Writings
Daily Meditations
Prose and meditations written in the Fall of 2021. I offer for your reading enjoyment daily observations and impressions from the window of my mind. This is my second book on prose written in a simple format with dates rather than titles for your reference.
Oct 29, 2021
An introspective day to give way to thoughts of times gone, moments moving away into the vagary distance without resistance like a long, flat obdurate lawn sowed and mowed by time’s scythe, smoothing writhe slazy hedges with tolerant abscondence of hazy conscience when recollecting affecting events and mischance.
Forgetting, the benevolent brief relenting relief from the hounds of harried pursuit, to mute without refute the drama and karma awaiting the seer who peers into the steadfast past, standing immobile like a wall, aghast despite designations and resignations, worn withered halls now festooned with collections of prior deeds, the seeds of chance and circumstance.
Still I seek the sun’s expression despite digression, to mount and rout the languishing anguish with warmth on my face, and remove doubt with light and illumination where once was night filled with shadows of dreams deferred. Regrets are debts with hidden assets to be mined, milled and refined both now and then, and hereafter like an obscure enduring old friend of stalwart affection to vanquish the suffocating weeds, mistakes and misdeeds railing and wailing like an obdurate obstruction to peace of mind, or at the very least to proffer and offer a kind and forgiving tone to leave a grieving conscience alone.
Oh the begets of regrets, the snapping maw to stick in the craw and smolder the holder of reminiscence, the fetid incense of denial now wafting on trial in the mind’s eye, to sully the sky of providence like a bottomless pit where unfulfilled memories now sit. How I yearn to return to the urn filled with ashes of decisions gone awry and remove the dots and dashes of hesitation, thus avoiding derision and punition of lost opportunity. Let providence be warned, for the scorned events of the past now stand before me, like a vast sea of cognizance, to remind me time is fleeting, and in terms of passion, retreating like a genie into a lamp, for turning one’s back on affection is the wrong direction I have learned, and so yearn for a second chance to dance with happenstance.
There is no glory in the fearing and peering into the gory past at the throng of mocking, talking faces aghast from rejection when selection would have been the better choice and cause celebre to rejoice. Despair derives from the contrived absence of care for another I have been wont to discover. Not words of woo to misconstrue, but more a confession and lesson of ardor spurned, turned cold to smolder like dry ice in an abandoned bucket with sharp edges to slice my Soul with forlorn thoughts of shoulds and oughts as a part of my longing heart grows o
October 31, 2021
A dreary, overcast day soon salvaged by a rhythmic, metrical breeze sauntering and cavorting across labile leaves within a chimerical forest forest filled with darting diadems and fanciful faeries seizing and seducing the imagination. Symphonies of winsome, rapturous memories filled with facon de parlers conjure a conflagration within mind’s eye inviting and delighting suspired sighs exhaled and assailed with irresistible whispers of regaling allurement. Susurrated secrets and desultory dreams conspicuously conspire and clamor within the ramparted ravines and uncharted caracolic caverns of my transcendental consciousness.
Delightful doting bliss falls atop bleak landscapes providing euphoric eulogies where angels sing heavenly hymns of ecstasy and exaltation in commemoration of promised passion as reward for my sustained reverie. A recurring stream of boundless consciousness emerges, designed by creed to confront the poignant, vacuous void of self imposed solitary confinement hunting and haunting like a grim reaper on this cold, desolate day. Grateful for occasional sun and the beautiful yet mocking medley of irresistible solace portrayed in the happy tune from glistening glass panels of wind chimes, reminiscent of faithful pilgrims on fateful journeys seeking to demystify life’s secrets.
Sacred the indomitable spirit when aligning with proverbial plateaus of promise in refusing to surrender to notions of reclusion and isolation. The echoing pang and sharp fangs of denial frequently pursue and persecute like howling hounds, yet; cannot stand long against salvation and survival willingly combining with fantasy to form a synthesis of aliment to sustain lonely souls. Visions and flashes of destinies afford higher validations with glowing crowns ever present in lambent stars rotating and radiating with reassuring resonance. Lustrous paths to higher realities and gratuitous grace awaken dormant sensorial senses to augment liberty and freedom in anticipation of new fortuitous possibilities for expanding passion’s providence.
Captivated and distracted from this cold day by the breeze, long I stand, waiting, as serendipity seizes my heart, extending its titillating tendrils like a warm cloak of intrigue to capture the receptive resonance of my being. Where once dwelled despair, hope draws near with shapes of joy emerging centroid from the void with outstretched arms and bewitching charms as I patiently await the event.
November 1, 2021
A dog barking at the break of day roused me from my sleep to a delightful display of sun rays kissing my face, and not surprisingly my mood changed from dour to fleur as light waxed bright and lured my sight with fascination to the horizon. My gaze rose with transpose like a bright colored kite with a fanciful tail, in full regale. Through the window acorns abound the deck and ground, with bushy tailed squirrels scurrying about in preparation for colder days. One familiar furry denizen sat atop the rail, flipping and preening tail while staring into my eyes, sizing up my gaze and perhaps commiserating warmer days gone past, and far too short did they last. It hurried down the rail to avail a better take of the morning brew I habitually make. A good start to my day I must say.
November 3, 2021
Wednesday, a sky blue day with sun shining blinding bright so perfect for riding bike with terrier in carrier, ears flapping in the wind, yet disciplined despite twirls from squirrels on the road, rising not to the goad, far merrier every bit to sit tall, wide eyed and ajar with pride as we cycle through the countryside. Long shadows cross and emboss the lane whilst a distant toddle of a train whistle retains and ordains my dawdling woodsy reverie. Lost in thought, caught in the mystic magic of the moment, nature becomes the jewel of renewal and the agent of nourishment consoling the very fabric of my Soul.
