A daydream within a dream

Cry the Languid

Sometimes, I wonder too much…if I wonder too much.  Live life within a dream.  Or, at least, a daydream.  

How lucky am I?  To look up, as well as, down.

As if my grievance with nature is that of anxious inspiration.

As if these walks were cheap snippets of temptation.

“You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe

Rolling Back the Years

At some point,

promises given out…weigh greater than…the ones kept.

The heft of diminishing worlds…overwhelm delicate scales of time.

An eternity of missteps…lost in tall pines.

Stockpiles of contrasting beauty…yet, no apparent sign.

I frequent my primitive vows.

Though they have snapped and rotted…

Cracked and shattered…

Receding over the years.

Bare and illegible, I must own my incomplete ‘why’!

Seek it out under azure skies.

For without ownership,

I am but a false warrior.

With a fistful of lies.

Changing Direction

“Alas,” said the mouse, “the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.”
“You only need to change your direction,” said the cat, and ate it up.” #Kafka

Lone Chair

The lone chair is everywhere.

Is it only for the lonely?

Traveled the countryside, in search of the deserted, solo seat.

Thru leaf and fallen shafts of wheat.

And, in due course, not a single one would speak.

As the multifaceted traveler, I had to interpret what I was after.

Thus, I took the chair offered me.

It was then that the chill in my bones subsided.

And, the words of, ‘alone’ but ‘not lonely’ collided.

Rectory on the Hill

I found my wants in a pile of residual snow.

As if, it had no place left to go.

Over the wrecked rectory on the hill.

Beyond the country store where the town drunks get their fill.

Ten miles past Franklin Motel.

A habitat for the loners looking to get out of hell.

I nudged my desires with a blackened steel toe.

As if, I had no place left to go.

Years before gravity took hold.

I fanned a flame to a luxurious limbo.

It had been an overfed shelter of lust and misconstrued need.

But my flame grew higher and harder to fed.

I kicked at the embers.

Such as I do now.

With a lessened ego.

Ash to ash…I made sure it had no place left to go.

It would appear that contentment starts slow.

As in the vacant burning back lots.

As in the gradual interment of lack luster thoughts.

Standing over the stained melting snow.

I now have some place that I can go.

To live, To love, Another day

If there is a battle
I hope my head always defers to my heart
-T. Chapman

somebody else's heart 2

 

 

Some…things, so beautiful…one must look away.

Of these things,

the giddiness

and

jest…

set us apart.

Moments worth capturing…yet, set so

hush-ful,

you wonder about the state of your heart.

A corner curls just a trifle from the far reaches of her parted lips.

A nuance clutches your breathing.

Something that never was…

Something that did not always fit.

It is the kind of love that ruptures and raptures your heart…

Though it was not yours, you watch it, well lit.

Even if it is somebodies love you did not know.

It was someone’s else love to have and to hold.

Pain…

…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…

…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…

…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…

…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…

…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…

…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…

I Don’t Know About Your CAT…

I don’t know about your cat by mine show affection in many ways…

Refuses to look you in the face!
Puts some shade on your love!
Wants you to just leave them the fuck alone!

The bottom line on cat affection and cat communication

Cats are very good communicators, using a combination of body language, postures and vocalizations to express their feelings. Although cat affection is subtle and at times complex, they have a variety of ways of showing affection and trust to the people they are attached to.

How Do Cats Show Affection? Look For These 7 Affection Signs

1. Cats show affection through their eyes

A gray tabby cat with his eyes closed or blinking.

Slow blinking is a common sign of cat affection. Photography ©KandM-photography | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection with their eyes? It is a pretty good indicator that your cat trusts and enjoys your company when she looks at you with half-closed eyes while slowly blinking. These special eye blinks are called cat kisses and are reciprocal. You can tell your cat you love her too by giving her cat kisses. This sign of cat affection conveys relaxation, contentment, affection and trust; they help build and strengthen your relationship with her. She may respond with more slow blinks.

2. Cats show affection through their tails

A cat tail curled at the top.

Tails are a good way to tell what your cat is feeling. Photography ©Photodisc | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection through their tails? Tails are emotional barometers, accurately conveying emotions through how they are held and positioned, and the degrees of fur puffiness. When combined with body language and other indicators, they communicate a gamut of emotions from fear and aggression to affection and happiness. Whereas most people readily recognize signs of fear and aggression, they are not as aware that tails are indicators of cat affection, too.

Cats often show their emotional attachments through tail placements. Connection is demonstrated by twining tails around the legs and arms of their favored buddies. Sometimes kitties express warm feelings as they relax next to their people while physically touching or resting their tails on them. Although I try not to anthropomorphize, the sweet behavior reminds me of holding hands with a best friend.

