Zenspace

Around the Bend

2012-01-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

Tilted twirling

Whizzing whirling

Whipping tripping

Careening cascading

Here we go

Around the steep end of the ellipse

Slingshot

Solstice

Hang on

Here we go...

Days longer now

Till we reach the other side

Hope to see you all there

And doing well on this ride

Peace to all this Solstice Season

Bandingo

2011-11-29T20:02:00.001-05:00

Slower

Simpler

A quiet compromise

Less opulence

More substance

Simpler

There is a vast range

Of living conditions

Here on Earth

All are closely connected to the very planet itself

Though most never become aware of this

From the most basic hunter gatherers

To the tech world of space travel

Ergonomics

To economics

Vast wealth

To devastating poverty

So why live a simpler life?

Why Bandingo?

The spectrum of human existence

A bell curve

Of have and have not

History will show

That in the long term

We will all

Sooner or later

Be moving toward the middle

Slower

Simpler

Connected

Bandingo

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T00:13:00.001-05:00

Willows whispering

Rustling rushing

Wind racing ringing

The wind chimes singing

The song of November

Ending

Mosse Road

2011-11-16T09:49:00.008-05:00

For years it was simply
The Road
Like most roads around here
There were no names
Folks navigated by neighbor
And common knowledge

As for this place
That was easy
If you knew where the old schoolhouse was
Or where Jack Geyer lived
You could find this place

Everyone knew Jack Geyer
And some folks
Including my own father
Had attended the little one room schoolhouse
On the corner

Up the hill
The last and only home on the road
Before it ceases to be maintained
In winter

The last utility pole on the line
Stands on my front lawn

Two and a half miles
And two thousand acres
Of both state and privately owned
Wilderness
Lay between here
And where the snowplow
Again dares to venture

Not towns only
Can disappear
When economics, politics
Clash with our existence

Ghost farms
Inhabit these hills
Ghost roads connect them
Casualties of prohibition
And the great depression

The farms the roads
The people
All but forgotten

Sometime in the early seventies
A man came and assigned a number
To this house
The numbers were pinned
To a big topographic map
Down at the fire station

A fire number
For the first time in over fifty years
This house had something like an address
1440 Roseboom Township

And so it remained
Until sometime in the early nineties
“911 emergency services” was implemented
This required everyone to have a street address
Which meant the roads
Needed to have names

A survey of town
County and state records
Revealed that some of the roads
Did indeed not have names
But also that many
Did

Some roads
Like the one across the hilltop
Escaped the attention
Of the new 911 order
They now remain nameless
And do not appear on any map

Mosse Road
Was our road known
Of old
A ghost name
So it remains
A reminder
We are not newcomers here

Names were found
For those roads in need
A new number found
To designate this place

On Mosse Road

11/11/11 – 11:11:11

2011-11-11T16:06:00.006-05:00

Moment of silence
I can feel the silence
When I go outside today

It is oppressive
Surrounding me
Like a crowd of nothing
Pressing close like the cold air itself

The kind of silence that comes with snowflakes
And memories
Big ones

The tall trees sway
The green grass whitens; silently
Inevitably
Accumulation
A day of high contrasts
And of low ones
Snow in November can do that

I think of that day here in the silence
Back in 1918
What it meant to my Grandfathers
What it meant to the world
For a moment the sun shines out
High contrast

The armistice, World War One
Two generations ago, so far from me…

The sun fails
Snow falls
Harder then ever
Low contrast

Outside my window
Stand maple trees
That stood there on that day
Not so long ago
Now it seems

Instantly
I am connected

Road Less Traveled

2011-11-05T13:41:00.006-04:00

Forsaken
Decommissioned by it’s own neglect
Going nowhere
Servicing none

This old road
Relic of a time past
Winds its way
Across the top of the hill

Finding gates
Through walls of stone
Now decrepit
Disassembled

Marking boundaries unseen
Unknown to all
But a secret past
Ghosts of pasture lay between

Tree roots crowd now
The rumor of plow
And of furrow
Hard wood in place
Of grain and silo

All now woods
Where the farmhouse once stood
Barn, stable and the rest
Here now hawks nest

The old road silently passes
Without judgment or complaint
Knowing full well, for the time
The farms made their stand
That the wind
And the rain were always in command

So now the old road steers
By my need for wood, kept clear
Having escaped mapmakers and historians
The memories of what once was here
Fading as am I

Into obscurity

The Leaves Are Falling

2011-11-03T15:21:00.003-04:00

Rusted rustling brown and yellow
Russet ruby twisting curling parchment
Newsletters proclaiming seasonal procession
Front row tickets to summer’s ending

The leaves are falling
The geese calling
Summer stalling

Blue sky
Grey sky
Somber stillness
Silence

The leaves are falling
As I am recalling
Birch, Elm
Maple and Ash
Walnut, Cherry
Locust, Beach
Butternut, Elder, Oak
Tamarack, Apple, Ironwood, Dogwood
Willow

The leaves are falling
I listen to the soft sound
As I find my pillow

Sleep calling
Evening takes me
Winter awaits

Re-connected

2011-10-09T13:10:00.003-04:00

Tumultuous travel
Uprooting, rending, redistributing
Trip after trip
Parting, leaving, arriving, surviving

I have landed
The ghosts of my past
Still with me
I unfurl my colors to the wind
Bandingo farm
The seeds sown
Taking root
Here is where I make my stand

Flotsam
Jetsam
The dust settles
And I reconnect
With the help of a satellite in space
Thousands of miles above
Transmitting, receiving

The world sings
And my voice joins in
Rejoicing in harmony
A part of it within

The world sings
My heart reaches out
Yearning to touch it
Striving to see it
Hear it
Know it

I won’t be afraid
I won’t shed a tear
I will stand by you
As you stand by me

Good Night Irene

2011-08-30T02:02:00.006-04:00

Atmospheric recoil
Air and Water exchanging energy
Weather happens
When there is a lot of energy
It happens in a big way

The tropics conspire
Land and sea
Air and Water
She stirs and rears her clouds

Coriolis effect
The earth turns
It sends things spinning
Hurricane

They name her Irene
Awakening slowly
She gathers moisture from the tropic sea
Holding it aloft with ever increasing winds
She heads north

Beating the rain
I hunkered down
On my little farm
And waited for her

Sleeping fitfully

I awoke to her fury
Her winds, bending every bough
Her rain, insatiable
Seeking any weakness
Looking for a sign

It was then I noticed
That I was lucky to have awakened at all
For in the night
As I slept
She took a shot at me

Bark, leaves, branches
Looking in my window
A tall locust
Thrust from the stand
And aimed at my head

But she missed
Not only me
But the house as well
And the windfall of her intention
Will warm me next winter

I will think of her
As I sit by the fire
The devastating fury of her rains
Every bridge and water crossing
Challenged

I am thankful today
The spirit of the eagle
Still looks over me
As it looks over this place

Shaken; Not Stirred

2011-08-23T21:50:00.002-04:00

I went for a little ride today
Without even leaving my house
Without, in fact, even leaving my chair
Seated, as I was, in my office in Schenectady

Moments before, hundreds of miles away
Enormous pressure caused a shift in the rock
Along a crack of, as yet, undetermined size
Deep in the ground…

The shifting rock shook the Earth
Like ripples in a pond
The vibrations spread the news
Some along the surface
Some traveling deep into the Earth
Then reflected from within.

They reached me at different times
And so I was at first riding up and down
As if on a sine wave of varying intensity
Like a roller coaster

After a second or two of stillness
I was riding in a twisting way
Both back and forth and up and down
At the same time

I did not at first understand
That it was an earthquake
Until my girlfriend asked
“Did you feel it?”

It struck me like a flash
I called my daughter in Virginia
All was fine
I was free to reflect.

I remember now
Learning about the waves
Vibrations traveling through the Earth
P waves
S waves
And more

And the ancient geological record
From this part of the world
Telling a tale that goes all the way back to the beginning
The mountains here once so mighty
As to make the Himalayas
Appear as children

There have been other “rings of fire”
Once upon a time
More than once, in fact
And this old plate of rock
Still has a jolt or two left in it

So no in all
I was not really surprised
Just caught off guard

The Earth moves
And I move with it

As it should be

As I like it

Endings, Beginnings

2011-08-23T12:04:00.004-04:00

Moving can be tumultuous
Chaos changing customs
Things lost
And found
Unsettling unseating until
Ending

Fare well old city
Your walls and sidewalks
Cracked with age
My venue, no more

Trees now await me
The hills the ground the roads
All of earth and stone are made
Amidst pools of sun
And shade

Look for me
Among the tall grass
And the silent woods
When the harvest moon comes

Zenspace
Now strung across the peaceful landscape
Hanging between the Earth and the stars
This is the place I was meant to be
The sunset colors illuminate me

Old Post Card Day...

2011-07-26T12:51:00.003-04:00

Schenectady Post Office, erected in 1912 has not changed since 1933...

As I make my move (finally) from Schenectady to Cherry Valley I take note of some of the grand architecture that still exists here

Heat Wave Not Today

2011-07-25T14:15:00.003-04:00

Rain
Relentless
At last
My view of blue
Replaced
With blurry gray
Today

Cool
Intense at times
Rain
With purpose
Primes then pleases
All and mine
The heat wave thus
Eases

Rain
Rooftop riddled runs
Asphalt shunned
Until the last hidden places
Be found
Where thirsty ground
And rain are one

Thunder calls
From the somber walls
More rain to come
A darkness falls
More rain to come

Rain
I imagine the darkness
In your eyes
As in the sky
The soothing droplets
On your skin
Taught
Wet
Inviting
Tender
Loving

Rain

Peace

2011-06-01T14:11:00.002-04:00

Don't just think it
Don't just say it
Don't just want it
Do it
...Make it happen
We are simply one people
We do not need national political or ideological boundaries or alliances to make this happen
Simply put
It is personal

I implore each and every one of you to take a step back
Find a good reason NOT to hate someone
And pass that reason along to someone you care about

Good Friend Sunday

2011-05-29T12:14:00.001-04:00

Friends have come and gone in my lifetime...
Some people just stick around for the good times, some stick it out through thick and thin. Some make sure to be there when times are at their worst.
My uncle Dick once told me: "You are stuck with me, and the rest of your family. But you get to choose your friends. So why not choose wisely?"
Good advise...

As I make the move out to the farm I realize I will be leaving friends behind, will see them less often, that I will be making new friends out in the country.
But there is one good friend that will be coming with me.
A good friend that I have never even met.
A good friend none the less.

Her name is Lydia, we met on Blogger, sharing thoughts on each others writings.
Lydia takes meticulous care with her posts on Writerquake, continuing to post day after day. (Something I found myself unable to keep up with as life became more complicated)

Now that I am finally making the move from Schenectady, NY to Roseboom, NY, I find my head is clearing and I have more time to organize my thoughts, and regain my perspective. And so I would like to take the time to post a tribute to Lydia.

Old Postcard Wednesday

Lydia has been posting some extraordinary images of old postcards every Wednesday since 2008
What better tribute than to share with her, and you, some old postcards I found in my stuff here. (sorry I can't wait till Wednesday, no internet on the farm... yet)

This is the Hotel Van Curler in Schenectady, which stood right next to the old Eire Canal.
The building is now Elston Hall and serves as the main facility for Schenectady Community Collage.
Though the Canal is no more, the Mohawk River still flows silently by the school's borders.

This one's for you Lydia
More old pics and postcards to come

226

2011-04-26T11:40:00.004-04:00

Today marks the 226th anniversary of the birth of wildlife illustrator John J Audubon
He took the time to capture the distinctive markings and attributes of many of the worlds bird species, not to mention reptiles, and mammals.
His tireless efforts have given millions the ability to Identify animals in their own back yards and fields over the years.
Now I reflect on his patience and his remarkable ability as I photograph and catalogue the birds that frequent my domain.

Thank you John J
For your time and for your efforts, helping us to better understand and identify our fellow travelers here on earth.

Shhhhhhhhhhh

2011-04-24T12:59:00.004-04:00

Not a roadside encounter
No trip to the petting zoo
This is different

It is different when they come to your home
Passing through
Silently, stealthily stepping across the way
Stopping for a quick drink
Staying out of sight
Shyly watching
Then moving on

They touch me with their beauty
Belong here, yes they do
Will I see them tomorrow?
Only if I belong here too

NO GO Daddy

2011-04-01T11:26:00.002-04:00

To kill an elephant

Bob Parsons CEO of internet giant Go-Daddy has become the target of much criticism after he shot and posted video of himself shooting and killing a male bull elephant.
I think it should be pointed out, here and now, that this criticism falls far too short, failing to point out just how insidious the killing and just how ridiculous was the moronic justification offered afterwards.

Plainly Bob Parsons is a criminal, he is NOT a humanitarian, he is NOT a good guy.

Claiming to help Africans encroach on elephant habitat is tantamount to helping settlers in America's old west wipe out the Sioux for homestead plots, or Brazilian loggers mowing down the Amazon rain forest for lumber.
History will not be kind to these people.

