse for me because as this is my industry I know how the payment system works… you can slide/dip your card whenever people!!! do it early and often!)… I am almost broken at this point, having held off this raging beast inside so long the cage that is my brain is exhausted and… damn logic, there is no good outcome from confrontation here, I just have to eat it, and not enjoy it (this gentleman has no idea how close I was to losing it). Was this 5 minutes or an hour? I don’t know if I could testify to the facts after that. So please… when you are in line, do what you can to speed things along, the life you save… may be your own. (and the chipotle corn cakes turned out to be worth the wait, I hate to admit)
Driving home last night, something I do all the time, ahem, obviously… but the sky was so that the road was framed in, and spring, not quite here has lent a bent to the trees (or perhaps the way they were cut to avoid the power lines), so for some reason the trees seemed to be menacing, hanging over the road almost ready to strike, or more accurately swallow me whole, as the daylight dimmed and I drove towards oblivion I scribbled this in my journal (and as usual this is barely edited, damn I can barely read my own handwriting sometimes so I have to guess)…
a tree broken back over arching the roadway
branches like ten thousand black talons
in a witches’ bent
lifeless, dangling, a photograph – a trap!
driving this street
mind racing
a gauntlet of these gaunt creeps
lining both sides
all seems closing in
the horizon light contracting to a point
I am cornered.
like ichabod in that hollow
on that bridge
cornered
by what this night may bring
music to accompany (I know, worst band name ever but…)
note the ongoing synth throughout, like a heartbeat in the melancholy, to me this mixes ambient/electronica with doom metal, but yet there is layers… brilliant. the video is pretty dull but the tune rules…
(my continued series), this is from the deck, but same difference (idea)…
just sitting out on the deck, even the dog just wants to pause and admire, the warming sun just enough to hold off the waning chill, birds return, it seems, by the hour now, their quorum raises suspicions that winter is indeed receding, the birds chorus sounds less like a symphony and more like contests about who gets the top bunk, snow still clings in the subtle shadows of trees and houses, binding to nooks where the sun’s growing confidence has quite not yet reached, clinging to the months long tundra ground in biting desperation, to remain in solid form and not simply melt away into nothing, soon their cousin rain will come and convert all the followers as such, we, these earth dwellers, can not actually feel the tilt (although we have calculated the trajectory), as we are very tethered in our hemisphere, but we can know the hints of the foreshadowing, the days are stretching, mildly but noticeably, and even my dog would agree, bask in the sun, watch the world change around you, here comes the spring.
(oh and by the way, that’s samantha aka sam, the dog, a rescue black lab from puerto rico, before hurricane maria, she is around 10 now (a sort of guess) and surely would be dead if not adopted prior to the hurricane which we never hear about anymore)
Shades of My Garden 