In addition to tail wrapping and touching, kitties express happiness and warm feelings by fluffing out the base of their tails while subtly quivering them. Simultaneously they hold their tails upright with a slight curve at the top. This behavior is sometimes called the happy tail dance. Usually it is accompanied by an endearing kitty love blink.

3. Cats show affection through cheek rubs

A cat man getting a head rub from a gray cat.

Check rubs are another sign of cat affection. Photography ©Matteo Viviani | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection when they rub their cheeks on you? One friendly way cats greet those they trust and feel safe with is by rubbing their cheeks on them. Cheek rubs are a sign of cat affection that are also invitations for socializing. Kitties have scent glands on their cheeks that produce pheromones. In addition to showing their favorite people trust and affection, felines mark ownership through the behavior and mingle their scents with those they are attached to.

With cats you don’t know, you can encourage socialization by extending your index finger toward the cat at about her nose level. It doesn’t matter whether she is a few feet away or across the street. If she wants to say hello, she’ll approach your finger and touch it with her nose and then turn her head until your finger is on her cheek. If she trusts you, she will rub your hand with her cheek, indicating that she is open to socializing. This may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!

4.How do cats show their affection through head butts, or head bunting?

This is a sign of cat affection that also marks you and mingles her scent with yours. This is a social cat affection behavior that does double duty. In addition to showing trust and friendship, head bunting proclaims ownership. Scent that is produced from glands located on your kitty’s head is transferred on you when she butts you with her head.

In…Mother’s Nature, she keeps me

she keeps me 2

 

In Mother’s Nature…

She keeps me gentle

She keeps me sapient

She keeps me legitimate

She keeps me with timeless testsshe keeps me 3

She keeps me with flesh

She keeps me with dignity

She keeps me shady

She keeps me with chemistry

She keeps me with fragile, breakable reverie

She keeps me

She keeps me

she keeps me 4

…a most indulgent mother, has placed her best gifts out in the open, like air, water and the earth itself; vain and unprofitable things she has hidden away in remote places.
##Thomas More

 

 

She, Me, Her, WE

She…my favorite weakness

Me…her favorite mistake

Every wrong that could be said, brought her my way

Her imagination stretching from land to mountain to sea…to encompass me

Sardines and garlic embolden with…

forgotten history

Her passive, passionate affection, a lending hand to settle my turbulent needs

She is the matter for my life and my death

We pepper each other’s stories with bits of salt for human frailty.

The Cast of Pain

the Mills, Franklin NH

Don’t want to walk through the pain.

But the want…

and

the need…

are not the same.

There is no religion to the agony.

There is no need for the ache’s shame.

Suppose…

only the want remains.

Only remains a cast of shadow in the day.

The day I stop…

walking through the pain.

Shallow Grave

grunge family 1

You will not catch me sleeping in your shallow grave so wholesome.

Nor napping in the tomb of discontent.

Though the hands do tremble

a victory should be claimed.

without fanfare or extravagance.

In true discourse,

mine not yours,

of course.

It used to be…

that I belonged to you

you belonged to me.

So what of the past

picking apart peculiar trips…

set adrift onto different seas.

A clan unleashed in the barren desert

awaiting their ships of plenty…it had been lost at sea.

As siblings we were swaddled in damaged cloth

So I suppose to disrobe the anger…

well, that is all I’ve got.

Humbly I will ask you

Step away from the shallow grave.

Only the ugly becomes more perverse with the tall tales

we create.

There are many out there just like me

Walking a lonesome solo path

step by step reconciliation is the only fact.

Brothers and sisters, I stand at the shallow grave…daily

Casting a lucky penny in…

Full knowing I am not without my own sin.

Goddess, today, grant that I maybe less judgmental and more mindful of those I met.  I am unaware of the burdens placed upon their feet.

Meaning While in Scouting News!

https://www.theonion.com/catholic-church-not-about-to-be-out-molested-by-goddamn-1836702707

The Boy Scouts of America declare bankruptcy due to continued allegations of sexual abuse!

While the Girl Scouts of America become the entrepreneurs they were always meant to be!

Girl Scouts set up stall outside Chicago weed dispensary, sell ‘several hundred’ boxes

I Will Keep Broken Things

hardship and vision- Dorothea Lange

I will keep
Broken
Things:
The big clay
Pot
With raised
Iguanas
Chasing
Their
Tails;
Two
Of their
Wise

Heads
Sheared
Off;

I will keep
Broken
things:
The old
Slave
Market
Basket
Brought
To my
Door

By Mississippi
A jagged
Hole
Gouged
In its sturdy
Dark
Oak
Side.

