Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025
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For later, forecast proclaims:

snow showers for much of the day,
but in our temperate clime, rarely
do we get inches or feats of accumulation,
but it will be chill enough to turn my
heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its
whiteout version, where the flakes
individually attach themselves to
to fat fabric for self-preservation,
displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a
gallery of me…

assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes
and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled,
in nostril and open mouth, as I employ
all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain,
to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that
welcomes every flake as a long lost son and
daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning
home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence

I anticipate the taste of snow to be a
multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued
while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian
spices, on a riverbed of Italian red
peppery tomato sauce, the crusty
spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature
wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared

but I am by myself,
sensibly refused companionship
by others, and my
voyaged meditation now,
well ended,
well recall,
Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:
                          
“You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self”

join me?

My room, the suite, seemed too small.
I felt like I’d been in my room forever.
I’d developed a scratchy sense of stuckness
and a fresh, itchy awareness of dust particles
floating in the stifling, still air that made me
want to stop breathing in so much.

But I didn’t, categorically, have the energy
to get up and focusing seemed like a lot of effort.
I had a big midterm test, first thing this morning
and it laid me to waste, mentally. I think I did well
but it was a feat. Whenever I feel lifeless and weak,
I start to fear I’m coming down with something.

But then, everyone’s tired. The suite seems unnaturally
quiet, as if no one even has the energy to command
our ever-listening AI to play a playlist, so silence
ruled by exhausted default. It’s as if a low-pressure area had
descended to hold off a brush of refreshing ozone and rain.

Could I rouse my posse of symbiotic sort-of siblings
for an outing somewhere - like Toad’s bar - just across the street?
My door was open, so I called out, rather weakly, “Let’s go out!”
Someone, (Lisa sprawled out on the red corduroy couch?)
groaned listlessly from the common area. “My treat!” I updogged.

Five minutes later, it was showers all around. I love a good shower.
A shower’s where I ponder over the big questions, because
answers seem to come quickly there. I imagine I’d be wise
beyond words if I had a house with a waterfall running through it,
like one of those amazing, Frank Loid Wright masterpieces.
.
.
Songs for this:
The Duke Is Gone by Chuck Senrick
Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre

I draw on cigarettes,
Doodle with resin-
Blisters on my fingers,
They all think I'm playin'.
The colors brown & red
Are escaped when I shut my eyes,
And when I turn my face inside
I'm fine with what I see.
It's not dark, pretty light-
It's all clear skies,
Even with a chance of showers
There's always a sunrise.

Take the Fragrance from the Flowers
and the Garden will lose its Charm.
Take the Hands away from the Clock
and Time won't ring an Alarm.
Take the Violin, from the Symphony
and the Dance Floor begins to Sigh.
Take the Rain, from the April Showers
and the Ground will begin to Cry.
Take the Tidal Waves, from the Ocean
and the Waters will be Calm and Still.
Take the Landscape from the Mountains
and the Sun won't set behind the Hill.
If U take away My Heart.
The beatings are still there Within.
I'll Love U forever and ever,
As your Heart is neatly tucked In.

Spring is in the air
Flowers are in bloom
Birds are singing everywhere
And the sun hides the winter gloom

We tend to forget our troubles
As we enjoy the spring
Kids run thru the puddles
That April showers bring

Spring is only three months long
And that's a real ******
But it can't really be to wrong
If we're springing into summer

In April,
Our together was cut short,
I couldn't look you in the eyes.
The second our words fleeted,
We were drowning in butterflies.

A story they will never know,
Only for our hearts to see.
The showers of April,
The deaths of you and me.

Picture this,
It’s April, the world is moving forward as you are inside a coffee shop.
You went to be at peace, your home has felt like an enclosure.
Although it is most definitely your home there seems to be something always missing.
So you head to your second home, a coffee shop a few blocks away.
They all know you by name, and the inside jokes you all have fills the store with a warm laughter that can be felt even before anyone opens the door.
You have your bag, within it is two notebooks and a laptop. One notebook for any ideas you want to write down, and the other just in case. You have your laptop, because you said you will write on it, but you end up looking up random thoughts in your head.
You seem to not be able to focus, but that’s fine because you’re having better thoughts then when you were at home.
You spend a few hours there before you pack your bag, you get up, say your goodbyes, you look outside, the rain is pouring.
You remember you didn’t bring a coat, you couldn’t wait to leave the obstacle you call home that you never looked outside at the clouds that loomed overhead.
But in your defense you felt that same feeling for weeks now, the way those dark clouds in the sky look is how you’ve felt for most of your life now.
But as you’re walking out of this coffeeshop, someone stops you and asks why you didn’t bring a coat.
Without thinking nor without a hesitation you say, “I’m wearing one can’t you see.”, and before they can say anything else, “I wear my heart not on my sleeve, I wear it as a coat.”.
They look at you and say, “Hopefully next month I will grow from the concrete”.

Under the streetlights
on the corner of 11th
autumn turned into showers
your pupils reflected
seasons becoming racing beats
hours stumbling out of reach

Winds blow trees back and forth
Thunder booms, rain pelts my face
Call it harsh but I love it
Call it dark but I live for this
Nature demonstrates exactly how my soul is feeling  
I’m a spring storm, longing for a sunny summer