November 5, 2021
Dreams, the inseams of the unconscious kind pointing to an endless string of reveries yet to come, to find and remind of pastimes stroking and evoking pleasures soaring and spiraling above the fray, revealing different possibilities which may, like sweet, light puffy pastries of delight, titillate and tease the senses with verse and stanzas and brushes of very imaginable color to confer myrrh and bolster the heart with melodies and symphonies of Mozart. What happened to visions of grandeur, the provocative detours from sanity to procure and restore faith, a wraith insubstantial, but never dull, essential to uplift the spirit from the morose manifestations of a humorless fate, redeeming harsh and deflating times with splendor to succor life giving kindness and selfless devotion to affection.
November 6, 2021
, rain, night and day, sky gray, no play, holed up inside, too cold to ride my bike or take a hike, music on to psych me to do more than drink espresso or so to dine on the less than sublime, cold dough of fortnights pizza, an easy feast, ah wow, consider how the crust is now the consistency and buoyancy of balsa wood, but still good, or at least the dogs think, drooling, and soon to abscond the bland wedge from my hand should I blink.
November 7, 2021
I have chores within these doors, laundry, dishes and floors, all feigned wishes and sinfully awaiting my return with vacuum, sponge and mop, and yet I lunge not to presume the needful, stopping just short of embarkation, more heedfully inclined to enjoy another day of vacation, nothing formal, just another excuse to enjoy my normal low stress life. After all, behave yourself, there are still dishes on the shelf, so no rush to the sink drain, wink wink. How procrastination sweetens the spice of life with the absence of action, squeezing joy from playing hooky, a meaningful pastime. I always get around to it, despite a flit of conscience, for now I sit, a respite, no hurry to leap with impatience to the deed. Rather, I heed calls to ponder, daydreaming of yonder pursuits, a little aerosol will freshen up, until such time I measure up and get to work, I think and laugh with a smirk.
November 14, 2021
Crows cawing and blawing, parading on my roof, still others perched in nearby trees, aloof, with flashing wings and flirting tails, leaping like black sails on a vertical blue sea, first one, then two, then three join the aerial melee. Whether cocky or cranky I am unsure; yet, can attest with certainly to their cliquey spirited overture. A skein of geese reign higher up, their honks like trumpets interrupt, galloping like wanton steeds across the sky, flying south with final goodbye in cadence with the change in solstice, for nature’s seductive stylus beckons with a speechless tune, resonating with brilliance the promise of renewal like a crowned jewel of priceless fare, wrapped in a gossamer nest woven with the finest care.
A lone lizard reposed on the stair, oblivious to my curious stare, no hurry to scurry into the slurry of leaves, as if to remind me to let nature be, and revel with jubilation in the process of rapturous transformation.
November 15, 2021
Morning sunbeams shine through my studio window, my easel aglow with sublime light, warm flows of serene music wrap me like a comfy cloak of mystical atmosphere, cohere with steam rising from my coffee stained cup to waft and wake me up. A furry fellow, my ever present hound, lay on my lap without interrupt save for a breathing sound, an early nap of mellow repose, my steadfast mascot patiently biding time as I compose a thought, wiping sleep from my eyes to better surmise the glorious sunrise.
November 17, 2021
A smiling face, like grace from a white rose, pure and sublime in pose, reflecting light with contagious, ceaseless delight to brighten the solemn mood, an anthem flourishing and nourishing the soul presenting an unrelenting refreshing stroll within a festooned forest, like chorused hymns from angel’s wings, or laughter from a cherubim, a frisk bloom to wisk away doom and dismay, graced and replaced with bouquets of fanciful petals and dimples of cheer within an enchanted frontier to revere with sincere affection, relieving the heaviest burden like feisty dolphins frolicking in the sea, silly, sprightly and sweetly engaged to assuage the bleakest of days with playful joy in waves and crests and blessed gateways to affection, all from a simple reflection of a smile to beguile me.
November 18, 2021
Pervading thoughts of reverie, phantoms riding a boisterous sea of unconscious memories at dawn, glimpses goading change to rearrange the frame and fabric of my mind, kind, caressing like delicate falling snow from distant dimensions where convention is obscure and pure fantasy rejects the rigidity of determination. A pilgrim pursing passages less traveled, unknown spots and plots unraveled with mystique, a peek into things to come, a drum pulsing to a different tune, like the drone of a joyful cricket in a magic thicket of wild flowers where showers of imagination confront without cessation.
November 19, 2021
What if a miraculous moment gave way to every desire, a priceless porcelain dish proffering every wish like a festive feast of fealty, loyal and royally steadfast in generosity, granting every last command, grand in scope like a kaleidoscope devoid of consideration or adumbration to fleeting time, fawning sublime with salacious fantasies like eternal sand extending into vast seas of endless possibilities. Sensorial magnificence with munificence for every materialistic rapacious desire. Behold the untold raging and staging of capacious embers, pining thirst coveting insatiable fervor ingrained and sustained like an artifact of confection with the promise of ascension bearing witness to the sweetness and persistence of an appetent existence.