Once again we find that a person does not have to have any understanding of humanitarian issues, environmental issues, or even moral issues, to pull a trigger.
It is not difficult to draw a straight line between this jackass and the mentally defective shooter of an American Congresswoman.
Shoot first, justify later...

If ignorance is truly bliss, Bob must be a very happy man.
If I were as morally bankrupt, as let's say Sarah Palin, I would post a website with Bob's face in the crosshairs, rather than an elephant's.

I marvel at the fact that while we search for and dream about intelligent life out there in the universe, we show nothing but loathing and contempt for intelligent life here on earth.
Whether that life be elephants, whales, dolphins, apes or our fellow human beings in less sophisticated cultures, it doesn't matter.
We treat them all the same
Shoot first, justify later

The Children Are Sleeping

2011-01-10T14:52:00.002-05:00

Eight days in paradise
Escape to the country
Enlightened only
To the rhythms of the snow
The clouds
And the wind

Returning, I cannot escape
The shockwave of tragic news
Reverberating throughout the media
It finds me, driving to Schenectady
I turn the radio off
It is too much; too soon

But this morning
The details find me
I cannot hide
Paradise seems now
So very far away
And I am numb

I will however
Like most Americans
Like most citizens of earth
Pick myself up
Continue my journey

I will
Resume my efforts
To return to paradise
As quickly as may be

But not yet

This day for a time
While the children are sleeping
I am going to reflect
On these events
On what they mean
To my country
To the people I love
To me

While the children are sleeping
I will think about these things
About those who die so publicly
At the media's insistence
About the vast majority who do not
Tragedy strikes every day
For some

While the children are sleeping
I am going to take a moment
To pause, reflect, and cherish one last time
Those who will not wake

Eclipse

2010-12-23T15:43:00.003-05:00

Solstice
Sun stop
Let me keep some light
To bask in
To task in
Before this longest night
When even the fullest moon
So bright
Must be born anew
Before I may
Take flight

Guardian

2010-12-12T11:41:00.003-05:00

Moving
One carload at a time
While the lawyers debate
My country home waits
Guarded by watchful neighbors, friends
The attentive stars see all ends
Orion looks down and smiles; my future known
As his nightly watch, he tends
Waiting for my feet to roam
To finally make this place my home

The Scent of Apples

2010-10-21T12:57:00.001-04:00

Ruby runs gold to brown
Red runs to russet
The leaves fade, fall
Dance upon the ground
A familiar scent
The aroma of apples
Fresh clean crisp

It arrives with fleeting frosts
Bars of gray and brilliant white
Against cobalt blue skies

A feeling for apples
Their texture
The daring flash of color
Peeking from leafy branch
Inviting you to take it in your hand
Pick, hold, ponder

Ageless apples so perfect
Here in the old orchard's mill
Even the juice becomes
Simple cider
Pure, without additives

The press groans, grumbles
As the wheel turns and the stuff of memory
Trapped, ripening in my mind
Year after year since I can remember
Comes oozing out and fills the air
With the scent of apples

Keep Looking Up

2010-10-10T14:22:00.005-04:00

I got a call from my oldest daughter
"The boys and I saw Jupiter's moons! she excitedly told me
"Get your binoculars go outside, and look at Jupiter"
She didn't need to elaborate, she knew I would know where to look

And so I have been looking this past week

With my binoculars, and with my camera

Jupiter, Io, Europa, Ganymede, Callisto

This one is for you Jack Horkheimer

Thank you SO much

Thanks also to Carl Sagan - without whom, I would have been literally lost in this universe

Humanity

2010-09-11T10:36:00.002-04:00

The smoke has cleared
The debris, taken away
Yet I still recall
The events of that day
And the stricken sixteen acres
Remain empty
To this day

The words of healing
Became hubris
Capitalizing on tragedy spending
Arguments over what is sacred to whom
Memorializing not mending
Sentiment sleeping
As rhetoric deepens

We struggle to make sense
What was it all about?
While acts of cruelty and hatred
Daily play themselves out

Humanity
Encompasses us all
Not just those who stand
Not just those who fall
Her wisdom whispers well to me
Upon my threshold landing
That cruelty ends, not through war
But rather love
And understanding

166,000 Moments

2010-08-06T16:13:00.004-04:00

One moment
One life
One flash
One instant

One moment
The world
Stands pending
One hundred
Thousand lives
Ending

One flash
One burst
One burning
Neutrons flying
One city
Dying
One voice
Left crying

One moment
One hundred sixty six thousand lives...

Regardless
Of reason
Rational
Political
Tactical
Treason

Humanity has a collective past
Let us ALL remember that

Sing

2010-07-25T15:18:00.003-04:00

This music is for now
Right now
Our chords
In harmony

This Music is for now
Please don't write it down
For sake of history

Let us instead reflect
On all of the tapestry

That has woven us into
This moment

We sing this song
Now

Please do not spoil
The potential of this moment
With resumption of presumption
Instead

Sing

Sing with me
Sing now
Weave this moment
To the potential of all moments

This music is for now

Right now

Going, Going...

2010-07-18T13:24:00.003-04:00

In my mind I am already gone

Fanciful flight
Fleeing
Falling
Finding myself exactly where

I want to be going

Do the ends justify the means?
If you learn to let go
There are no "means"
Only a path...

Do what you gotta do?
Better to let go what you gotta let go

Flying free
I am swept away

The river knows
How far to carry me
There is nothing left
To keep me from finding my destiny

Transition

2010-07-13T16:57:00.004-04:00

There may be times
In life
That we feel compelled
To either
Move forward

Or not

Life's breath
Is within me
Within everyone

It inspires us

We take flight
And then
We choose a direction

Echoes

2010-04-21T15:22:00.017-04:00

Ah, look at all the lonely people...

Year after year, Generation after Generation
I am being told that each is lonelier than the last
That this is the loneliest and most unhappy generation in history.
Television, the internet and technology have isolated people like never before.
Generation X (I don't care)
Generation Y (why should I care?)
Generation ME (whatever)
And so on...
We have created a virtual environment for our children that is unrealistic and fragmenting

Generation Meh...

A relatively new term to describe one's disinterest, disassociation from anything, everything.
Meh...
A lazy term, like you don't care enough to express an entire thought
Meh
And when we are not being lazy
We are being mean, especially online
Cyberspace can be a very mean place.

I recently heard this phenomenon described as a result of the anonymity of today's technology.
Anonymity can result in, among other things, "hatred as public performance"
On the surface, the internet sometimes seems a harsh, mean spirited, even antisocial place.

However

This same anonymity allows for something more, for it extends to only what we perceive as an identity, that is to say our "political" identity, name address etc.

We now interface with others in chat rooms, bulletin boards, online games, social networks, and the like. As we do so, we use that anonymity to fabricate a new identity; and in that identity we reveal ourselves anew.

People will share with an online community things they don't share with their own friends or family...
It can get quite intimate.

Suddenly, the loneliest generation in history doesn't seem as lonely.
Suddenly, we have a fresh new perspective on humanity
All we need do is ask the community itself what it means to be human.

These responses came from all over the world.

In 2006 a Youtube celebrity posted this challenge
This remains one of the most responded to videos in Youtube history

These compilations show some of the responses to the above challenge
These are the messages people chose to share

Echoes from the hearts and minds of the loneliest generation in history

In memory of Andy

Continuum

2010-04-08T11:08:00.019-04:00

All around

The awakening has begun

We sense the cycles

Around the calendar

Each season chases

As the Earth races

Around the sun

We don't always see

The continuum

The slumbering trees awaken

Put forth new leaves, sending

To greet the sun

Winter but a long slow night

Ending

So much does each spring resemble the last

That we mistake present for past

But the newborn know

As they begin to grow

Every season unique will show

The sum

Every year a part

Of the continuum

None of us knows

How long we will last

So hold on fast,

To the racing chasing seasons

As they fly for their own reasons

(Photo courtesy of P Burns)

The wave

2010-02-25T14:12:00.005-05:00

It is easy to become disconnected
Living here in this small depressed city
Schenectady
The meaning of the word has been all but forgotten
Taken from the Mohawk people, twisted by Dutch settlers
Schenectady
The place on the far side of the pines

The meaning is appropriate to me now
As I look from my windows, down upon a neighborhood
That doesn't seem to care
About itself
About each other
About the world we live in

The city seems to be
On the far side of everything

Priorities
Getting to and from work
Shopping
Small talk
People embrace their small groups of friends
While ignoring each other, looking around with disdain and mistrust

In this way
The cop and the drug dealer
The thief and the victim
The wealthy and the poor
The working and the unemployed
The educated and the ignorant
Can all occupy the same street
Hiding behind locked doors

Without conflict
Indifferent to one another
Going on and on

They seem dead to me
Like lifeless robots
Unaware of everything
But their simple everyday programs

Awareness is the key

They do not hear the rain
Only complain about the wet

They measure snow by the weight of the shovel
Rather than by the beauty of the falling white flakes
Or the subtle white shrouds on the trees and over the ground

They measure almost everything, it seems
By the level of inconvenience it brings
To their mundane daily routines
No one smiles, no one sings

But something magic happens
When I turn from this place
And head to the farm
With it's much slower pace

Schenectady is surrounded with a beauty
Most fail to see
The mighty Mohawk, winding down to the even mightier Hudson
Big water, carrying the collected raindrops of a thousand storms
The two rivers sweep their way through farmland and forest

My spirit soars, like the hawks I see
Rising on invisible thermals
Above the checkerboard of trees and fields. so free
As I pass by, moving from the dank urban misery to rural pastures
I begin to breathe differently, my heart beats with a renewed intensity.

Leaving the highway behind
I find myself on familiar old roads
Surrounded by wilderness and farms
Rising up into the hills, until...

This is farm country now
Not factory style industrial farms
Real Farms, kept running with skill and hard work

Priorities revolve around the weather
And the needs of the livestock
Cows to be milked
Chickens to be fed
Fields to be tended

This is where Food comes from
There is an unspoken importance to it all
The Farmers are aware of everything

Awareness is the key

And then the road takes me up a long, long, hill
Murphy hill, the locals call it
Leaving the Cobleskill valley
It carries you into the Catskill highlands

Life is different here
As I approach the family farm
Winter is harsher
Summer is shorter yet sweeter
The air is fresher
The water, cleaner
The terrain, more rugged

Unpaved roads are the norm
They wind their way
From Farm to Farm
Climbing over long languishing hill tops
Or skirting around them for miles.

The hills can be unforgiving
And survival is more tenuous than down below
But the people know it
And the sense of community
Spread over an area measured in square miles
Is far more inclusive and inviting
Than my lonely block back in the city.

People here don't care about your politics
So much as they care about your well being
They stick together with an unspoken understanding
An attitude of independence and interdependence
All rolled into one.

I once arrived at the Farm in a blizzard
Only to find the road freshly plowed
And as I crested the hill, and the house came into sight
I saw nine strangers on the roof
They were going from home to home
Shoveling the massive snowfall from the rooftops
Lest someone's home should collapse from the sheer weight of the snow

No one had asked them to come
It was simply understood.
They had the means, and the time to do the job
They wanted no reward
Protecting neighbors homes is simply what they do

So I offered them hot coffee, and hot chocolate
Which they graciously declined
Fearing that they might not get to every home in the area before dark

So after some small talk, and much smiling
They were off to the next home
People here work hard
But they seem to smile a lot as well

And so it is
There is a phenomenon here
Something that has always stayed with me
And given me comfort when my faith in people has been less than great

It is a simple thing
Yet I find it very reassuring
As I traverse Farmland and wilderness
On the slow unpaved roads

The people here seem truly glad to see you coming
As they work in their yards or sit out on their porches in the warmer months
They smile at you
And if you make the effort to acknowledge their presence
When you pass by

They wave to you

If you feel any sort of a connection to this place at all
You feel compelled to wave back
So you wave and say hello

And if you haven't already
You fall in love with this place, and these people

Solstice

2010-01-12T13:16:00.001-05:00

Sunlight fades
A little more
Each day
Until Darkness prevails
Surpassing slumber
Overtaking introspective
Enveloping all
With long winter nights
I long to lay down
In some warm place
And surrender

Those of tropical climes
They do not notice
My world of sunlight
Fading away
Leaving just enough daytime
To scurry about the routine
Dark before I find my way
Home again

I give in to the night
The Sun does not

Solstice

Sun
Stops
Lantern lowering
Now rises again
Daylight showing
One minute here
Two minutes there
Each day now longer than the last
Night time retreats
Reserving reservations
For sleep

The birds know
They flit and fly with renewed vigor
A few minutes more each day
I rally to the light
To increase my flight each day
Knowing full well
The solstice will come again
In June

December

2009-12-12T17:00:00.006-05:00

Sombre Skies fall

There is nothing but grey light

The trees around you

And a million windswept

Flakes of snow

On their way

To somewhere...

