Upon exiting the cabin, I undergo broken cobble beneath my bare feet. The remnants of stairs are round and mellow, Yet some rebel rocks pierce and strike. No matter, nature has willed it. Leaving land, I enter upon a man made island Planks and rods bring support coupled with stability. String hangs in abundance from rusting cleats, While dangerous protrusions threaten the innocent flesh. No matter, man has created it. As the water calls, I enter. The buoyant vessel makes for easy observation. Identifying the stagnant water, which buzzes in anticipation, Creatures utilize my being for sustenance. No matter, God has formulated them To work in unison In order to create A recurring environment.
A reflection upon my friend's lake house in Troy, NY. A broken stove, one floor, and no service.
They are more starved for Nature Then one can ever fathom; Oh, where is that secret Off they go in a cabin; that they may frequent All the noise and pollution It melts and floats away; Into life's little solution.
It's back to the plough of life so rough; They like the smithy toil day after day Their life may be starved, very tough, Oh, to listen to the wild loon's call. How it haunts them each day after day; How they stomach their bitter gall? Taking a wooden loon back to the city. Until that cabin is reached it is a pitty. When the wild calls; Good-bye city.
We who are born
"We who are born In country places Far from cities And shifting faces, Have a birthright No man can sell And a secret joy No man can tell" Eiluned Lewis
Nature calved up, decapitated limbs left in unmarked eulogies, only silence speaks. The carcasses of the fallen now lumber atop of each other. A mass grave of something once tall now fallen & muted.
Within the insects of humanity now infest this cadaver, putting what once was brethren upon the flame. A funeral pyre of rings now turning to ash, warming the lumbering morbidity that has an aroma of pine cones screaming in the night.
They live within our gravestones of silence. Nailing there memories within our husks. Yet they abandon us like we were momentary needs, for we are lifetimes in their finite moments. And we decay from where we came from.
Thai By This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's.
Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours.
I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait.
Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...
I AM THAT HOUSE the one you are always running from yet never entered
I AM THAT HOUSE full of old-things well-loved crooked and cursed by the neighbors
I AM THAT HOUSE the white one rubbed grey paint peeled away sighing at the crossroads
I AM THAT HOUSE my creaks and groans so familiar you know exactly where to step to go unnoticed
At the crossroads I AM THAT HOUSE Paint peeled to grey Never entered I AM THAT HOUSE Always running away Unnoticed I AM THAT HOUSE Of familiar steps Crooked and cursed I AM THAT HOUSE Well loved by the neighbors Ablaze I AM THAT HOUSE In recurring dreams
I am that house. You're back here again. The door is open. Won't you come in?