Glorious gleaned riches of ravenous compulsion are fetched and fancily stretched eternally into distant horizons, shining like denizen dawns of brilliance with rare gems the size of globes sewn into hems of fine robes of refinement? Every star knelt in genuflection from afar to every whim and sing hymns of fancy to thee like a sumptuous lea of galore and glamour; yet, with one slight consideration or asseveration if you will, a forevermore fate of isolation. What bounty or bargain if life becomes forfeited without caring for the missed and dismissed sharing with a mate with which to scheme and dream? Lavish, garish fanfares devoid of devotion and passion rapidly collapse and relapse into vapid snares preventing sate or relenting escape. Without a mate the gate to renewal and resurrection is no longer a priceless undertaking, forsaking and sacrificing for glitter is effete when sustainable gold with tenfold riches are at your feet so readily afforded and discovered in the outstretched arms of another.
November 19, 2021
I live midst the trees where voices from choruses of gentle refreshing breezes caress and rejoice with whispers to my ears like balladeers reassuring and conferring nature’s blessing on my soul. Restoration the goal, sitting quietly on my deck with creatures beckoning my gaze. Ballets and spectacular displays seemingly miraculously defying physics with antics and frolics all around, surrounded and accompanied by octal orchestral phonics of the rhythmical season, good reason and cause to pause as as winter draws near and cold soon rears its frosty head in stead.
November 20, 2021
I glimpsed her from afar, radiantly shining like a lodestar; yet, far more brilliant than the light of day. Her andante roused me from a causeless, monotonous drowse to behold a dazzling damsel shining like a halcyon crystal wistfully and blissfully revolving and reflecting magic from enchantments beyond where bland mortals stand. Foretold? The blindfold to a different reality now removed, allowing fealty of providence to extend its fateful nief so I might comprehend this brief peerless predilection of affection. Insane as it sounds, my thoughts enigmatically impounded and dumbfounded, amused by my pining delusion, prodding, prying beyond resistance to glimpse the glorious denouement of where we met, for surely I would hardly forget, even from a dream it would seem.
November 21, 2021
Heads of the food chain? Ridiculous claims of superiority made by a mindless conformity to misplaced, defaced notions of evolution. Seas of dead trees fall from saws. Boastful talk from mendacious maws mock nature. Mile after mile baleful, wailful premeditated unregulated pillage takes place as laughter erases brambly beauty. Villages of subjugated plunder drag asunder earth’s miraculous species with quenchless arrogant thesis with throngs of songs to manifest destiny. Creatures of distinction fleeing for their lives from the frightening demise of extinction as the prize. The want of a house from a felled tree overlooks the necessity of the blessed rest who need it as a nest and sustenance to ingest. Oh diversity, where art thou? Sooner cast into the pit of fire, meanwhile mankind aspires to rear its head in thy stead.
November 21, 2021
Two large turtles to my surprise, dug ‘neath my fence before sunrise. Long necked with chiseled maws and if provoked take care, those snapping jaws; beware. Whether inbound or outbound I could not surmise, but soon realized both digging and dredging with the apparent goal to make a concurrent hole. I stole a closer look of both hard shelled denizens from nearby brook. Like dutiful parents both sat atop their respective breach as each assumptive white egg emerged and converged forming and conforming to a tidy clutch, bringing a much curious smile to my face. What an honor to view the two, graced with their trust and regard for my humble yard, promising to leave their nest recessed and undisturbed as they left it. How old they were I know not, but without delay, both crawled back under my fence as if to say, our work is done for the season. A warm spot stirred in my heart for the better part of the day, sighing as I watched them quietly crawl away.
November 21, 2021
Why such coyness, dear maiden. Though many years pass by, only the maudlin deny the lullaby of pleasure gleaned from the sport and priceless treasure of flirtation, whence the conflagration of passion seeks gratification in the jubilant, happy soul to cajole and tease the giddy heart without ration. We are never too old and sere to deny the lurid fire of feisty fancy spurning the loins with panting, pining, wanting lasciviousness in the fair frolic of affection. Melancholic rejection is liken to a dull day without rays of hope, narrow in scope and devoid of intimate primal treasure by any measure. Think therefore of the morning dew, the youthful flush to the hue of the skin, true testimony negating where we have been in favor of celebrating new beginnings. A lofty aerie where benevolent bowstrings play symphonies of seduction, rekindling spring and ushering in salad days of play with fresh yearning, burning bright with thirsty enthusiasm and lithesome longing for belonging.
November 26, 2021
Thanksgiving, a thoughtful holiday cherishing dear moments as the end of the year draws near. My Terrier lying atop my lap like a draping strap, twitching now and then, my little snoring friend completely and cozily ensconced in dog zen. Meanwhile, my flanking, hankering Pyrenees, refusing the snub, gives my arm a familiar stir to get an ear rub. The nudging and remittance goes on without quittance once the petting of her fur has begun. No relenting, happily I endure the detour until my loving mastiff, no longer statuesque, and with a humoresque sigh and groan, maneuvers to lie under my desk; quite picturesque I might add as she flops on her pad like a queen atop her throne it would seem.
A soft concerto provides the comfort of an devotional pillow as I gaze out my studio window elevated from the cascading ground like a chateau of paraded mazes within the corridors of my mind’s eye. Too cold to spy a single critter, the view frozen in time like murals of Picasso or Michelangelo, a suitable memento for the season as frost glistens like a sequin cape atop the frigid, frozen landscape. I would like to believe the denizen squirrels within my pastoral domain found retrieve in sync with the constrains of peaceful nature, safe from danger, demure and secure in their obscure nests. My warming thoughts are not without interrupt; however, averting my focus to the chalice cup constraining the double espresso before me, I now suspect cold from neglect and reverie. Time to rise and revitalize the burlesque gusto of my demised brew with a refreshing new rally to my kitchen galley. Not a bad way of living on this Thanksgiving. Grateful for another joyful day of happy harmony imbued with solitude.