A million more follow

After that

A million more

December snowfall

Expected

But unlooked for

She arrives in her own way

In her own time

Own her own day

Silently

Sounding

Softly

Surrounding

Such

Intimate

Moments

...

As these

November

2009-12-12T16:54:00.003-05:00

November

Refrained
Reflecting
Remembering

Requiem
Reserved

In my mind
Heart
Soul

Since 1963

Glimmerglass

2009-10-28T15:19:00.017-04:00

It is quiet now
On the farm
We call it a tree farm
It is more like a loosely managed forest preserve

Staying there for any period of time
Induces a transition

Physical, mental, spiritual

Time doesn't pass more slowly there
It just seems like it
The day is not measured in hours

So much as by events
Sunrise
Breakfast
The first birds to come to the feeders

Chores
A trip into town
Going for a walk
The last rays of sun on the porch
Sunset

Sapphire, bleeding into ebony
Crystal clear bright white
Thousands of tiny points of light
Crossing unimaginable time and distance
To arrive on that perfect night
While the moon slept, and wishes kept secret
Could finally take flight

The constellations rise, one by one
Pleiades
Taurus
Orion
The slow parade emerges from the horizon

Unlike most people
When I think of New York
I do not think of tall buildings, or crowds of people
Instead I see
A patchwork of working farms
Amid huge tracts of state owned protected wilderness

New York
Ranks in the top 20 agriculturally productive states
Protects more forest wilderland than any state outside Alaska

It is here
That I take refuge
From the insanity that the rest of us claim
To be a normal everyday life
This is my Walden

There is history here

The hands of men have worked this land
For hundreds of years
The feet of humanity have graced this land
For thousands of years

Not far from the farm
There is a lake
Tranquil, moody, opulent in her splendor
Turquoise in the summer sun
But brooding in October
The Native Americans had a name for her
Which they did not fully reveal
Other than to describe her as
Glimmerglass

The white intruders
Who would eventually mistakenly claim
The water and the surrounding hills to be their own
Could find nothing more fitting to describe her
No better word than
Glimmerglass

But other names
Did the native people have for this place
Otsego, The place of the rock
Otesaga, The place of meeting

For before the coming of "white" men
This place was held sacred
A place of meeting and of peace
For the many nations of people, who inhabited this land.

They passed this way on their journeys to the northern hunting grounds
They gathered here to exchange ideas and establish territories
And to take council with one another.

The white men left their mark
In the form of buildings and roads
The Natives left their mark
In legend
And the very highways we use today
Follow still, the Indian trails laid down
A thousand years ago

You can catch a glimpse of this historical transition
In the works of James Fennimore Cooper
Who lived here
And is buried here
In a small cemetery, just off Main street

Now tourists come to this place
To watch the leaves turn color
To reflect, on the beauty of the lake
And to visit the baseball hall of fame

Other travelers stop here also
Indifferent to the signs that proclaim the beaches closed
They pass this way
On their long journey southwards
To the winter hunting grounds
Coming and going
As they please

Now I myself stop here
As I come and go
To reflect on the simple beauty of it all
And share it with someone I love
On my way into town

No baseball hall of fame for me
Groceries are the major objective
And some bird seed...

September

2009-09-26T14:26:00.008-04:00

When I turned 40, an older friend of mine at the office told me:
"Get ready for the downhill ride of your life"

This was an ominous and depressing thought at the time
But now that I have had a dozen years to reflect on it, I'm not so sure

Yes I am older
And my body is not what it was when I was twenty...
But my mind has grown
I see things much more clearly now

I see connections, details and relationships now, that I would never have noticed at the age of twenty.
I understand people, and the universe, like I have never understood before.

As youth fades, wisdom fills in the empty places where vanity and conceit once dominated.

But only if you let it

We should value this wisdom, simply for the amount of heartache with which it is acquired

For those who pride themselves on their looks, and not much more, there is not much promise for the future.
We need to keep learning, this I know, and I have found throughout my life that the more I learn, the more I want to learn.

We diminish ourselves
When we place looks over substance

As a society
As a specie
As individuals
At any time
Any age
Any generation

We diminish
Who we are
What we are
Where we are going
What we aspire to be

There is an aesthetic of the mind
Which we all too often
Fail to recognize
Chose to hide
Or simply ignore

Let us chose
Not to do that
Anymore

Do not just grow old
Grow

Equinox

2009-09-22T16:56:00.002-04:00

It’s not so much a time
As it is a place
A particular point
In the Earth’s orbit

It’s a place I have been in 52 times
Yet each time
The place was unique
For the Sun drags her planets through the galaxy
Like an intent mother dragging her children
Through a crowded market
And the Galaxy itself
Is on the move

So yes
This first day of autumn seems so very very familiar
Like I have been here 51 times before
But it isn’t the same
Is it?

Like every day
This day is unique
New
Special

In this respect
Everyday is equal
Everybody is equal

The universe is waiting

Let us make the most of it

Inspiration

2009-08-24T13:28:00.007-04:00

I have received some wonderful emails
Filled with concern for my well being
During this
My summer of loss

I should point out that I do not
post every little thing about my personal life here
And that the loss I have
suffered is far greater than any of you will know
Rest assured however that
my well being is in good hands
And that I am doing just fine

In that spirit I will share something of my inspiration
And speak out loud
Of the love and hope
That keeps me going
From day to day

For Patty
My love

Thanks for being you
For being mine
My Angel

Thank you for everything you give
For trying so hard
For Loving me

It has been a long long road
A hard road
An unexpected road

I walked that road
Always knowing that it was my road
Always knowing that I walked too close

To the edge

I knew I was in danger
Of succumbing to the void
Of crossing the edge
Of never coming back

Yet it is
A beautiful road
At times
When my courage lifts my eyes
Out of the dark
And I can see

I have seen the stars being born
I have seen secrets of life on earth
I have been to the ocean's depths
And to the mountain tops

I have watched microbes multiply
Seen galaxies collide
Atoms have overcome their shyness
And revealed their intimate parts to me

I have watched three times
As my children sprang forth
From the least essence
Of their mother and I
And grown to be my proudest accomplishments

I have watched my own parents wither and fade
With dignity, wisdom
And grace

I have seen friends come and go
Some rising to greatness
Some falling into darkness
As I stood by
Helpless

I have talked to the wind
Learned it's secret speech
I have seen all of time
Captured in a single tear drop

I have stood on the high places
Looked out across the plains
I have kissed the clouds
And they have kissed me

I have seen past the illusions
Of time
And space
Seen the continuum
From which we sprang
Of which we are all still a part

I have touched the universe
Only to discover
That the universe had been touching me
And that we are one

And I have longed to be loved
Out there on the road
It can be colder than ice
Darker than night
Lonelier than solitude

I don't believe those
Who have said they love
And then say they love no more

I have longed for a love
That transcends who we are
And cannot be broken
By fear, imperfection, pride

The journey has been long
And the burden heavy at times
I have cried out in joy
At the beauty of it all
I have cried out in despair
At the pains of the world

I have dreamed
So many many dreams
But most often
I dreamed of you
And I dared
To stand on the edge
Put my soul in peril
As I strained in vane
To find you

And I have given myself to despair
Thinking you were nothing but a dream
And I the fool
For daring to dream you were real

But there was always hope
And when faced with a choice between the void
And the light
I have always chosen the light

For there are others
Out there on the road
Most treat me with blatant disregard
Many fall from the edge and are gone

But there are some who call to me
When I can, I offer my help
Lest they too should fall
And there have been those
Who have helped me

But I never expected this
That you should appear
As an Angel to me
And take me in
Offer me shelter
Right there in your heart
And your soul

That I might lay my burden down
That you would love me
Allow me to love you
That you would walk beside me
Our roads now becoming one
As love transcends us both
And lights our way

Inspiration from music:

Dying To Live

Edgar Winter, 1971

REMINDER

2009-08-18T19:24:00.004-04:00

I am Blogging
With obligation
Bringing a message of salvation
To any person
Any nation
The clock is ticking
Wolf at the door
What can I say?
We must do more
Or
We should not even try...
Just walk away
Watch the world die
It used to make me angry
Now I can only cry

Against the tyranny
And hatred
Greed
My words still stand
Looking for one lost soul
Lend them my hand
Both hands
Mind body spirit
My words still stand
A castle of sand
Do not fear it
Stand with me
Feel it
See it
Steer it
Hold it
Heal it
Heal it

Heal it

People say how nice
That I should care
Shift their eyes
In an uneasy chair
When my words
I should dare to share

Even worse
They talk about their children
Grand children
With eyes wide
Filled with pride
They glare
Yet they feel deep inside
Only despair
They say
Why should I care?
The world won't last
But things wont fall apart
Until long after I've passed
Nothing to contribute
Nothing to give
Just where do they expect
Those grand kids will live?

Is it too late?
Maybe
Can we still make a difference?
Maybe
If there is even the slightest chance
Shouldn't we try?
Shall we simply let the moment
Pass us by?

Not I

And so I will keep on
My words shall stand
Take heed this massage
I leave written in the sand

To all those in the world
That should help but cannot
Because you are
paralyzed by despair
I leave this simple reminder

REMEMBER ALWAYS
THAT WHICH CAME LAST
FROM THE BOX
AFTER PANDORA
OPENED THE LID

CHOICE

2009-08-08T19:07:00.009-04:00

Earthshare Public Service Announcement

I cannot add or detract from this powerful message
So I will let it speak for itself

What would you do
If you had to choose
Between the Buffalo
And the Giraffes?

Between a flower
Or an Elephant?

What would you choose?

What if you had to decide
Between a hundred year old tree
And a million year old beach?

Between drinking clean Water
Or breathing clean Air?

Would you make the right choice?

Would there BE a right choice?

I myself do not ask for donations
But I offer this message
I encourage you to spread the word.

Shadows

2009-08-06T17:44:00.007-04:00

"In the Soviet Union
The scientist is blinded
By the resumption of nuclear testing
And he is reminded

That Doctor Robert
Oppenheimer's
Optimism fell

At the first hurdle..."

Billy Bragg - Waiting For The great Leap Forward

The first Atomic bomb was tested in the Nevada desert
The test was called "Trinity"

But the scientists referred to it as "The first hurdle"

When Oppenheimer saw the Trinity test he muttered a phrase from an ancient Hindu poem written in Sanskrit

Translated it means:
"Now I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds"

General Marshall standing next to him said simply:
"...well; we are all sons of bitches now"

Oppenheimer went to Washington to argue restraint and to not actually use the weapon he had helped develop

He was branded a coward and possible communist, and the bomb was dropped anyway
Twice

Interesting phenomenon; the shock wave from a nuclear blast travels faster than the speed of sound.
Survivors of Hiroshima report being knocked unconscious, without ever hearing a sound
It is known as the noiseless flash

I got this from a book I have that was written by an American living in Hiroshima at the time who survived the bombing

He was a missionary

Right or wrong
We still argue the merits of this act to this day
And that's OK

But for me there is nothing left to do but look back and reflect on the thousands of people who disappeared in a flash that lasted less than 1/1000 of a second.

They left no trace, left nothing behind but their shadows on the ground

Dingo

2009-08-05T16:54:00.007-04:00

Dingo July 1992 - August 2009

My best friend
Everyone's friend

Sixteen years, and I never saw Dingo angry
Not Once
Never did he bare his teeth or threaten anyone

He loved people, especially children
Loved other dogs, cats too
When the kittens were born, Dingo guarded them

I think I must be the only one in town who had children coming to his back door to ask: "Can Dingo come out to play?"

Neighbors who don't even know who I am
All knew Dingo
All loved him too

He won over every skeptic
People who hated dogs
Still loved Dingo

He never left my side, ever
We went everywhere together
Most often, if dogs were not welcome, I didn't go

Love me, Love my dog

Dingo always understood
What was expected from him
Never failed
To live up to those expectations

And for this he was well rewarded
I spoiled him

Dingo never wore a collar
Never had to be tied up
He knew to stay in the yard
And to stay out of the garden

And now he is gone
My last true soul mate
And so I have modified a traditional folk tune in his honor

When Dingo died
He died so hard
It shook the ground
Out in my back yard

Down from heaven
The angels came
And bore him up
On a golden chain

Good bye Dingo
My friend so true
Good bye Dingo
You good dog you

For Love or Money

2009-08-04T17:13:00.003-04:00

I was enjoying some of the reflections in the media last month as we celebrated the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing.
Looking back there are a few things that stay with me, aside from the astounding achievement itself.

First let me say that there is no scientific basis whatsoever to the claims that we never went to the moon. I will elaborate on this more in an upcoming post on Carl Sagan.

I for one do not think it was a mistake, going to the moon.
Man needs challenges, and exploration is a part of who we are.

The thing that impressed me the most about space travel, was how quickly it spurred the notion that we are truly a global society.

Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space proclaimed from his tiny cockpit:
"I see EARTH! it is BEAUTIFUL!"
He came home and spoke openly, albeit briefly, about a world without national or political boundaries.
He was quickly and quietly moved out of the public eye.