I will keep
Broken
things:
The memory
Of
Those
Long
Delicious
Night
Swims
With
You;

I will keep
Broken
things:
In my house
There
Remains
An

Honored
Shelf
On which
I will
Keep
Broken
Things.

Their beauty
Is
They
Need
Not
Ever
Be
‘fixed.’

I will keep
Your
Wild
Free
Laughter
Though
It is now
Missing
Its
Reassuring
And
Graceful
Hinge.

I will keep
Broken
Things:

Thank you
So much!

I will keep
Broken
Things.

I will keep
You:

Pilgrim
Of
Sorrow.

I will keep
Myself.
#Alice Walker

Elderly Walker

A weary traveler, he had turned into an elderly walker.

Quiet, unassuming, yet refined with his thrift store shoes.

And, mindful with midnight strolls.

Never tongue tied.

Infinity bold.

When we had become one…along with many a collection of souls…

I needed

I wanted

to know what I did not know.

The manner in which the elderly walker skipped and limped with impunity.

The gale force gait that entwined his grumpy smile.

His gesturing hands that informed those passing by…we can be free…we are not all that we have been told.

to Breathe or not to Breathe

I have written off that which is not known

Crashing into the earth…secrets come with the winds.

Dismissive pine needles of discourse…go, flow, go.

I choke on the ashes of the earth.

Soiled and turned and forgotten…

what is it that leave the belly of the beast that grows, grows and grows?

Perhaps a bitter forested pill which is embedded in plumes of snow.

To breathe or not to breathe.

The swaying maple, birch and alike,

are crying.

And, I sit singing their refrain.

Respite Places

These are respite places.

Or, so we are told.

But in the interim, a simple plotted gesture for wandering souls.

I tell my lover, to make her aware.

She never hesitates to let me be.

She, alone, understands the expelling of, demons, no one else can see.

It is not mystique I seek.

Nor, blind guidance, from sacred places.

It is the silence that can only be found by…

pursuing to understand…

Understand something that will never be…

Never be completely understood.

Yet, the quest stays like a solemn secret stage.

A critiqued, columned, colloquial,

in which peace is at play.

Vanishing in 89

Vanishing back in ’89

Casualties of ’89

A conductor’s timepiece…

doing time

A clockwork of technicolor breakdowns

And, races to the finish smeared with red tape

Cheers of holding on, discoveries that came much too late..

Vanishing in ’89

Family values of a primitive kind

No matter how white the snow may currently be

it has no choice to soil itself down

It is in the deficient nature of the beast

Running down in ’89

With no importance of the finish line

Can a new reality be forged

Can we allow tainted walls closer to

the heart…

Can yesterday beckon a seasoned start

Vanishing and gone… back in ’89

Closer, closer, closer to fine

No matter how secluded those that were dear

No matter how sequestered they appear

Beastly bones are nothing more than a…

Handed down meaningless antique

Vanishing in ’89

I wonder back to the screeching night

and

where to draw the darkest of fine lines

Be chivalrously autonomic

Being intimately private to true bone

Being in internal love, one but not alone

the Queer and the Fine

river-4

These times are lean

for many.

Not for only the queer and fine.

Not for only those of disabled mind.

For all human and…unkind.

imageedit_67_6546311683

 

Cannot help but feel a chill in the air.

Cannot help but wonder…

the depth of waters,

free flow.

The river’s edge no longer inviting.

Vacant tables seem

splintered.

Less confiding.

Brighter times misguiding.

The size of things and secret matters left to a court jester and mad hatter.

To fend distant thought,

I watch in admiration,

as my dogs frolic.

Their antics blissfully unaware of the impending need to panic.

river-7

 

On Woman – Yeats

MAY God be praised for woman
That gives up all her mind,
A man may find in no man
A friendship of her kind
That covers all he has brought
As with her flesh and bone,
Nor quarrels with a thought
Because it is not her own.
Though pedantry denies,
It’s plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens.
Yet never could, although
They say he counted grass,
Count all the praises due
When Sheba was his lass,
When she the iron wrought, or
When from the smithy fire
It shuddered in the water:
Harshness of their desire
That made them stretch and yawn,
pleasure that comes with sleep,
Shudder that made them one.
What else He give or keep
God grant me — no, not here,
For I am not so bold
To hope a thing so dear
Now I am growing old,
But when, if the tale’s true,
The Pestle of the moon
That pounds up all anew
Brings me to birth again —
To find what once I had
And know what once I have known,
Until I am driven mad,
Sleep driven from my bed.
By tenderness and care.
pity, an aching head,
Gnashing of teeth, despair;
And all because of some one
perverse creature of chance,
And live like Solomon
That Sheba led a dance

Stray Colors

Caught the eye of a stray color…

passing by!