November 27, 2021
Cold descends with piercing, distended claws of frigid ice to slice across the landscape with shadows hanging like dark cascading capes draped from enormous withered winter wings of woe. The tall oak beside the house denotes a hoary, gelid coat of frost anchored and embossed to its massive trunk like the tell tale scent of a skunk. Rays of light fight for freedom of expression through lanky limbs of towering, arboreal trees. A nippy breeze chills and distills the air, obdurate like a dilapidated, discarded chair here, there and everywhere I gaze. The numbing phase of seasons has begun.
Creatures of flight have shunned the nipping maw, flying south from the raw, awaiting the hand of spring to bring renewal to the barren land. Meanwhile, I stand and await reform, like Trident’s horn trumpeting the extension of a warmer hand. Even the remaining, ranting crows are absent this day, out of range, finding a warmer place I daresay awaiting the grace of the sun. For some, there is passion in the callous cold I am told. I fear I am not of this ilk, for I pang for the milk of summer, with long, warm, shimmering hours and afternoon showers to feed flowers and creatures of every kind. Remind me to be patient, for winter is not permanent, merely passing through like a wanderer in search of treasure and renewed vigor.
November 29, 2021
Life the Phoenix ever rises from the ash of dispassionate circumstance to dull and lull the sharp, harping scythe of time with brash flash and display of interloping hope. A presumptuous periscope of sorts peers through the purlieu veil of darkness to gaze upon the cavorting rays of light to succor the Soul with the coping sustenance of conviction. Fleeting, our existence, yet, beautiful in short duration, a brief celebration for our miraculous clutch, greedily devoured by every moment, yet much adored and restored with care the fanfare and reward for those daring to peer into the mysterious frontier where a glowing and flowing surf burns bright with brilliant embers fleeing into an endless sea of infinite eternity.
Human frailty is like dominoes falling into a shifting sifting sand of doubtless inevitability, still we endure the sharp claws of finality with our will, choosing the chance path of serendipity where promise potentially awaits at the glorious gates of gleeful gratification. We are ever so alive when striving to outrun the paw and maw of mediocrity and inexorable demise of time’s winged chariot drawing near. So let us seize the bountiful breeze of the moment and dwell in the land of cheer. There is no obligation to worship doom, for finality allows room for more than the foreordination of predestination. Gaze with cheerful countenance the new beginnings each day affords and accords. And though we cannot make time stand still, we can surely play hide and seek while reveling in the joyful instance of the moment.
November 29, 2021
This day, like a frisky frog, hops along through a fickle fog to unclog my fathomless thoughts of shoulds and oughts. Who knows whence a notion might break free from the mist, no longer obscuring a twist of a tree or a fence in the midst. Perhaps a wall standing tall to delay the advance of my meandering mind by chance. An opportune time to dance in place while giving chase to the reverie of a next move. No need to race to a specific place within the mind’s eye. Sublime the context of the groove, easy following a breezy waft of a worry free day through a maze absent of harried haze. Like grazing on tall grass, alas, the consummation you might infer of years of concentrated labor sharpening a consecrated saber to cut away grief and find relief and elation from a simple life devoid of strife. Hard to recall the worry and sweat having once beset me, now recoiling to scurry into a perpetual state of bliss to free my mind and leave behind exertion, no assertion can deny. Why envy me. Join the fray. Work awaits another day.
November 29, 2021
Yea though I walk through the valley of death, my breath is constrained, discreetly restrained for fear of disturbing the dear restful retreat of sacred shadows providing solace and serenity for the dearly departed. As my gaze pivots to the stones atop interred coffins, I take note of the meticulous arrangement and spacing one by one forming long lines of granite cenotaphs. Jutting in bas relief above grassy knolls, the vista suggests to me century old fossils buried and ferried beneath an endless sea of forgotten processions of customary discretion. Slowly, I make my way through the foray of family plots, manicured monuments above sleeping cots, reflecting etched, engraved names and recollections recalling fates of past lives and the unfortunate demise in passing.
Stone benches are thoughtfully ensconced a midst the reliquaries allowing for private reflection of emotion both now and in future times when grief is resurrected and regret burdens the living. I curiously acknowledge the flowers and cards sparkling like festoons in a courtyard festival of encouraging endearment showing heartfelt connection to cushion the pain of separation and estrangement. Distant mausoleums rise from the horizon, chambered memorials set like ornamental pharoah’s tombs, concealing eternal dwellings and foretelling places of internment. Some ostentatious souvenirs witnessing wealth even in eternal rest.
A pebbled path leads me to a larger feretorie having become the sustained residence of mortal remains stacked en mass in compartments. I am reminded of finished products on factory shelves. Satin curtains provide temporary privacy while awaiting permanent end stones with names and dates. Small rectories of pot filled ashes are displayed in nearby grotto like jewels in a larger shrine for the deceased. I stop momentarily to pay respects to friends in absentia in a tiled plaza before continuing my stroll to a northern knoll with goal of visiting my Mother now laid to rest like a guest awaiting angels and resurrection beneath the wings of a large elm.
Atop the grassy ground I sit beside her stone, relieved to be alone so I might confess my deepest thoughts with knots tightening in my throat, noting the missing tender moments for my part, striving to acknowledge no impediment to the scythe of separation, focusing rather on celebration and prayer to happier times we shared. Nothing quite prepares one for the plight and loss of a mother, strife and errant life notwithstanding, or promise of an afterlife. The miraculous womb and spiritual cocoon provided is sustained and ordained forever and cannot be severed by the absence of breath or languished by the anguish of death.