But the notion is too powerful to be quelled as more and more men and women travel into space.

When Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface, he spoke words that he had crafted himself, from the perspective, not of an individual, not of a member of a nation, but of a traveler from Earth.

That is one small step for (a) man
One giant leap, for mankind.

I mention this because I think that perspective is sacred, important, and well worth the price.

Yes it was expensive
But so are many of the endeavors we undertake, including preparing for and engaging in acts of war.

I suppose the money spent going to the moon might have been better spent on something else, but after years of retrospect, I can say that about many things.

The saving and loan scandal of the late eighties cost this country approximately twenty times as much as the Apollo program.

The Iraq war: two hundred times...

Osama bin Laden was funded to the tune of three billion dollars by America, when he was fighting the Russians in Afghanistan...

We as human beings so often spend money trying to fix or heal the worlds troubles, only to find we have made them worse.

Global efforts in the sixties and seventies to feed a hungry world, have resulted in a doubling of the worlds population in less than thirty years, and the world is still hungry.

Logic dictates that this process cannot continue for long, for soon we will need two Earths to feed the population of just this one, and there is no second Earth to turn to.

There comes a time when you have to realize, before it is too late, that the problems of the world cannot be solved with money alone.

Love love love
Love is all you need...

Remember the song?

There was SO much truth revealed about the power of love at that time.
So much of the worlds troubles would be solved if we could simply love one another
But we don't

Looking back, I realize that there isn't a shortage of love in the world, it is simply a matter of application.
I see loving people all around me, caught up in a national hysteria so profound and so subtle, that they don't even realize how badly it undercuts their own moral compass.

I look out across the nations of the world and realize that it is the same everywhere.
When I look past the hate, the mistrust, I see love...

I'm sure even Hitler had his passions, felt love, for something,

There comes a time when you have to realize, before it is too late, that the problems of the world cannot be solved with Love alone.

Come together

I do not say this lightly, or with any degree of despondence, only with the slow sense of realization that has been granted me.

We simply must combine understanding, and the ability to learn, grow, compromise and accept, with our powers of Love and economics.

Understanding is key, and education is fundamental to the process.
No one nation can own the world
All nations must now come together and save the planet from our own selfish behavior.

The time for nationalism is gone
Long gone

The time has come for us
The people of the world
To come together at last

Understanding must come first
Otherwise Love is blind
And money wayward.

Do Yourself a Favor

Motown sensation Stevie Wonder, at the age of twelve, spelled it out.

"Do yourself a favor
Educate your mind
Get yourself together
For there aint' much time"

The link provided is a cover by my favorite boyhood rock band, Edgar Winter & the White Trash - A powerful rhythm and blues combo consisting of white, black and native American musicians.
I liked that - liked it allot.

"1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
9 10 11 12
Don't you know
Before you go
You'd better educate yourself"

As simple as Sesame Street
As profound as the deepest heart

So the next time someone tells you we can find no solutions "for love or money"
You tell them that is correct

But only because they don't understand
WHY

Paul

2009-06-27T16:35:00.011-04:00

Paul A Butkereit April 1922 - June 2009

Everything I ever could ever define as good
Was there in this man

A scant five minutes in his presence
Was all it took to convince anyone of this

He had an honest and open relationship
With the world
With everyone
With everything

I never knew him to tell a lie
Not once

His simple philosophy
Could be summed up
With one phrase

Do the right thing

What the right thing was
Needed no mention

It was understood
That you knew

It was your responsibility

To know

I really believe that he felt that way
About so many of the world's
problems

People, most often know
What is the right thing to do
Deep down inside
They
know

They just won't always admit it
To themselves

Let alone
To others

If ever there was
An example needed
To define the opposite
Of pretense

That would have to be
My dad

Unassuming, charismatic, outgoing
He was the guy who

Picked up hitch hikers
Stopped to fix flat tires
Did business on a handshake
Volunteered his time
Trusted his neighbors

One of my earliest memories
Is of my dad
Rushing in to pull someone
From their shattered vehicle
Lying upside-down and on fire
In the middle of East Seaman Avenue

A crowd of people
Looked on
Frozen with fear
Dad walked right up
And pulled the man from his car

The crowd failed to act
Because they were afraid the car would explode
My dad went in
For the very same reason

Mom had a fit of course
But I don't think Dad could have done any different

And so it went
He was always that way
Which caused Mom much grief sometimes
But as kids growing up
It gave us a very broad perspective

The sort of perspective needed
To realize that the world is more
More than a man
More than a people
More than a nation

That we can be the heroes
We can be the leaders
We can be the champions
If we simply

Do the right thing

Now he is gone
And I am realizing
Perhaps for the first time
That he is as much a part of my message
As I am

As we all are

Thanks Dad

The Power

2009-06-12T14:15:00.004-04:00

For Roxanne
Patiently Practicing her Art
And always asking
The right questions

What drives people towards peace...
I'm not sure I can say

I am sure the power of love plays a part
But
So does the power of fear
Perhaps there is a place for the simple understanding that it would be catastrophic to allow...

However
War or not
We budget for it
Over two trillion US dollars annually, worldwide
It's a fine line
Between fear
And paranoia

Perhaps we no longer need a global conflict
As long as we can have conflict

My dad served in World War Two
He tells me he has seen far more death
Since the war ended
Then he ever saw
In Europe

"They just changed the presentation, that's all"

He is referring to the media

We share a dark secret
Dad and I
He knows I can see it also

On top of this
We now declare war
On the abstract

War on poverty
War on drugs
War on terror

Fighting shadows, illusions
Nightmares...

Attacking the symptoms
Not really wanting to find a cure
It's all about the fight

Yet I do not despair
For I see
Another side also
A bigger picture

A worldwide understanding
Of our environment
Our world
Ourselves

Peace
Love
Hope...

It is a fine line sometimes
Between hope
And faith

Thanks to all of you
I can honestly say
I have both

Right Now

2009-06-04T15:32:00.008-04:00

Human being
Has been
Recently reminiscing on Rumi...
And the power of love

Over the last few weeks
This has kept an old song
From my youth
Pleasantly running through my mind.

Turbulence aside

It was a simple time
Filled with simple ideas
Though you wouldn't know it
From the mysticism and hype
Instilled on it today

There was a poster on the wall
Outside my bedroom door
It read:

WAR IS*******************
************NOT HEALTHY
FOR CHILDREN************
AND
***OTHER LIVING THINGS

A billboard on Broadway
In New York City proclaimed:

******WAR IS OVER******
****If YOU want it to be****

The only difference between then
And today...

We really believed these ideas then
We need to believe in them once again, today
Let us start
Right Now

And the song in my mind
Doesn't keep me up at night

I still believe
Always have.

Get together

Love is but a song we sing
Fear; the way we die

You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry

Though the bird is on the wing
You may not know why

Come on people now
Smile on your brother

Everybody get together
Try to love one another

Right now

Some may come and some may go
We will surely pass

When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last

We are but a moment's sunlight
Fading in the grass

Come on people now
Smile on your brother

Everybody get together
Try to love one another

Right now

If you hear this song I sing
You will understand

You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand

Just one key unlocks them both
Its there at your command

Come on people now
Smile on your brother

Everybody get together
Try to love one another

Right now
Come on people now
Smile on your brother

Everybody get together
Try to love one another

Right now
1967 The Youngbloods

Three Minutes Forty Four Seconds at Zenspace

2009-05-23T22:04:00.004-04:00

Sometimes
A warm
Quiet
Rainy
Afternoon

Can be just the
Magic
I have been longing for

The Witness

2009-05-15T12:55:00.002-04:00

Silently she waits
Eyes never close
Never a shoulder
To turn cold

Forgotten it seems
To those around her...

The spider weaves
The blossom contemplates
The Crow gathers
As the seasons chase each other
Around and around
Her little garden

There is more to this place
Than meets the eye
And she knows it well
Seeing all
Judging not at all

As hope and death
Play out their dance
In an equation that always
Always
Always
Meets perfect balance
In the end

Slowly she counts
The days
The years
The seasons
Of the world

And of the men
And women
Who pass through her tiny space

She stands as witness
That they should have dignity
In their final days
And take solace in her simple blessing
That we may all find peace
And that we are all equal

In the end

The Shadow of Winter

2009-04-14T11:34:00.002-04:00

Long drawn pale
Winter's shadow fades
The frozen chain
Gives way
Letting loose
The green growth of spring

Long days
Short nights
Darkness gives way
To the season of light

Yet my heart can tell
Hiding below the horizen
The long shadows wait
Patiently

Who speaks for Earth?

2009-03-20T18:18:00.005-04:00

For those who cannot see the video

This is an excerpt from the final episode of Cosmos, by Carl Sagan
Partial transcript as follows:

…How would we explain all this to a dispassionate extra terrestrial observer?

What account would we give of our stewardship, of the planet Earth?

We have heard the rational offered by the superpowers
We know who speaks for the Nations

But who speaks for the Human species?

Who speaks for Earth?

See Full transcript in the comments

What account will we give?
What account can we give?

Our legacy will speak for itself

Therefore
I do
I speak for earth

I welcome all citizens
Everywhere
To join me in this endeavor

I encourage everyone
Everywhere
To watch this series

What account will we give?
What account can we give?

Our legacy will speak for itself

Awakening

2009-02-27T13:56:00.004-05:00

I went to the river today
She was sleeping
Ice dreams weaving
Blue sky
Limbs swaying
Birds playing
Quietly

I wanted to kiss her
Touch the brooding deep
Beneath the white sheets
While discussing prospects
Of spring, rain, and coffee
Like lovers on a lazy Sunday morning

But I dared not disturb her
Such is her beauty
Even in slumber

I gaze in silence
And watch her
Shifting with the seasons
Slowly awakening
And I am content

A Spark of Vision

2009-02-13T11:54:00.007-05:00

February 12, 1809
Two men born on this day
Still reverberate through our collective psyche

One would take simple observation to the edge of scientific discovery
The other would bring himself and his nation to a new level of human awareness
As spelled out by the founding fathers of his country
Thus are the origin of species
And the ending of slavery in the United States
Forever connected

A spark of vision, awareness and understanding
Touched humanity that day
And manifested itself in the form of two men
Both of whom would change history
Both of whom would embark on long journeys
Without knowing where they would be taken
Both of whom believed the truth to be self evident
Both of whom were born on this day
February 12, 1809

I thank the universe
And history
For the words
Deeds
And wisdom

Of Charles Darwin
And Abraham Lincoln

I went to visit Abe
When I was a child

My father thought it was important
And so, on a trip to Washington DC
We spent a few hours at the memorial
Dedicated to this man

The Immense marble figure
So much bigger than life
Neither brandishing a sword
Nor posing for posterity

Rather seated in a chair
Imbued with kindness
And solemn understanding

I looked into the cold stone eyes
And I could feel it
I still feel it
To this day

I was five years old

But it is not the marble
Or the man
That consoles me now

Rather
It is his words
Recorded there in stone
As they are in bronze
In a Pennsylvania cemetery

As a nation struggled to reach a defining moment
After untold hours of oration, argument, declarations
Amidst years of conflict
War death and slaughter
And conflict within himself

He went to the battlefield
To honor the dead
And to speak

Defining the moment
And the Nation
With just 272 words

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on
this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

We are met on a great battle-field of that war.
We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground.
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion

That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain

That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom

And that government : of the people, by the people, for the people,
shall not perish from the earth

Missing in Action

2009-01-16T15:07:00.008-05:00

Apologies for my absence to those who follow this blog

Life has taken my time and attention for a while

The wheel however

Has not stopped turning

I am not going to relate

The pain that comes

From watching a loved one

Fade from glory

Life ends

Life begins

And I expect to see both of these events

Up close and personal

At some point this year

I will however

As time passes

Share any wisdom I am blessed with

And I will find the time to visit these pages

Find the words, to give meaning to these days

I miss you all and will soon be returning to your pages

To read

To understand

And to share my thoughts

Thank you all for the seasonal and holiday wishes

May my best wishes find you

In all hemispheres, all corners of this beloved Earth

Without bias, prejudice or contempt

But rather with Love

We are all citizens of Earth

Simple as that

One Humanity

In spirit, and in flesh

Thank you all once again

And I’ll see you soon

Bobbb

Crystal Moonrise

2008-12-15T14:03:00.012-05:00

Warm above
Cold below

Fog
Rain
Sleet
Snow

Ice

Branches groan
Complain about the weight
Shard sharp
Growing glistening
Tempting fate

Nature’s pruning
Cold shears call
Do the work
Limbs laden fall

Ice day
Sunbeams stray
Off frozen treetops
And grass shards play

Until day's end
Darkness descends
To hush the Moonrise
Crystals bend
The shimmering beams
To me they send

The Eldest

2008-12-04T18:44:00.004-05:00

If there is time for another pilgrimage

On my journey Westward
I would like to go to California
To meet with and visit some very special very old personalities.

