I walked back through the empty streets tonight after work.
I felt alone, as usual, but not as lonely as usual.
The moisture in the air gave a halo to the lights
and I breathed in the rain drenched night
and the air stuck in my chest and bathed my lips.
Before I entered my apartment, I paused:
The quiet of the night thrilled me for a passing moment.
It's a night Shakespeare would have written for his fairies.
I opened my senses to the universe:
The sound of a distant train,
leaves rustling,
droplets falling in a "Ping! Ping! Splat!",
the taste of a cool May night,
the moisture covering my face like sweat,
the sight of a street lamp casting a glow that lovers might have run off into the night to avoid...
The smell of clean air:
just washed cool after several days of rain
...and the dew...
falling...
falling.
I looked up at the large Maple tree in front of my doorway
and allowed the "Pings! and Splats!" of the vestiges of the rain from the day
to fall on my face
touching me.
I felt so attuned.
So. Aware.
And to make the moment perfect,
I willed myself to cry...
But
Didn't.
Because sometimes, the night and the senses and the mere truth of being in a moment:
might not have to move me to tears.
So I let the night continue without adding my dew to the "Splats!"
and I went up to my apartment to sleep.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 6:30 PM UTC
I ran headlong into the waves.
I allowed their white curving heads to crash into mine.
I gave myself over to the pummeling of the surf!
I allowed myself to get knocked over,
flung aside,
dragged--
I floated on my back,
my side,
my face,
my feet,
and my legs,
when it was calm.
But each wave that came had its own personality!
And I swam out and accepted them:
Jumping, diving, cursing or laughing
I would turn around and watch as the life of the wave
continued on toward the sand
before violently
dashing
itself
against the sand
and the other people on the beach...
It was beautiful not to argue with the Ocean:
to just allow the water to carry me
and destroy me in turn.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 6:17 PM UTC
I numbly watch a foreign man
on the train.
He talks across the car to some
New Yorkers who half listen to him
whilst simultaneously eavesdropping
on two Amazonian Jews having an argument:
one claims injustice.
The train crawls on its old, screeching belly.
Molasses moves faster in January,
but it is January and I feel like molasses
I guess the city reflects my thoughts...
The Amazons are now passive aggressive,
I duck my head so they don't know I've listened to the laundry list
of a tell tale sign of exhaustion.
Fatigued, I memorize the line of the page of my empty journal.
Wishing,
Willing
Them to fill with a lively recognizable speed of change.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
My hands whisper double dealings
As I prance through a sea of coated chairs,
my mind's a jumble with tumbling
lyrics of songs-scraps of music
sung to me in pitched whispers as
I pass through
parting the aisle like Moses.
and like Moses I call to the people
reading to them all commandments,
fully understanding that it is they who dictate to me.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 7:38 PM UTC
Waking up early with a stretch and a yawn
The sun dazzles my eyes as i adjust to the picture
outside my window:
fresh snow
has covered the earth in a thick blanket...
my blanket still reflects the sunshine of memories in my mind
that dazzles me when I look at it.
The reflections make me wonder if the fresh white snow
is really as innocent as I once thought it to be
Just as I know my blanket holds secrets
that haven't yet
melted away.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
At Dawn my mind is fuzzy and bleary.
Whenever I see the cold blue light
from the rising sun
I'm reminded of stories I've heard
of charges, raids, escapes and deaths
all happening or planned for this time.
How could such productivity occur at such
an early stage in the existence of a day?
It does feel like there is so much possibility in the air
unlike sunset;
which is better for reflection,
sunrise only sets a sleepy mind in motion.
I so rarely wake up this early and
more occasionally
I go to sleep this early...
but on those few and far between days
of early arisal
I feel reflective and ready, perhaps,
for a plunder, sneak attack, or beheading--
but only after breakfast.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 12:55 PM UTC