Though gratitude seems inadequate like a pathetic platitude, I am forever in debt for a life beset with the magic of existence, creative in scope and suffused with hope for other worlds and dimensions without the hindrance and cessation wrought by separation. Tears rise in my eyes. The grave is such a quiet place, but without warm embrace, leaving me distraught despite my best intentions, yearning for happier days gone past and the warm snug hug, like no other, in the outstretched arms of my dear, deceased mother.
December 1, 2021
Roused from a deep sleep, not from fright or invading light, more like a pervading presence within the parlance of my room. Hard to describe notwithstanding possible fragments or pageants looming within my imagination. My trusty terrier now alert, stirred from pronation and snoozing slumber on the edge of the bed, cocking his head as if something had been said. Down the hall my other furry scout let out a low growl, as if something annoying was coyly ambling about on the prowl. Hairs stood on my neck as I perused the room to inspect and collect my thoughts, connecting the dots. No wind or rain against the window pane. No running water could be heard or acorns falling on the roof occurred. Yet, something was there. I followed my dog’s stare to a silhouette inset in a chair in the corner of the room. Gent or madam, specter or phantom I know not what fate had brought. Was it a vision, for I detected the faint smell of Jasmine. A dream within a dream it would seem, for I awoke and the presence was gone. Or am I still dreaming?
December 2, 2021
I blend colors soft with bold, mixing hues both warm and cold, the end result I know not, the chase, both sublime and haste, has me rapt in a trap of excited expectation, wonderment with curious ideation of what next might be inferred from fine edges fading into blurred shapes and landscapes while unknown shadows without context underplay, cascading sums greater than parts find sway, affording and recording colored ramparts of redundant structures. Coincidental cause and effect junctures crash and gnash with little pause onto the canvas of causality with finality. Pigments and figments of my imagination, tones and tinges splashed and mashed like a drunken glutton on the fringes of a fanciful brush, no rush but reeling with lush highlights to bring brightness and intensity with propensity to the cause. Each layer a veneered ladder to steer perception to recollections or confections with sweet notions and devotions within the noggin of the smitten patron seeking convergence and consonance from my deliberation and inspiration.
December 3, 2021
I dwell midst hundred foot pines, tall trunks ascending to the sky casting a curious chorus of shy harmonizing shadows draped across enchanted forests of fancy to cultivate furrows of fantasy within the prized plunder of my mind. Divinely inspired phantom lines extend for miles like forked tines above the nape and cape of the landscape, leading and feeding the pulse and impulse of my imagination. Long stork legs dance with chance inside projected corridors of magic plethora, with light sneaking and peeking between spaces of nature’s creations, blinking and winking beneath the surfeit eyebrows and sloughs of visual patterns reflected and perfected in the wistful face of the glorious suffused sun preoccupied with its daily run.
Light less streams run and extend like black licorice keenly crawling and cradling the width and breadth of whimsical ravines. Meandering mirages form and conform to the fathomless flow of torpid time. Illusive seas await and celebrate the anticipated arrival of dusk while the breeze of brusque majestic symphonies saturate and suffuse the air, cajoling my soul with fanciful melodies from moving leaves played with fingers of nature’s master marionette seeking the intermittent joy of Fall.
December 4, 2021
What’s with the weather? Might as well waft a fulsome feather in a cold draft endeavoring to guess what to wear, or at best conjure a caring genie with a wistful wool beanie using esoteric prayer. Wishes and forecasts are meaningless when crouching Siberian tigers curse mood with mocking maws of frigid uncertainty, pouncing and trouncing with morbid auspication bereft of benevolent interlude. To plea upon a lofty lea for summer rain is heaven sent, but mocking manes of rain in winter sustain pain without relent when clouds shroud the sun. Certainly no fun when temps drop like curtains of ice, freezing fingers and fringes of my hoary breath, leaving my lips feeling like frozen sacrifice caught in a looping stupor of walking death. To complain appears insane, a repetitive growl against the seasonal howl of winter’s bite, but is it unreasonable for the heavy heart to hearken warmth from the fire of ire, campaigning with righteous indignation for a cessation of polar nip, seeking a return for light and warmth from impassioned imagination.
December 5, 2021
Sunday. A thick statuette fog descends with obscure dour defiance. A vapor cloud suspends atop the frosty ground like a wall of soupy mortar. A lone blackbird takes perch on my kitchen window sill. A curious bewitching guest apparently impervious to the ubiquitous swirl and sway of the surrounding gray mist. Its piercing watchful eyes followed my habitual flow; feeding dogs and preparing a steaming cup of Joe. So still the setting, no begetting the usual sounds save for the creak of the back door as I implore the dogs to the deck. They sniff and check the air with care, soon disappearing into the moire to faithfully discharge their urge to purge. I patiently wait like a vanguard on the deck of a ghostly ship on a vast sea, barely seeing past six feet in front of me. My terrier returns with ball in jaw in case I was up for a game of chase. Slowly, the eerie mist clears and silhouettes arise from the mysterious bog and fog. My Pyrenees marks and barks near the rear pasture fence. I am dumbfounded as two large stags bound past me, fleeing hunters no doubt from the dense forest across the road from my abode. I must say it put a wonderful glow on my day to watch them get safely away.