No

Not in Hollywood
The souls I would like to encounter
Are those of trees…

Bristlecone Pine Trees
To be specific

Sometimes called Joshua trees
Or Methuselah trees

They can be found in
Joshua Tree State Park
The Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest
And Inyo National Forest

Among other places

Photo courtasy of the US Forest Service

The Tree in this picture
Was already over 3,000 years old
On the day Jesus was born

The oldest Bristlecone Pine (estimated to be between 12,000 and 14,000 years old)
Is the oldest living inhabitant of this planet

Pictures of this tree are not available
As scientists are unwilling to reveal which is the oldest
Fearing that souvenir hunters will kill it

Scientists are interested in these trees because they do not grow old
In fact they still produce pinecones and seeds with a viability equal too that of a young tree.

There is the distinct possibility that if their habitat remains and they are not killed by man, that these trees will live virtually
Forever

They have survived jungle like conditions, floods, and years of drought, desert conditions, grazing animals…
They lived through an ice age; they witnessed the coming and the going of the Native Americans

They have survived fallout from the testing of Atomic bombs in Nevada
Showing no signs of ill effect from the high doses of radiation

So while millions of others
Make their pilgrimage to Anaheim
And it's bright promise for adventure on "Mr Toads Wild Ride"
Or the sights and sounds of "Main Street USA"…

My trip will instead be
A pilgrimage to this place
So that I may touch with my own hands
Speak
Commune
Experience
The very somber and noble presence
Of the Earth’s oldest living inhabitants.

Reflections

2008-11-16T11:25:00.008-05:00

In the sheerest
Of moments
She puts on a show
So impressive
Awestruck
I stand
Enchanted
I forget
What is really going on

Until

The

Leaves

Are

Falling

Aldo

2008-11-08T23:24:00.016-05:00

I am planning a trip to Iowa one day

More than just a trip – a pilgrimage…

While millions of people travel to Graceland

To visit the grave of their fallen idol

Elvis

I will be heading west.

Seeking a small town lost in the heartland of America

Burlington, Iowa to be exact

Somewhere in Des Moines County in the township of Burlington Lays Aspen Grove Cemetery

Somewhere in this sacred place a small stone marks the final resting place of Aldo Leopold

Photo Courtasy of Aspin Grove

No throngs of tourists

No wailing women throwing themselves on the grave

I doubt very much that there will be a souvenir stand
Perhaps there will be flowers

Native flowers I would hope…

I find myself compelled to go to this place
I was never one for pilgrimages before…

Perhaps I simply long to reassure myself

That someone like this really did exist in a real and physical sense
Not a character in a story

Not the subject of a documentary

Not an invention of the media

Just a man

Plain and simple

He lived and then he died

As we all must do

His wonderful insight continues to be, through his written word
His body now lies in this quiet corner of Iowa

When I was a child
I was already beginning to show great interest in the
environment
And for all things living
I grew up in a fishing village on
Long Island
Surrounded by the vast wasteland of the American suburbs
On one side
And the vast enigmatic Atlantic
On the other
All just a stones throw from the world’s richest and busiest city

But I spent my summers in upstate New York
On my family’s Tree Farm in Cherry Valley
Among the trees my grandfather planted
Immersed at an early age, in the
ideals of conservationism.

It was paradise for a child
I consider
myself to be among the luckiest people on the planet
For having such an
opportunity
City mouse AND country mouse all in one
That was I

I spent a lot of time with an old crippled farmer named Jack
Helping him with the chores on his tiny little farm

I learned about the animals
Cows
Pigs
Chickens
Horses
Geese
Ducks
Turkeys

More on
Jack another time…

I watched things grow
And die
Generation to
generation
Season to season

I planted trees
Pruned trees
Thinned trees

I learned to fish
Catch frogs
Find water
Make fire
Tell the time by the sun and stars
Tell the temperature
And predict the weather
By listening to insects

I connected to
the Earth
And the Earth connected to me

Now I am sometimes described
as an environmentalist
Sadly, most of the time that carries
A negative
connotation
An Environmentalist is seen as
A wacko
Revolutionary
Tree hugging
Anti establishment
Nut job
Hippie

Stemming
from a drug induced
Counter culture
Flower power movement
That began
in the sixties

Now I might just be
Some
Or even all of those
things

But first
And foremost
I am a conservationist

Earth First
Nature first
Environment first

I did not learn these ideals
From hippies
I learned them when I was a child
From my grandfather
And my dad

The conservation movement did not begin in
the sixties
It came out of the dustbowl era of the thirties

It began
in the mind
Of people like

Aldo Leoplod

Somewhere along the line someone put a book into my hands
Different than most books I had read

And I read a lot

Over the years this book became dear to me
The concept that you could see things from the point of view of a tree
Or a mountain
Was planted in my mind

Not man against nature
Rather man - as a part of nature

That the land was more important

Than the things we put on it

That there are consequences for failing to remember this
That the consequences can be devastating

The book is called “A Sand County Almanac” and it contains some of the written works of Aldo Leopold.

Aldo was one of the last “frontiersmen” carrying forwards the ideals and traditions of the homesteaders of the mid-west
Looking out for livestock he was an avid hunter
Man against nature
Making the farm work
Against all odds

Not the kind of man you would think someone like me would idolize…

But Aldo was different
There are more than a few people on my list of heroes who got there because they put the truth above their own beliefs
Accepting things for the way they are rather than for the way they wanted them to be

People who changed their way of thinking
When confronted with a truth they had not before perceived.

Aldo was such a man. He made the transition from frontiersman to conservationist in one abrupt moment of clarity; which among other things, he wrote about.

His philosophy changed from “man against nature’ – to man as a part of nature
And he is recognized today as the father of the modern conservation movement

Both my Dad and my Grand dad were followers of this movement
As am I

Aldo not only influenced the way I think, but also the way I write
I cannot change that for he is now a part of me.

The story entitled “Thinking like a Mountain” comes from his book – “A Sand County Almanac”
It is a true story and a heartbreaking story

But it is also the story of a man making connections, seeing the world in a new way and then changing his way of thinking as well as his way of living.

He would devote the remainder of his life to protecting the environment – and to making those connections clear to the rest of us.

Thinking Like a Mountain

By Aldo Leopold

A deep chesty bawl echoes from rim rock to rim rock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night. It is an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world. Every living thing (and perhaps many a dead one as well) pays heed to that call. To the deer it is a reminder of the way of all flesh, to the pine a forecast of midnight scuffles and of blood upon the snow, to the coyote a promise of gleanings to come, to the cowman a threat of red ink at the bank, to the hunter a challenge of fang against bullet. Yet behind these obvious and immediate hopes and fears there lies a deeper meaning, known only to the mountain itself. Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.

Those unable to decipher the hidden meaning know nevertheless that it is there, for it is felt in all wolf country, and distinguishes that country from all other land. It tingles in the spine of all who hear wolves by night, or who scan their tracks by day. Even without sight or sound of wolf, it is implicit in a hundred small events: the midnight whinny of a pack horse, the rattle of rolling rocks, the bound of a fleeing deer, the way shadows lie under the spruces. Only the uneducable fool can fail to sense the presence or absence of wolves, or the fact that mountains have a secret opinion about them.

My own conviction on this score dates from the day I saw a wolf die. We were eating lunch on a high rim rock, at the foot of which a turbulent river elbowed its way. We saw what we thought was a doe fording the torrent, her breast awash in white water. When she climbed the bank toward us and shook out her tail, we realized our error: it was a wolf. A half-dozen others, evidently grown pups, sprang from the willows and all joined in a welcoming melee of wagging tails and playful mauling. What was literally a pile of wolves writhed and tumbled in the center of an open flat at the foot of our rim rock.

In those days we had never heard of passing up a chance to kill a wolf. In a second we were pumping lead into the pack, but with more excitement than accuracy: how to aim a steep downhill shot is always confusing. When our rifles were empty, the old wolf was down, and a pup was dragging a leg into impassable slide-rocks.

We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes - something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters' paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.

Since then I have lived to see state after state exterminate its wolves. I have watched the face of many a newly wolf-less mountain, and seen the south-facing slopes wrinkle with a maze of new deer trails. I have seen every edible bush and seedling browsed, first to anemic desuetude, and then to death. I have seen every edible tree defoliated to the height of a saddle horn. Such a mountain looks as if someone had given God a new pruning shears, and forbidden Him all other exercise. In the end the starved bones of the hoped-for deer herd, dead of its own too-much, bleach with the bones of the dead sage, or molder under the high-lined junipers.

I now suspect that just as a deer herd lives in mortal fear of its wolves, so does a mountain live in mortal fear of its deer. And perhaps with better cause, for while a buck pulled down by wolves can be replaced in two or three years, a range pulled down by too many deer may fail of replacement in as many decades. So also with cows. The cowman who cleans his range of wolves does not realize that he is taking over the wolf's job of trimming the herd to fit the range. He has not learned to think like a mountain. Hence we have dustbowls, and rivers washing the future into the sea.

We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness. The deer strives with his supple legs, the cowman with trap and poison, the statesman with pen, the most of us with machines, votes, and dollars, but it all comes to the same thing: peace in our time. A measure of success in this is all well enough, and perhaps is a requisite to objective thinking, but too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run. Perhaps this is behind Thoreau's dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world.

Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf

Long known among mountains

But seldom perceived among men

Excerpt courtasy of Dead Trees

The Miniature Forest

2008-10-04T14:40:00.004-04:00

Down at the river
Along the old railroad line
Which is now a bicycle path
Way up behind Niska Isle

These are backwaters
Of the mighty Mohawk
Where beaver and muskrat
Hold up for the winter

This place

Niskayuna

The name a native term
From the Connestigiune tribe
Meaning
Big river flats blessed with corn

This is farmland still

Here and there
Works of the old railroad
May be seen

Slag from the ash
Of burning coal
Can be found alongside the path

Man has touched this place
But nature adapts
Bends the works of man
To her own will
Over time

As with the rusty iron bridge
That connects the farms on Niska Isle
To the mainland

It replaced a much older bridge
Made of wood

Here and there
Posts, pilings and footings
May still be found

And so it was
As I unsuccessfully
Attempted to photograph an Egret
Beside me I noticed
A fading wooden post

A closer look revealed

The miniature forest

Night Flight

2008-09-25T16:47:00.015-04:00

Tropical depression
Gathers her winds and rains
Moves on to keep appointments
With the St Laurence
And the Grand Banks off Nova Scotia
Clear skies and sunshine
Move in

The Sun falls low
A barely discernable chill
Belies the stillness of the evening
And speaks to me
Of a North wind
Blowing high above
I can feel it from here

I am not alone
Down at the river
They feel it too

The high winds send
Thin wisps of cloud
Scurrying Southward
Painted with fading sunlight
Red pink orange yellow violet

As Darkness
Fills the deep places
Under brush and bush
I see the full moon
Lifting limb
Over the treetops

From the river
I hear their voices
Not the usual tenor
For this time of day

They carry an air
Of excitement bringing
Tonight the voices do not settle
Into the evening singing

Instead they escalate
And I feel a thrill
As I realize
What they debate

Night Flight

I settle back into my chair
Bracing flannel
Against a growing chill
In the expecting air

It is a good time
To be connected
It is a good time
To be

The voices from the river
Rise to a crescendo
Then fall to a quiet clamor

Moments later
I hear them above
I strain to catch a glimpse
Of a black wedge
Against indigo and moonlight
As they pass overhead

Canada Geese
Can sense North and South
In a blind fog at midnight

They know the stars
Can navigate by them
As ancient mariners did

They know the topography
And the landmarks
Can recognize them
By moonlight
From thousands of feet in the air

They know the weather
Can sense the shifting cells of air
Sense when to hunker down
And avoid storms and headwinds
To feed and for the journey south, prepare

And they know
When the time is right
To catch powerful tail winds
To speed their journey south
Even if it means flying at night

Some will make south Jersey
By daybreak
A good three hundred miles or more
From where the river sings to me

Candlelight
Comfort
I settle into my chair
Choice morsels slow cooking
Over hot coals
Good company

As the night progresses
More flights pass
Some right overhead
Some further away
My heart leaps
Just at the sound
And Dingo looks up at me
Knowingly

It is a good time
To be connected
It is a good time
To be

Big Magic

2008-09-05T18:51:00.006-04:00

I walk outside
Coworkers complain
Complain about the heat
Complain about the humidity
But I don’t

I sense
Something familiar
In the Air

Big Magic…

I can feel it
Smell it
Taste it

I can hear it
In the rising breeze
Unusual for this heat

The others do not notice
They say

"Hot out, for September"

I scarcely hear them

There is no mistaking it
Water and Air
Busy at work

They speak to me
Of the Ocean
Over one hundred fifty miles away

When you grow up by the shore
The Sea Air becomes a part of you
You do not forget it

Tropical storms
Send memories to me
I know it
As soon as I feel it

It will be raining here soon

The Hurricane winds hold
Waters gathered
From the coasts of Africa
And the mid Atlantic
Bourn on a throne of air
Aloft by the sheer will
Of the wind alone

To be distributed here
On the East coast of North America
Thousands of miles away
Expending the energy
Of a thousand atomic bombs
In the process

In this way
The Ocean gives
Her excess energy
To the Air

Part of a vast song
Of Water and Air
Helping to make this planet
A very nice place for life

Tomorrow
When I go outside
To stand in my African rain

I will think for a moment
About my coworkers
Who will come in on Monday
And complain

Complain about how the rain
Ruined their weekend plans
As they gather around
The water cooler
To fill their bottles

And then I will sing
With the mighty Air and Water
Oh yes I will sing
And share a moment of their majesty

And their Magic

Water

2008-08-07T23:40:00.048-04:00

Thirty billion gallons

I read once
The amount of precipitation that falls on the state of New York
Averages more than thirty billion gallons (114 billion L) of water...