Had to hold down the thought.

Put a handle to the feel.

Why?

What of this homeless rainbow fray?

Is it the recurring nightmare that calls to be heard?

To be written down frantically?
As thou, it were a spy?

Free expression?
A matter of…
do or die!

What of?
Those drawn to flowery phases?
It is,
after all,
Some of the
tastiest samples…
to ever taste.

Defining the art of humans
and
their waste.
A restless fisherman
and
his pole…
both dangling out in the cold.
Relocated visions that have no home.
Welfare of many out in the woods.
Each of which…
rummaging around under mother nature’s hood.

I wonder how a colorless weight must feel?
Lost in hectic, translation.
It must lose some conformed appeal.

Whispers to a Scream

Ice caverns scrapping and scraping the back of my mind.

Respect a disillusion that I can no longer find.

How do I speak to trust…when whispers turn to face the screams.

Tell me, how is it the embedded with bedlam human claw marks…know where my faults have been?

I am just a faded albatross playing a clairvoyant…wrapped around a keeper’s neck.

Over and over. Under and under. Through and out. Nothing in doubt is what it seems.

Young, old, all spirits carry their own ashen crosses to the forehead of make believe.

Make believe in the air. Promises of graffitti etched in membranes of friends, long since gone.

Persons and their bundled parsonage chisel a tunnel from my ethical dreams.

Ragged Mountain Byway

This old house once knew my children
This old house once knew my wife
This old house was home and comfort
As we fought the storms of life

Paths Crossing in the Night

A rush of water reminds me of night

Something, I can see but…

is vacantly out of sight.

Dark as it may be,

the earth blankets me.

It covers me with luminescent sky.

Warning me to,

look behind words.

To pull truth from starred gods and…

listen in silence…

to be heard.

This love affair with mother nature has been such as,

a blind date.

a sideways glance from a well versed stranger.

Hints of dodging raindrops.

Nights when paths cross

and

dreams are caught.

Of Dogs and Gods

I adore the echo a dog creates,

as it gallops full throttle with

no particular place to go.

The clamor contentment provides while

back scratching in the snow.

The sound of patience whilst on the hunt for crow.

Sounds like thunder

Smells like rain

Feels like dog and the gods, are one in the same.

Shame, Shame, Shame

Shame, shame, shame, shame on you
I bet you think that you’re a big man now
But I think you’re a sick man now
And you don’t know how to be a good man too
Isn’t it time to call this big dog out for our misery?!

Winter’s Beach

Simple, a winter’s beach confronting a warm retreat.

Playing the fool I look back to the promised land of your presence.

Playing the fool I smell your on the dusky powder…

shadowed by only me.

Glancing for your love in the solemn pines and abandoned tundra there is no solace below or from above.

Treading softly, as you have taught, where is the peace that once had been sought?

Is it there are the front door, welcoming, soft and gentle?

Is it there in the moments of life without care?

I walk the woods.

I rove the trail.

Snow…knee deep, moments to myself…

‘did I fail?’

Fail to embrace what you once thought to be grace?

Such a quiet, whimsical, being that has left a memory to trace

This winter funeral leaves me in awe.

This winter funeral only betray’s love and her disgrace.

January Thaw

A winter’s flower.
How do I disgrace thee.
When you provide me with such symmetry.
An all seasons charm.

Winter’s flower.
How could I not seek but always see.
And, though the footpath is slow
to where you are.
The earthen tones splendor like a distant star.
Winter’s flower by Tree Farm Loop…
take a left off Baptist Hill road.
Near where the Shakers grow old.

the Four Freedoms

Sorrow for Now

Freedom minus fear = FAITH

I have seen sorrow being dragged upon the forest bed.

Sorrow and Grief…her best friend.

I drag them barefoot…scrapping fractious feet upon disruptive, chaotic floor.

Both women, put upon by the light snow and distant screams.

With fist in a ball and charity along my lines of pine.

Sorrow comes as a matter of recourse.

And, grief…she grabs hold with a ragged limb.

She allows just enough for my carriage of thought to run…thin.

Sorrow and grief, my friends for now, remember every vacant vow

and…

the terrain, coarse with a mortal’s soul.

Let Me Know

Let me ask you this,

‘how would it be if we kissed…nose to muzzle, muzzle to this?’

With the onslaught of winter wind from the trees would it bring me to inspiration from bend-ed knee.

I clasp upon what you have given me…snowy wool, star-like gaze, wandering that cannot be betrayed.

Two feet to four paws, I have always been in awe.