December 6, 2021
Leaves fall like rain from eighty foot trees. No sieve to strain or drain to flush the rush of molting flake coating the yard. The roof a sea of dense debris like brown snow to show a cluttered path of winter’s aftermath. As if two acres of coniferous straw were hard enough, oaks, acorns and foliar add to the fluff like martyrs of milieu. Consider the doggie residue hidden from view, awaiting my misstepping shoe, hidden and forbidden neath the morass, once the seasonal change came to pass. The thought of encountering a yard cake makes my stomach quake. Too much to rake notwithstanding a possible encounter with a snake for Pete’s sake. I seek to avoid being annoyed. Gardeners, my partners in crime, will undertake the quest in little time, riding their powered steeds to divest the yard of chard and weeds. To mow, blow and go has become the status quo. Once gone I see the lawn. They relieve me of what once besieged.
December 8, 2021
My antique clock sports a long tail, swinging to and fro like a rhythmic scythe cutting receipts into discreet instances of temporal tenses to remind me of the commanding hand of Father Time. The familiar chime of the ever present and assailing nag and wag and persistent hum of the pendulum bears witness to the moment. The intention of Big Ben I know not. Foe or friend, to portend, foment or offend, perhaps Lady Luck knows for sure. We transitory Lillies of the day briefly endure to parlay in sporting dance for a chance to cavort with providence. Consider how sand passes silently through the sprue of an hourglass absent of temporal congestion. The pile of sand so easily reversed by inverting the vessel to return the sand to the top again. Not so in the countdown and hounding deadlines of life. We learn moribund moments slow to statuesque still like stagnant ponds in disdain and constrain of free will. The mind caught and seeking relief plays hooky through schemes and kooky daydreams to escape the Baille of recapitulated monotony.
Contrast if you will hours taking flight with alarming alacrity when engrossed in play. Witness every child’s dismay and pout when the end of day comes about. Who doesn’t want to continue delight into the night? A game of hide and seek or kick the can condenses and compresses the time span. Pilgrims; however, traveling the long highway of life soon realize months eventually, and uncoincidentally become brief, blinking, fast moving mediums racing across the sky like meteors devouring the past, succumbing, and surrendering to the numbing compliance of destiny’s inevitability. Those of us becoming long in tooth are left aghast. Tempus Fugit, to wit the banquet booth and taste of sweet chocolate is short lived for me and thee. With fond adieu I bid you enjoy the youthful hue of the journey while you can, for the span of time slides rapidly into the eternal abyss and grist of obscurity with the augurous call of destiny. Although we cannot ignore the inevitable, we can become childlike and encourage a festival of days burning bright with delight as they once did when we were kids.
December 9, 2021
Return of the SEVEN DEADLY SINS
Is it happening again? The ignoble return of septenary bogeymen along with their legacy of putrefied pelts of pretense. Heavy hides of arrogant PRIDE ostentatiously resides first and foremost atop pompous piles of hubris. The stench from fulsome furs contemptuously camouflaged beneath shams of disdain posing as fanciful frocks ferried and carried under mocking wraps of imitation. The sneering stench strategically masked by foul overbearing rivers prior to the ceremonial arrival at docks where blindfolded factotums unload pallets of agglomeration in fulfillment of scurrilous traffickers and soulless racketeers preening in self adulation. The eyes of complacent laborers perpetually covered to prevent temptation and tampering of forbidden fruit. Important to remain oblivious to mendacity lest insubordination commences in response to what is lacked from blindly following the artifact status quo. Hegemony and dogmatism the machinery of the narcissistic ruse. Exploitation the grandiose tool of imperiousness to excuse and intolerantly abuse the naive, controlling authoritatively what they see coerces what they believe. What happened to lessons of compassion, humility and unselfish respect for others?
How odious and inglorious the perfidious streaming of rapacious cargoes flush with unabashed seeds of GREED. The ceaseless caroling and ravenous boasting extols lurid lyrics with symphonies of foul materialistic synchronization from sins of harmonic exploitation. Decks surfeit beyond excess reveal booty and plunder, spurious spoils purloined from the indigent or negligent. Possessions foreclosed upon by throngs of despicable denizens espousing the swan song of self indulged denial while lining pockets all the while. The shibboleth of stinginess is the hidden password reflected in salaciously stacked towers of pilfered booty, menageries of tribute to gods of aggrandizement in the name of profit. Meanwhile the weak and weary look on, as if someone will come along to champion their cause.
How mischievous the bottomless cauldrons of libidinous broth steeping in kettles of leering lust. Not a crust of fondness can be found to nourish the innocent Souls fallen victim to the rigmarole of pretentious patter. Caustic cauldrons steaming with robust promises bereft of love and endearment, overflowing with the gravy of perverted promiscuity and defiled passion. The tease of tenderness is hung on tenterhooks like cadaverous trophies, displayed to attract decadence like gadflies to feast decay, stinging the throngs of exploited spectators with the discomfiting conscience of goaded gallows laughter. The robust business of lechery is ever present, despite the admonitions and warnings of inevitable mistrust. The human condition is a rendition of dishonest desire, drawn to the fire with fascination and confederate intimacy like the singed wings of a mating moth flying too close to the light. Love becomes a rare commodity for the fortunate few who view passion as heart’s reward, not rapacious discord in servitude to another.
Behold how envy descends begetting hostile hankering of malicious malcontent. Grudges quickly assail and prevail with malcontent. Animosity projected by evil green eyes of hostility rails from the lips of rivals competing for the contrived invidious fabric of seditious scarcity. What a loathsome boon wrought by insistence without subsistence reared from an uncooperative existence. Recognition at the expense of others sullies false hope of lasting valor without value. There is no savoring self aggrandizement, soon tasting like stale bread of baleful blight in hindsight.