Every day.

I always knew that the cycles of Earth and of Life were vast…
But I had not confronted the sheer scale of it
Not like that

I started to see the rivers, lakes, streams, even the weather

In a new way

I began to see

A very big picture of

Water

Ancient
Primal
Vital

Water is
Big Magic…

One of the first compounds to be made
Was Water
The cloud from which our Sun was born
Was rich with it

Older

Older than the earth...

The water came with us
And played a roll
In the formation of the planets

And the Earth found itself
Falling
Not too close
Falling
Not too far
Endlessly in an orbit
That allowed water to exist

As a liquid

0 – 100 deg C
32 – 212 deg F

A narrow band of temperatures
Indeed

Covalence

The electrical properties
Of Oxygen and Hydrogen atoms
Give the water molecule an odd shape

Very much like a Mickey Mouse balloon

This shape makes water
Very
Very

Special

To begin with
When water freezes
It becomes less dense
Rather than more so

Ice floats

And so the world is not covered
With an ocean of ice

Polarity

This shape also gives water molecules
An electrical property
Positive at one end
Negative at the other

This makes the molecules
Attractive to each other
And makes water flow

In such a delightful way

Water covered the young Earth

Gathered the ingredients for life

Using its polarity to help shape

The newly forming organic compounds

Water was there
Every step of the way
With unimaginable patience
Cradling life
As the ages passed

*******************

Though all else

Even the Air

Would be foreign to us now

Already there was
At the beginning
The sounds

Of falling rain

And crashing surf
To comfort life
As it played
With the idea

Of evolution

So it is today
Though we no longer dwell
In the ocean
We have taken it with us

Our bodies
More water
Than anything else
The chemistry
Has not changed

The Echo of our origins
Is carried on
Within us

Water is not static

It moves

Changes form

Dissolves

Transports

Delivers

Exchanges

Shares...

A catalyst for so many things

Evaporation

Erosion

Fossilization

Hydration

Transpiration

Osmosis

Etc…

Busy, busy Water

What was once seabed
Then was mountains

Is now cliff face

Earth

Transformed by Fire

And Water

Water passes
Always there

Never the same

The river does not ask
She just flows
And the water you see today
Is not the same
As the water
You pondered yesterday

The music of Water

Even it's very presence

Can profoundly affect

The way we feel

Like children

We rejoice

In sheer delight

Just at the sight of it

Water affects the way

We see the world around us

Allows us to reflect

And see things differently

Now; Honour had asked me
About our connection with water
In comparison to that of the Air
And I’ve been a long time in coming to it…

Air has been shaped by life

Life has been shaped
By Water

Our connections to water
Are so deeply entwined
That it is fair game
To ask

Is water a part of us all...

Or are we all just a part of it?

She Sings to Me

2008-07-06T13:28:00.004-04:00

There is a place I know
Not far from here
More than just
A place…

The night was warm
I was coming home
From an evening out
Feeling a bit down

It was an easy choice
To change my route
And follow the river home

I pulled the car over
When I came to that place
I got out and began walking
In the moonlight

Catching the Beaver
Unaware
He slapped his tail
Loudly on the water
At my approach

Shimmering rings
Spread outwards
Here and there
In silence

As he and the others
Made themselves scarce

In a moment he reappeared
Slapped again
And looked carefully
At me
Sizing me up

He then followed me
Suspiciously
Matching my stride
As I walked beside
The river

The river…

She is a mighty presence
Along this particular stretch
Almost a mile wide
Reflecting the silent moonlight

You cannot walk here
And not feel it
Feel it deep down
In your soul

If you are open
Aware
Patient
Understanding
And perhaps a bit lucky

She will feel you too

It was here that the river
First spoke to me
A few years ago

I had come there to meditate
I became aware of the rivers presence
I felt her strongly
In my heart

She helped me in those days
And she helped me
Again that night
Singing of love
And all the sorrows
We hold in our hearts
And how lucky we are to have them
So as to learn wisdom
Compassion
Forgiveness
Understanding…

Snowflakes

2008-06-25T19:09:00.002-04:00

They were talking about climate change
On the radio
And one of them said

“All this talk about ‘tipping points’ is a myth
There are no such things as tipping points
That’s just scientific make believe”

Now I am thinking
No such thing
As tipping points?

Someone who doesn’t believe in
Tipping Points
Wouldn’t believe in
Earthquakes
Volcanoes
Lightning bolts
Avalanches
Ice ages
Mass extinctions
Nuclear fusion
Just to name a few things
I’m sure…

And they wouldn’t believe in

Snowflakes…

The Echo

2008-06-24T23:23:00.004-04:00

This was the song
Of long ago
That I had once sought
And never
found
Until it came
And found me…

The Sun escaped
From brooding
Blind darkness
With her companions
In tow

Gravitational eddies
Will do that…

Condensing
Collapsing
Igniting
She bathed
Her young companions
With light

Fire ruled the Earth
For quite some time
At the beginning…

Eventually
Things cooled
Molten rock
Gave way to solid stone
The Sun
Blazing
In the black sky
Gave way to smoke
Vapors

And steam

Things kept cooling
Until
Something happened
For the very first time

It rained

The angry hot ground hissed
And the blazing photons glared
Fire and Water
In a great confrontation
Compromising
Eventually
Found their place
And conspired
To make the weather

Now it is said
Of all the elements
That Water is the most…
Musical

And so
Most beloved
By mankind

Truly
Water speaks to us
And knows many
Many
Songs

Especially the rain…
We hearken to it
Even when we curse it
There is something so
Familiar
About its sound

It is hundreds of songs
Sung at once
Each drop
A voice

It was the rain
That found me
One night
Whispering to me in my sleep
As she often does

Then waking me
With a mighty storm

And then I heard it
The rain was singing
The song
Of long ago

Older even
Than the stones
Can remember

An ancient echo
Echo
Echo

Of the oldest of songs

Air

2008-06-15T09:25:00.011-04:00

And so we come to it
These pages
Made of
electrons
Ones
Zeros
They connect us

There are certain
themes
Ideas
Thoughts
About
People
Magic
Art
Time
Truth
Love
Loss
Life
Death
Beauty
Tolerance
Justice
Courage…
…
We
share them
They connect us as well

But there is something
more
Something tactile
From deep inside us
It knows us
Is a part of us
And it connects us all
Physically

For we all touch
Feel and breath
The same

Air

We dwell
At the bottom
Of the sky

An ocean of air
All about us

It permeates our bodies
Gets intimate
On a cellular level
With
Every
Single
Last
One of us
Without exception

Always working
Never resting
Air is the catalyst
That drives
The vast cycles
Of life
Bringing oxygen
To fuel the fire within you
Returning carbon dioxide
Back to the green plants
Water
Nitrogen
Carbon

Cycles
We don’t even see
Keep us alive

Air
Protects us
From the hazards
Of deep space
Exchanges energy
With the oceans
To bring us weather

Witness
To all our deeds
Air is
The unforgiving
Collective conscience
That unites
Our bodies
Souls

The eagle has wings
But it is the Air
That carries him aloft

His flight
Is an act of faith

Of the highest degree

It's In The Breeze

2008-06-13T09:30:00.009-04:00

The wind sings
Speaking to what is
Speaking of cold far away
Of rain to come
Of the burning desert
Of the oceans deep...

She knows

The wind touches
All places
All things
Connecting

Reminding

The wind
Hears all sorrows
Feels all transgressions
Understands no excuses

She knows

We keep no secrets
From the wind

What we give to her
She gives back
Without judgment
Without stopping
For anyone
Anything

Reminding

Passing
Through darkness
Daylight
The intimate places
Of our thoughts
The aftermath
Of our deeds

She knows

Reminding

With her song

All we need do
Is listen…

As I listen
I am reminded
Of an old song
Wedged somewhere
Between my memory
My conscience
And my heart

Nature’s Way

It's nature's way of telling you
Something's wrong
It's nature's way of telling you
Hear the song

It's nature's way of receiving you
It's nature's way of retrieving you
It's nature's way of telling you

Something's wrong

It's nature's way of telling you
It’s in the breeze
It's nature's way of telling you
Dying trees

It's nature's way of receiving you
It's nature's way of retrieving you
It's nature's way of telling you

Something's wrong

It's nature's way, it's nature's way
It's nature's way, it's nature's way

It's nature's way of receiving you
It's nature's way of retrieving you
It's nature's way of telling you
Something's wrong
Something's wrong

Something's wrong

Spirit - 1970

The Sound of the Wind

2008-06-04T18:17:00.009-04:00

These trees

No longer exist

Harvested in 1992
To avoid risking them
To disease
That kills red pines

Paper
Plywood
Paneling
Furniture
Building materials…

The biggest went
For log cabin homes
Right here
In upstate NY
And in Canada

When I see people
Wasting paper
I think of

These trees

Which my grandfather
Planted
With his own hands

Which my family
Tended
For over seventy years

If not for red pine blight
The largest
Would have been allowed to grow
Would have become giants
In another fifty years or so

When I was young
I walked among

These trees

For hours
Days
At a time

They were big magic to me

Sacred
Devine

…
I will admit
I loved them more
Than some people
I have met
…

I will never forget
How they made me feel

As I sat
Among them

As I walked
Beneath those awesome boughs

The sound of the Wind
In their branches
And long fine beautiful needles
Will never fade from my memory

The sound of the Wind
In their branches
Will never fade from my memory

The sound of the Wind
Will never fade from my memory

Now the sky
Is a mighty thing
Big magic indeed
It is there
The clouds sing
Wander
Feed

High above
They hold their court
They debate
Deliberate

Proclamations
Issued
To all the world
Issued
On the breath

Of the Wind

Air
Gathering
Moving
Passing
Sounding

The Wind
Played

These trees

Like a vast
Perfect instrument

Played the songs
Of Earth

I was lucky
When I was young
For the wind
And the trees
Conspired
And I learned of them
Many songs

Beautiful songs
Days long
You cannot stop
Once you start
Knowing full well
They will
Break your heart

Some Songs
I fear
I will not share
Lest you fall into them
And disappear

Into their joy
And sorrow

The basic winds
I suppose
With care
Are safe enough
For me
To dare...

The East Wind
Lifts through the trees
From the creekbeds
In the valley
Gusting
They bring thunderstorms
Soon
Turn your feet
To home

The North Wind
The pines creak
Sway
Snap
Salute in formation
To the hard sun above
Breath deep
Feel it
Cherish it

The South Wind
A Silent sirens call
Sleepy whispers
Murmuring
Like a waterfall
Far away
Watch for rain
Come evening
The following day

The West Wind…

The West Wind
Passes time
It is the keeper
Of the seasons
And of the every day things

Rhythmic
Waves of air
Washing the trees
Like
Light surf
On pebbled beach
Just over the dunes

So subtle
Was the West Wind's song
That you would
Acclimate
Your blood pressure
And your heart rate
To it’s long
Long rhythm

Without even knowing it

You became one
With

These trees

I've Looked At Clouds

2008-05-29T20:30:00.014-04:00

Waking
Stirring
Reluctant
To leave my bed
It’s chilly

Outside the window
A blank page
Of
White

Foggy mornings
Are special
On the farm
I can hear
The neighbors
Back door
Hinges squeak
Then

Slam

Like it was right there
Though he lives
Almost a mile
Away

Somewhere
A dog barks
Lilacs tremble
The blackberries nod knowingly

Wet grass
Dripping
Wet shoes
Tripping
White fog
Slipping

Heading to the garage
Lost
In a white wonderland
It never gets old

Dew turns this place
Into magic
Early energetic sunbeams
Fight
And Fail
To get through

Redwing
Blackbirds
Agree
Loudly

Air
Is transparent
To sunlight
But fog
Is not

It begins to warm
And to lift
Waking
Stirring
Reluctant
To leave it’s bed

It clings
To the grass
Rising slowly
Trees hold
Lingering veils
Wisps of lace
Trailing behind
Gracefully letting go

As a cloud
Is born

With magnificent slowness
It takes to the Air
Joins the others
A vast
Beautiful ballet
In the sky

Air
Is transparent
To sunlight
And to me

Some is warmer
Some is moister
Some is denser
Some not so...
But these things
I cannot see

Learn what to look for
Ask of the wind
Listen to the wind
Watch the sky
The clouds will tell you
All these things and more

Air
May be invisible
But…

Clouds
Are where things
Are happening

Fire

2008-05-23T15:27:00.014-04:00

Honour made a comment on Lynn's Blog
Getting My Feet Wet

"A weeping willow in our old yard died and we kept the wood for firewood.
Seems funny, but every time we build a fire (or I tote it off to the parks for a camp out) - I think of the tree and all my memories of it."