These stages of pronounced reverence have given to the inspiration that I need.

Mile upon, as far as the crow flies, mile, there has only been deliverence from what we are forced to see.

I could walk with you for a distance of markers, blank and unforgiven, in the wilderness.

How basic? To live, to live, to live, with that which pardons the manner in which we give.

Did I Ever See Her Again

I see my old street…

I see how it shines.

Those days or red roses and proffered wine.

Moments in an adolescent’s grasp that withstand time.

Around the corner,

and up to the gates of Stone park.

She left

chocolate covered fingerprints upon my heart.

She spoke of things I did not understand.

In youth,

I stuck to the matters at hand.

Did I ever see her again?

No.

No, and wishing would not make it so.

Country Affirmations

With moments such like a desolate snowflake, hanging from the sky.

I walk my daily assertions and provoke, why?

The cold and the lucidity encapulates me.

I cannot always get there from here.

Yet, I am still open wide and apathetically, naturally, translucent to what nature offers me.

Traveling left of false roads…lifting a heavy foot, I am not too old.

Too old to bear the fruit of red berry, solo on downtrodden branch.

Further, into unmarked mystery, for bleak seconds, I find my second chance.

Country affirmations leave a stone heart vivid with darkened greens and snow-blind white.

Country proclamations steal my sideways glance.

Not all that is meant to be…

Not all is within sight.

Never the Same Kiss

She touches me in ways I cannot avoid.

It isn’t in the stories…she’s told.

It is not in the wonder-lust or star-dust.

Not in the way she holds my demons near.

And, yet, years have passed…

that kiss never remains the same.

What a taunting challenge laid out before me…

lessons of masked chivalry.

Perhaps, the secret lay in…they loved each other well.

Perhaps, it is simply…she loves me well.

Once Upon a Woman

Didn’t treat you right.

I never did.

But than…

all my good intentions were short lived.

I had wished ’til the ends of the earth and back?

Perhaps, not.

Though, thru a break in the pane…

I would have riddled a charismatic plot.

There were…

no second chances here.

No, to…

two ways

down

a one-way street.

Should have known better back in the day?

Vanity and clarity never find the same bed…

in which to lay.

Laughing Pine

Laughing pine hold no sentiment for the fallen leaves.

If devotion were a winter gust…what would be just for us.

If rambling had been my disdain…no echo in refrain.

Yet, stolen from frozen time,

to lose resentment allots to listening in the dark to discarded rain and threaded foot and her traffic.

Could one become more than what red berry in powdered snow…

be my memories…distant and low?

No matter the distance in a country mile…I am nothing more than faded ilk…

propaganda with a manufactured smile.

River

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

But it don’t snow here
It stays pretty green
I’m going to make a lot of money
Then I’m going to quit this crazy scene
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

I’m so hard to handle
I’m selfish and I’m sad
Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
I wish I had a river I could skate away on

Oh, I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river I could skate away on

On A Back Road

The two most important days in our life:
the day we are born and the day we find out why!

I didn’t know if I would find him

I didn’t know if I cared

I knew for certain…

Pain would greet me there.

Prone on ice

Fallen to antiquity

Lacking in grace.

Tis’ an ache to country in the bones.

Choked up on pity

Suffocated by your misery

A family of tabloids

Yesterday’s yearbook in upon sepia’s thunder.

Not one for paying heed to the road taken.

The pace…

is one small step…

in an embattled recovery.

House of blues

and

country in the soul?

Just a circus of faithless fools

Just a carnival of soundless minds.

…on a back road

…on a back road.

Can’t be if we just are

Forgotten Pleasure

Between everything purposeful

Between the wishes for rain

Lies…a stockpile of liquid pain

Twisted ties of what remains

Blatant

transgressions

Sunken battles

Forgotten possessions

Careless love, who knew

Careless love…

It was never up to you

Careless love….

There is only so much you can do

Imagine a world vacant of stormy weather

Imagine…

had not two worlds met.

For not one of us…

is truly desperate

To wish away the ache

Clamor for forever fair weather

Would only tarry for lovers had known before

Tis, far better to have loved…carelessly

Than to have stood naked, heart in hand…

at a closed door

                                       

the Smallest of Convictions

I drink you in, as though, there be no end.

I ache your ailing spirit, as though, it were mine.

If I were set upon a lost ocean…

Whatever you found to be amiss…I would find.

Lover, it hurts so, when your world…

Resigns to the being of…unkind.

Tomorrow will come and take us away.

Import us to the blues.

Retrieving each soul, as though we were never one.

In the deepest of my smallest conviction…

With all of infinity…

I will understand…

We have only just begun!