Observe the depraved getting and spending. Gluttonous debauchery and piggishness conspicuous in corpulent excess. The insatiable itch and thirst of hedonistic depravity without self restraint to binge, devour, gorge and digest with wild abandon the totality of epicurean abundance while others perish and starve from endless nutritional neglect. As if birth gave right to girth from profligastric consumption. They eat, but never are replete, for elephantine hunger from nihilistic emptiness is insatiable and limitless like a bottomless bowl within the Soul.
How can wrath justify the brutal truth echoing within the savage force of false conviction? Disgruntled discontentment dwells inherently in the huff and puff irascibility of vengeance. Punishing castigation retaliates in counterstroke when eye for an eye settling of scores hides and resides within the pandemonious misdeeds of rage. The impulsive venting of the spleen encourages sadness, madness and mayhem, seeking to repeat itself again and again in perfidious refrain. Wrath welcomes the poisonous path to perdition without benefit of reason when we open the door and roar.
Beleaguered by the blight of overindulgence consider how slothfulness rears its languishing head with apathetic inertia and desecration of motivation like deaf wardens stirring a moribund mix of morbid mendacity. Tainted spoons of soporific stagnation are wielded by slouching slackers in lounge chairs of lethargy. Sluggards, laggards, malingerers alike show profane contempt and turpitude for time. As if entitled to a lazy life of corpulence, like a Pharaoh decreed by heaven to be wheeled about in bulging bursals of lardaceous entitlement while others beg for a bite of bread.
The resurrection of the seven deadly henchmen manifests an ugly reality in sharp contrast to the wisdom of sages or alleged intelligence of a modern age. Lessons unlearned or forgotten are like bridges burned depriving escape from ill gotten improprieties. Indiscretions hide, biding time with obscure rationalizations while unaware sacrificial lambs reared in the arms of a misdirected distracted society are habitually led to slaughter or smashed with a fly swatter of double jeopardy. Predators never pause in orchestrating and choreographing flight paths directly over the false promise of fodder, knowing it attracts congregations of the weak. Vampires with despicable intentions soar with watchful covetous eyes, excited by visions of demoralized carrion awaiting a deathblow from a forlorn life of habitual circumstance.
December 10, 2021
I invite a wistful day, the sun forming chiffon petals of glowing gold across skies with stylized menageries of potpourri and medleys of muse. An intermezzo of espresso awaits no doubt, hot ambrosia steeped from the spout to fill my trusty cup, stained with syrup of burnt sienna from countless morning pleasures procured from my faithful fountain of wakeful treasure. One salacious sip invites corridors of colors and foyers of fantasy, abstractions within the lanai of my mind’s eye, gratifying and preoccupying my imagination with expectation, inspiring my day with conflagrations of flavorful fire to fulfill my every delicious wish and desire.
December 12, 2021
Thou art a divine rose. Thy fuchsia cheeks like priceless wine sing ethereal chorals of erubescent arias, surrounding thy florid, feminine face with adoring embrace like nested angel wings to warm the coldest winter day. Thy hair shaped and draped like fine silk linen falling across alabaster shoulders with prowess of faultless refinement. Mere glimpses of thy beguiling lips and captivating smile imprints reassurance and felicitous delight, brightening the harshest landscape with affectionate light.
Thy fulsome bosom endowed by heaven with notions of devious design, abides above thy playful torso like bouquets affectionately leveraged with cleavaged excitement, emanating coquettish provocation without cessation or reservation. The soft salacious petals of thy calyx rue the day they were hidden away from view, demur in reticent discretion; yet, predestined like Aphrodite to cause uncontrollable predilections of ardent passion and pageants of imagination. Thy lithesome statuesque legs vibrate with vigour, vitality and steadfast endurance to support thy derriere with devoted care and capture the quintessence of thy essence. Thou art much more than a rose with redolence wafting and growing within the tableaux and corridors of receptive hearts. Thou succors the Soul with salacious thoughts and sounds of boleros from concertos too divine for words alone to intone.
December 16, 2021
I stand before an abandoned village. Nothing heeds my call save for disposed echos from tall, relic walls. Snow flurries like white down atop scattered ancient ruins. Pummeling gusts and gales pulse and haunt with hypnotic stealth. Odors of ancient dust prevail upon fragrance bereft of redolence. Nothing to hear this time of year. No cheer save for light slowly crawling across broken window panes like still paintings from a rising dawn. No one near to faun or interfere with frosty poignant moments of alluring engrossment.
Greenish moss festoons here and there on bare face stones. Fresh tracks left by s single hare point to home. Ice sickles form glass fingers dangling from tattered eaves. Drifts standing stoic like ancient soldiers deceived in battle by inescapable time. Nothing comes, nothing changes, only vanishes like decomposing leaves into an eternal abyss of absence. No footpath to view or eschew in the mysterious milieu. Only rhythmic creaks daunting and haunting from a distant shutter swinging too and fro like a swaggering stalker of conscience. Stone rubble provides scant resistance from the ghastly hoary blast. A gray day; yet, unsurpassed in splendor considering the steadfast artifacts and treasure of yesterday revered like a porthole into the depths of a lonely, forgotten soul.
December 18, 2021
On the purlieus outskirts of a remote rural road I stand before a luxuriant forest. Flirtatious fog obscures vistas in the misty distance. A solitaire trail advances into the dense overgrowth. Who knows where it leads. It beckons me, absconding my imagination to contemplate what lie beyond. Curious and fond of mystery, I pursue the quest with inquiring mind prepensed to potential revelations gleaned from exploration. Paw prints and hoof marks engrave the winding course. Absent are footsteps save for mine causing me to consider a unique eventuality.