This connected to thoughts
And to memories running through my mind
Of late...

Thoughts about

Fire

It is not a thing
So much
As it is
A state

Of transition

We use the term

Consumed

But perhaps
A better word
Would be

Unlocked

Nothing
Would burn
If the molecules
Indeed
The very atoms
Themselves
Were not willing
To let go

Energy released
Sustains the transition
Fire comes to life
It breaths

Oxygen

Just like you

Now I too
Think about the trees
When I have a fire
In the hearth
Or under the open sky

For I have known many a tree
Their forest homes too
I don't remember when it began
But I talk to them
And I listen

Incredibly sad
And beautiful stories
As told from
A single physical perspective
While the world
And time itself
Went flowing past

Eager broad leaves
Limb lifted
To the sun
Catch photons

Photosynthesis
Big science...

Air and Water
Bring
Carbon
Hydrogen

Minerals
Come from
The Earth

They join forces
With sunlight
To make

Wood...

Root, Bough
Leaf, limb
Stem and fruit
Big magic...

Day after day
Year after year
The tree grows
Builds itself
With sunshine
A byproduct
Of Helium production
Ninety three million
Miles away

As I sit
Before the camp fire
On those chilly Adirondack nights
The flickering flames
Whisper to me
It's light
And heat

Are Sunlight

Trapped and stored
In the wood
For ten
Thirty
Seventy five years

Sunlight set free
Unlocked

By Fire

Servant of man
It cooks our food
Keeps us warm
Forges metals
Bakes ceramics
Makes darkness flee

Fire burns deep inside
Each one of us

For we too
Are made from sunlight
Captured by the green plants
And made into food
Which in turn
Is made into You
And me

The sun feeds us
It becomes us
And we become her
Keeping us
Inescapably connected
To the beginning

Oxygen
Combines with food
Sunlight
Unlocked
In every cell
Of your body

The process is the same
In my campfire
In my body

Fire
Unlocking
Sunlight

Energy released
Sustains the transition
Fire
Comes to life
It breaths

Oxygen

It's sacred life
Is entwined
With our own sacred lives

Big magic...

Wandering

2008-05-20T10:58:00.003-04:00

Not for nothing
Do my thoughts wander
Seeking always
The eternal flame

Not for nothing
Do I ponder
The reason we come
And we go
Are the same

The secret purpose

2008-05-17T01:51:00.009-04:00

The Sun
Energy supply for almost all life on earth

We all draw our energy from the Sun
Through the grace
Of the living green plants

They use photosynthesis
To turn sunlight, Carbon and Water
Into complex molecules
Which we like to call
Food

And Oxygen also
To power our world
And the cells within us
With Fire

Sunlight drives the weather
Feeds the oceans
And the forests
Keeps us warm
Illuminates our world
With color
And lifts our spirits
By defining the darkness
And holding it
At bay

Now the Earth has a secret energy of her own
Deep inside
She holds the fire
Of her turbulent beginnings
But it is the heat
From decaying isotopes
That keeps her molten

Greedy atoms
Desperately holding
An extra neutron
Or two…

Failing in this
They break
Releasing the energy
Of an ancient star
To the secret fire
Within the Earth

This Nuclear energy is the Earth’s own life-force
Providing,
The continents
The atmosphere
And, to a large degree
The oceans

Nuclear energy provided the stage…
Solar energy transformed the Earth
Into an environment where life can thrive and grow

Evolution does the rest
Giving life the opportunity for unending variety and limitless potential

All of this created
From an immense cloud of hydrogen
Leftover from the big bang
And mixed with debris

From our sun’s ancestors

Huge stars
Gone supernova
Long ago

Leaving behind
A mix
Of all the other atoms beyond hydrogen

There are no new atoms here

They have all come from the big bang
Or are leftovers from stars long gone

For every star harbors a secret within
The light they provide
And their generous warmth
Are just byproducts

Every star is in fact a factory

Where deep within
Hydrogen atoms are fused into helium atoms
By the stars immense gravity and heat

Helium is then fused into Carbon
Then Oxygen
And so on

The bigger the star
The more kinds of atoms it can make
And the bigger stars will return these atoms
Back to the universe
To be used again

Every atom on earth

Indeed in the whole solar system
That is not a hydrogen atom
Was made deep within the heart
Of an aging giant star long ago

The biggest stars explode when they get old
In an astounding event called a supernova

The exploding star ejects the atoms
That it has been secretly making
For billions of years
Back into the primordial cloud of hydrogen from which it came

Thus changing the mix
From which new stars will arise

Indeed all of the atoms from cobalt to uranium
Are created in the instant
Of the supernova itself
And thus are much less abundant
Than the atoms from helium through Iron

The idea of recycling is not a new one to the universe

It is the fundamental process that has given to us this planet
Which we inhabit

Why therefore cannot mankind learn the benefits of this simple yet profound concept?

Truly we are stardust
The Sun
The Earth
The Air
The Water
And every living thing

Every atom that makes up you
Was made in the fire
Of a burning stellar factory
Long ago

As the maker of light
Warmth
Energy
And food

The Sun provides for us every day

Yet it does so only as a byproduct
As it tirelessly goes about
Its furtive business
Fusing hydrogen
Into helium
For its own secret purposes

Someday
Long after mankind has come and gone
The sun will reveal its secrets to the universe

In a mighty explosion
The products of its long labor
Will be returned to the cloud of hydrogen
That gave birth to her

The atoms, which the sun builds today
While providing us with light
Warmth
Energy and food
Will be added to the mix

EARTH

2008-05-12T18:15:00.008-04:00

The Earth speaks
In whispers
So subtle
As to pass most by
Unnoticed

Or you would think

But you feel it
Even if you are not

Aware...

It troubles your dreams
And causes you
To lose your train of thought
Sometimes...

Buckminster Fuller
Once said

Let your notions
About what is
Go

Stand
At sunset
Feet wide apart
Face North

Arms outstretched
Due East
Due West
Free your mind
As you watch
The setting sun

And you will feel it
Moving

You don't always realize it
But the Earth
Is a traveler
Of cosmic proportion

And we
Are passengers

Spinning
Flying
Racing through space
Even as we sleep

Over time
Life
And the Earth
Became as one

Gravity
Magnetism
Radiation
And the elements

Conspired with sunlight
To shape life
From the chaos

We are a part of it
Not it's sole beneficiary

This beautiful thing
Is what she is telling you

More rocks

2008-05-11T12:36:00.022-04:00

"me think stones can go, too..."

Do the stones go ?

I came across this thought from Miladysa today

"I have to touch these stones with my hand, often I
see better that way, I have no idea why."

What a beautiful thought

It made me think
About how rock feels
When you touch it

How you see it
In that tactile light

I remember once
There was red
Pink
And white sandstone
Everywhere

I remember now
The way it felt
In my hands
Under my feet
The grain
Texture

I still have a piece of it
Somewhere

It traveled with me
For a time
In a pocket
On the side of my backpack

And I got to know
That particular stone
Pretty well...

Long ago
Before people
Before dinosaurs
Rocks were forming
And mountains of rock
Pushed up
From the burning heart
Of the Earth mother

Just as they do today

And just like today
Those mountains grew
The earth shook
Heaved
Sighed
And moved on

Leaving them
To stand
Monuments to
The power and Majesty
Of heat
Pressure
Gravity
And radioactive decay

Time however
Did not forget
Nor did the wind
Or the rain

Together
They played their music
And over time
The mountains fell
Just for the shear beauty
And persistence
Of their song.

As the wind and rain
Danced and danced
Slowly the rocks relented
They began to break

Crashing thunder
River rapids
Waterfalls
Floods
Pitting stone
Against stone
In an endless struggle
For the bottom

And finally
Relentless waves
Endless coastlines
Of forgotten seas
Reducing stone
To mere grains of sand

What was mountains
Now were beaches
And deserts dry
Lost in time

Quarts
Granite
Feldspar
Mica
Ryolite
Tiny
Individual
Grains
Each
With a story to tell

And as mountains do
So a seabed can fall too
Buried
Forgotten
Deeper and deeper
Like old boxes in a closet
Layers of stuff

But the Earth
Like the universe
Does not throw
Anything away

From the likes
Of forgotten beaches
And lost deserts
Is sandstone made

And lifted
From deep
Sleeping beds
To grace
The face
Of the Continent

New mountains
Made from forgotten beaches
And lost deserts

And iron
There was also
And a few other elements

To give colors unique
To those hills
Where the wind
And the rain
Still dance
To this day

This the rock told me
With slow ponderous patience
Late at night
As the embers
Of the dying campfire
Lay winking and glowing
Beneath an infinity of stars

Rocks

2008-05-10T21:33:00.002-04:00

The rocks know
Ask of them
And they will tell you
If you listen

Beneath
Childlike stars
The Earth
Resonates
With life

I contemplate
My self
Appreciating
The living tapestry

Without the blessings
Of the earth mother
I could not survive

And even a pile
Of these rocks
Can touch me

With the breath
Of understanding

And for this
I am grateful

I Am

2008-05-02T17:06:00.001-04:00

I am
So are you
We are as one - don't hide
Without pretense, or pride

Born, never asked
Why in this time?
Why in this space?

Question not the all
For we come
So very briefly
To this place

Paradise

2008-04-23T16:11:00.004-04:00

I dreamed there was an island
That rose up from the sea
And everyone on the island
Was sombody from TV

There was this beautiful view
Which nobody could see
Because everybody on the island
Was saying:
Look at me
Look at me
Look at me...

Paradise;
Is exactly like where you are right now
Only much, much better...

Extract from "Language is a Virus
By
Laurie Anderson

Tiny Gifts of Light

2008-04-10T13:15:00.005-04:00

Crisp clear and cold

Speaks the wind

From out of the west

Grey and white shrouds

Retreat in flying tatters

Revealing an eternity

Surrounding the bright beacon

Full Moon

Photons born burning

In the heart of Sol

Then set free to the void

She Catches these

And sends them to me

Now cool and silver

Sharp as a razors edge

To cut away the everyday

And remind me that here in eternity

I have a place

Peace

Mockingbird

2008-04-09T19:52:00.008-04:00

He cares nothing
About Car horns
Sirens
Angry voices

Nor does he bother with
Traffic
Commercials
Billboards
Sneakers tied together hanging from the telephone wire

For the burning ember
Falling low
Paints the sky
Stains the clouds with water colors

A silver Cheshire crescent moon
Follows with precision
Falling through indigo gradient

So he sings
From the tree top
Letting loose his bursts of song
One by one
Evening falls low
Curtains hang still

No
He cares not for any of them
They don't even exist
His song rises up
Out from the tree top

As I listen
All else fades
There is nothing else but his song
They don't even exist

There is only him now
And me
With a wink he darts off
Into the shadows

Evening wraps her shroud about me
I surrender to her embrace

To each his own

2008-02-01T11:16:00.000-05:00

It’s snowing
Co workers that do go outside – do so to smoke
But there is no life in a cigarette

A safe warm comfort zone provides a decent environment in which to work
But there are times I need to forget about that, and remember why it is good to be alive

So I go outside, but not to smoke
I go outside to feel the cold
My skin tingles as it tightens

Snowflakes, big as a child’s hands, cling to my face, and shoulders
Each one unique, beautiful yet temporary
As am I
The wind dances in my hair, whispers in my ear
Old Red Tail, the hawk shakes himself and rises from a nearby limb
The soft sound of his feathered wings floats down to me as he turns and merges into the mosaic of limbs and brown oak leaves
He is ancient, wild and free
A mere 20 yards from where I sit and deal with the pitfalls of technology
And it is good

Ugh

2008-01-17T17:12:00.000-05:00

I never could get the hang of Thursdays...

Shhhhh

2008-01-03T17:59:00.000-05:00

Winter's breath
Breaks the stillness
Broken mist shatters
Shadow's edge a bitterness
Until the frozen wilderness
Creeps up to your very window
and back door...

Beneath the ice
She is sleeping
Shhhhhhhhh

Transparent

2006-12-21T15:54:00.000-05:00

I know it must be
Very difficult
Putting up with me
At times
When you should not have to see
What’s in my heart
Or what’s on my mind

Just the thought of you
Leaves me standing there
My mind wide open
My soul laid bare
My heart exposed
Without a care

And so I am
Apparently
Transparently
Yours

And when I look into your eyes
They see through me
Nothing left to hide
I surrender all
That I am inside
My guard is down
I shed my pride

I offer up all that I am
A heart, a mind, a soul
A man
Day after day
I make my stand
Do the very best
I can

And so I am
Apparently
Transparently
Yours

Tribute to Frank Zappa Pt 2

2006-12-05T18:10:00.000-05:00

Frank Zappa on the Mike Douglass Show

December 21, 1940 – December 4, 1993

What can I say? A man & his guitar All the hype and bullshit aside When it comes down to it, there was music in this man
And he chose to share it with us.

Frank was outspoken.
Musically and politically
And he drew allot of publicity from a press that understood him not at all

Humor and parody were his specialties
But he was more than that. Composer, songwriter, storyteller
Forgive the poor quality of this clip I looked at many, but chose this one - for I think the natural beauty of the guitar work still comes through.

Enjoy "Black Napkins"

And please remember to register to vote Vote – run for office – make a difference

Tribute to Frank Zappa Pt 1

2006-11-14T08:54:00.000-05:00

Frank Zappa

December 21, 1940 – December 4, 1993

What can I say about Frank Zappa
He was a mentor to me

Just about everyone I know has a skewed opinion as to who he was or what he was about.
People like to laugh when they hear a few dirty words in a song, or a poo poo joke
And that’s all they hear from then on

Many took offense at his candor and humor.
But not me

Frank taught me the importance of honesty, and realistic points of view
To think independently, even when my ideas were not the most popular.
Frank taught me how to believe in myself and not look for the approval of others to determine my own self worth.

He said some profound things, yet when I look for quotes of his most people just list a bunch of phrases from his song lyrics.
They are trying to show off how “down” they are with Frank’s music, like some kind of fanzine contest.

I know of all these lyrics, and can quote them all, and many are fun but they do not sum up what Frank was about.

He would have laughed at such a notion.

So I am going with this one:
“Without deviation from the norm, there is no progress”

Thanks for that Frank

And thank you for some of the most intricate yet devastatingly beautiful guitar work I have ever had the privilege to enjoy.

I miss you Frank
No one will ever take your place, and that’s ok
For who possibly could?
You were unique

Though You Might Not Know It

2006-11-06T17:38:00.000-05:00

I went to the river
She was singing
Migrating ducks were passing through
Teal
Wood Duck
Coots
It was beautiful

The river knows me well for I come often
I listen to her
And I stand on her banks

But the water does not stay
The water passes through
And the water connects the river to everything
And to everybody.

Find your self a drop of water
Any water
If you are sad
A teardrop will do

Think about how many molecules are there
Just in that one single drop
Now think about each one of those molecules
They are older than you.

Older than the sand and the stone
Upon which you stand
They have been here since the beginning.
Every molecule in every drop.

Now think about how many drops there are
In the river before me
Just in this one place
Just on this one day

There is big magic here
Though most people dont see it
Yes, if you have ever cried
Even once
The river knows you.
She touches you
Everytime you bathe
Wash dishes
Walk in the rain.

You are connected.

I hope you feel better soon

Sleepy, Not Sleeping

2006-10-27T16:52:00.000-04:00

Bright blue dome overhead
Uninterrupted by cloudy thoughts
Like a mind that is clear
Thinking of what weather will be
I wish you were here with me.

The river almost flat
But not quite
She is sleepy
But not sleeping.

Shimmering glaze
Reflecting as a dream
Everything above
Filling me with thoughts of you
And dreams of love

Everything I see
Is a portrait
Painted with sky
Earth, air, water
And falling leaves

The bright sun still filtered
Through yellow, green and brown
They cling to summer
But are doomed yet to join
Those scattered on the ground

They are reluctant to accept
The change of seasons
But the river understands
She rests for good reason

Knowing too well
The turmoil of Ice to come
White snows and sunlight so bright
To cut daylight short as with a knife
The long nights not to be outdone
And so the days pass one by one

And so the days pass
Each more beautiful than the last
Every aspect of this beauty I see
Makes me wish that you were here with me

Of Me and You

2006-10-24T13:27:00.000-04:00

I stopped by the river
On my drive in
A more beautiful place
I have never been

She knew why I was there
And took straight to the task
She spoke quickly and clearly
I did not have to ask

She said open your eyes
Did it never occur?
Just as she came to you
So were you sent to her.

Be not disappointed
In the choices she makes
In the end your love given
Equals the love that you take

Rejoice in the moment
And the time that you share
If you were not needed
You wouldn’t be there

So what is fate’s plan?
I surely can’t say
I will do the best that I can
I will write every day

Not waving

2006-10-14T14:17:00.000-04:00

Drowning

Cast Your Fate

2006-09-29T16:14:00.000-04:00

I love the ocean.
There is nothing that compares to the feeling of immensity it gives you when you are near it.

And I grew up near it.

The sound of the surf will never fade from my memory.
Nor will the smell of the air and the feeling of salty spray on my face.

Once when I was young the ocean took me. Caught in a rip tide I was pulled hundreds of yards from shore. A lifeguard had to swim out and bring me in.
I have never forgotten that feeling A force so powerful that you are helpless to resist.
Seldom have I had this feeling since, in any situation

We feel safe in the day-to-day.

Inertia; it gets us through.

Manic Monday, over the hump, thank god it’s Friday…
We ride the cycle without thinking, over and over until something gives.

And so I build my fortress of inertia.
A castle made of sand, where I hide.
Feeling safe within the day to day.
No risks behind walls of sand and seashells
The sound of surf, salt spray on my face comforts me.

But the ocean cannot be denied.

You said two simple words

“I want”

In an instant, my castle is gone
Naked, I am swept away by an overwhelming force, helpless to resist
Nor do I want to, it seems.

Organic Chemistry

2006-09-24T18:47:00.000-04:00

Molecules
Atomic cluster-fucks
Bound, naked, immodestly
Passing electrons anonymously
Shamelessly sharing covalently
Or in perfect ionic conformity
Primordial encounters
High jinks ensue.

WHY DOGS STOPPED FLYING

2006-09-22T07:48:00.000-04:00

Before humans, dogs flew everywhere.
Their wings of silky fur
wrapped hollow bones.
Their tails wagged
like rudders through wind,
their stomachs bare to the sullen earth.

Out of sorrow for the first humans
stumbling, crawling,helpless and cold
dogs folded their great wings into paws
soft enough to walk beside us
Forever.

They still weep for us, pity our small noses,
our unfortunate eyes, our dull teeth.
They lick our faces clean, keep us warm at night.
Sometimes they remember flying
And bite our ugly hands.

Kenneth Brewer

SYK

2006-09-20T01:00:00.000-04:00

Singing through you to me
Sorrow, joy and ecstasy
I contemplate
Connectivity.

Stuck in time
Lost in space
We come, so very briefly
To this place.

Do you come from a land down under?

2006-09-05T09:59:00.000-04:00

"Our whole passion to be on this planet is to educate people about wildlife, I will die doing that. I have a gift."

Steven Irwin 1998.

And so you have passed. Doing what you loved best.
Beloved amongst Adults and children alike, you gave so much.
Joy, delight, fear, surprise and awe – all rolled into one.
You taught us not to fear the animals – to respect them and to live with them.
That there is only one earth – for all to share – man and beast alike, you helped maintain that connection.
And I thank you for that.

The children will take your passing the hardest.
But here in my heart I understand that with this one loss, we are all diminished.

Crocodile Hunter
Khaki clad, bright blazing smile
Loved by kids everywhere

Hurricane

2006-09-01T13:55:00.000-04:00

Carolina hurricane
Sending me more than just rain

Far away in my upstate NY home I feel
A touch of ocean – salt and spray so real

Like sand in my shoes
September winds bring news

Of distant coastlines enduring gale
I am 8 again, seashells, plastic pail.

The river was right – one thing may have come to an end
But there is always time for another new friend.

Thank You YK

Peace Out

"There is no dark side of the moon really...

2006-07-12T09:23:00.000-04:00

...As a matter of fact it's all dark"

Sad news today from the dark side of the moon
It seeps in through the flickering dawn
To darken morning coffee with foreboding tunes
The prophet Syd has passed on

What did you see beyond the light,
As you passed the forbidden door?
And passed beyond the edge of night
Now you speak to us no more

Shine on! They cried Oh diamond bright
On the steel breeze you did steer
Till lost forever beyond all sight
How I still wish, how I still wish you were here

In memory of Syd Barrett 1946 - 2006

bobbb

Another Setback?

2006-07-03T01:24:00.000-04:00

I asked the river -
She said "Wait and see"
But my heart knows
The bitter truth
Another hope has been dashed
And alone I will remain
The look in her eyes said it all
All that remains to be seen
Is wether or not
I let it set me back

moving on - moving on
but first listen to the river
wait and see

For a Special Friend

2006-04-21T14:28:00.000-04:00

Words on a page
Your thoughts
Make you real
To me

Some would say: not right…
Some would say: not possible…
Some would say: not real…

I pity those who fall so short
As to rely on the physical
And still do not connect

The physical side has its place
But without the connection
It has no meaning

Words on a page
Your thoughts
Have brought me to tears
Have brought me great joy
Have brought me peace
And given to me more than just a friend
They have given me a connection

Words on a page
Your thoughts
Have given me life
Helped me find myself
Reminded me of who I am, and why
Thank you for that my friend

Thank you For being YOU
Not as defined by your peers
Not as expected by social stereotypes
Yes I am very glad to know you

Thank you
For your courage
Your honesty
Your trust

Words on a page
Your thoughts
Expand my mind
Touch my heart
Make you real
To me

Same Old...Same Old

2006-04-13T14:44:00.000-04:00

No new thoughts for today
Just the same old same old
My mind is lost and far away
Only the river knows who I am inside
The river has accepted me
But she doesn't say much
Lately I have been wanting somthing more
But that human quality escapes me
I may have to wander far from this place
Before I find someone who understands
And so I am restless
The river holds my spirit and trys to comfort me
Only the river knows who I am inside
She will miss me when I'm gone

Excuse Me!

2006-04-07T14:58:00.000-04:00

I must remember that being honest with other people about who I am and how I feel is so outside the norm of pretense and charade that most people will not accept it very graciously.

There was a time I would just prattle off the things I knew people wanted to hear - just to be loved and /or accepted
But not anymore…
I like who I am and I’m not changing
For anyone

If you are put off by such honesty that’s ok – just move along
Kindly keep your ridicule and displays of distaste to yourself
They are not necessary
They just make you look smaller than you already are

Disconnected

2006-04-06T14:02:00.000-04:00

Lately I have been feeling ghosts calling to me
This is not a new thing
I often feel them – and so I stay in touch with the past
They do not want me to forget – for some reason

Jack Kerouac and Woody are still out there somewhere
On the road...
A dusty road has a smell – yes a taste even
When you get a face full of it

It’s a good smell – like earth and clay – primal, basic ancient smell
An aroma that stays with you – even now I can recall its bouquet
And the way it made me feel as a child:
Connected

On hot August afternoons so still
The dust hangs practically motionless in the air,
Too lazy to settle – too stubborn to fly away
Long after the sound of the old truck has faded into the distance
And lost in the buzz of the cicadas

As you walk this road – the dust sticks to you
It coats your skin like fine French talc
This is the dust that I recall from my youth

Crisscrossing rural upstate New York
Roads which connect farms and places long gone
Some end badly, leaving you in some abandoned field –
Or woods with increasing density of trees and decreasing interest to travelers

My dad lives on such a road
It passes his home – the last home - before disappearing into obscurity
Built to connect large and prosperous farms – growing hops and barley
They dissapeared long ago collapsing into poverty, finally abandoned
While America played with the idea ofprohibition
Thinking that we would somehow be more … pure
Without beer and hard liquor

Trees are the crops now –
Red Pines, Spruce, Ash and Maple
They don’t need allot of care – only time to grow
The road patiently waits to be of service again
The loggers will come – they always do

Every so often a curious motorist will pass through
Often with regrets over haven taken this route
Regrets which hang in the air with the dust
While a loud sputtering tells the tail
Of a muffler left behind somewhere back there
Up on the hill or perhaps on that long low stretch
More swamp than road in the spring

I remember riding in the bed of the old ’49 Studebaker pick up
Somehow that truck and the dust it stirred are still a part of me
My dad would take us on endless expeditions down these roads
Pointing out landmarks from the homes long gone

One hot August afternoon we followed such a road –
Very much like the one dad lives on, And on the same hill
The old Studebaker made its way to the bitter end
And there we found the property and summer hide out
Of The poet, Allen Ginsburg

Dad had taken us there to meet him – perhaps as some kind of pilgrimage
We had tried this before – but the house is hard to find
But this day finds us on his lawn – covered in dust
Allen speaks a bit about Jack, Woody and the road
But mostly talks about the weather and the trees which surround us
Topics like these along with greetings and introductions are exchanged for a time

I didn’t pay much attention
I was eight or nine at the time
Poetry to me was simplistic
Politics were of little concern

The house is not much more than a shack
Typical of the homes around there

I remember he served us lemonade
I remember the dust
The road calls
Ghosts of Jack
And Woody...

Reconnected