A remote cabin or pasture at the end of the trek I think. Missing are signs nailed to pines marking forbidden entry. No fence. Nothing to delay my excursion with beauty and opportunity. Barely a sound is heard save for my feet on the forest ground. I hike into the arboreal maze, the foggy haze now lifting. A short trek it is not. I think of turning back. A plethora of pines setback from the trail hypnotizes my gaze. Regaled quilts and patches of bark appear to be magically sewn around tall trunks. Fallen pine needles form cushy beds covered with brown quilled sheets infinitum. Dispersed oaks display bark peeling in horizontal strips with deep ridges, furrows, scales and plates. Moss covers fallen hardwoods like sculptured carpets grown to shape. Saplings sway and gyrate in concert with a gentle breeze promoting a rhythmic, idyllic spectacle.
Dragon flies buzz before me, as if to augur unknown treasure for sustaining the course.
To my surprise the trail opens to a lush grassy meadow. A gentle tributary meanders beneath a large felled conifer. The sere trunk fortuitously forms a bridge to the other side where two cubs play hide and seek. Mamma bear climbs a tree, preoccupied with licking honey from a dripping hive. In truth, I have never felt so alive. I sit on a thick bed of spongy clover to ponder the view. My head leans against a large rock. I seek merger with the wild Violets and Trout Lilies. I can literally hear voices emanating from the babbling brook.
December 19, 2021
A late night winter storm roused me from sleep. I sat up in bed witnessing bright flashes on the distant horizon visible through the northern window. Like gnashing teeth, muted at first, growls and grumbles became thunderous uproars accentuating the explosive torrent. My Great Pyrenees sought refuge in the bathroom, nervously panting, obviously distressed by the deluge. My terrier peeked from under the bedspread, peering with dread into the dark, too frightened to bark. Sheets of rain pulsed from mild to wild, dripping and gushing from roof to ground with calamitous sound. Puddles flowed to culverts parallel to the shadowed road. A robust tempest to be sure, growing in intensity to obscure the view. A gray veil prevailed shrouded in blowzy mystery. Trees no longer distinguishable or discernible. A primal onslaught to the senses. The roar and downpour sought one last encore before moving on at the break of day.
December 20, 2021
When I look to nightly sky a multitude of eyes wink back. My mind perplexed with puzzling notions. Objects within the vast cosmic ocean are not what they appear. Visual projections apparently of what once was I am told. Countless light years separate my gaze. Motion pictures flow continuously from destinations beyond comprehension. Obscure the boundless journey across the universe heralding presence from afar. How humble my birth on the infinite cosmic scale. How long I slept I know not. Absurd the origins of my awakening allowing mortal view of mysterious forces at play. Does a star love me I cannot say. The mere capacity for affection indicates a miraculous hand directing transformation with uncanny precision. A universal drive towards complexity and awareness surrounds me. To what end I fail to see. Yet, I am here, privy to my presence and incalculable stars shining like distant beacons. Quantum messengers if you will dispatched as examples of common affiliation. We are not alone.
December 21, 2021
Almost year’s end. Friends attend gatherings with pledges of new beginnings and waist thinning. Decorated trees and home made candies fill stockings with desire. Simmering purees, hot apple ciders and log burning fires, all providers to stave off winter chills. Banana bread baking in ovens adds to the plethora of nostalgia. Coats, bandannas and sweaters wait to be hung. Quilts sewn like puzzles atop cozy flannel panels. Comforters are puffed to warm and nuzzle. Down filled duvets coveted as season’s norm. Blinds wide open for ample sun. Daylight Savings Time has begun. Raincoats hooked beside the door. Boots nooked nearby on floor. Scarfs, shawls and coveralls set beside mittens as companions from the cold. An old neighbor rakes leaves as dusk descends. Her dog upends the pile in canine style. The chastise more in sport I surmise. Drafts, breezes, sniffles and sneezes. Winter’s spell a capricious carousel lunging at bare hands with teeth or tongue there among the succession of seasons.
December 21, 2021
I am surrounded by unease. Everywhere the threat of disease. I see the face of panic on the sick. The pace, fast or slow, matters not once illness is caught. I have come to know the weak, bleak bedridden burdened by bereavement. The pale and frail, forbidden to cry lest the children bid goodbye. I have witnessed haughty harbingers nullify the merciless pain as if a stain on courage. Feverish, grim, the hellish tottering on the rim of death with final breath. The telltale baleful trail of tears seeking prevail over the years of joy. Wobbly, rundown, the unsound annoying rasp and gasp gripping the confined. Brighter days opined, obnoxiously reminding all was not in vain despite the pain. Who hears the groan and moan when health yields to affliction save for the grim henchman who awaits our return to dust. The greatest wealth is health. Profound sympathy for the deposed and indisposed. May the giver of life in the now and the hereafter succor the infirmed with love and affection to ease their affliction.
December 21, 2021
Cold front to brunt the hope of a warm winter. No sun, no outdoor fun, only rain running continuously from a gutter drain making for a pain of a humdrum day. At least inside a comfortable stance. With heater on I look askance upon the wet lawn. Leaves soggy, soused and doused by showers falling from clandestine cloud towers high in the gray beltway like obscure water balloons bursting from bloat. I fear a moat might form should another storm appear. No doomsday, but might require a gangway for fetching the mail. Dark thoughts of schlepping a pail to bail should I miss the handrail and head sail into the muck. Just my luck.
No wind at the moment while awaiting another torrent forecast by the news as sloughs fill from inert culverts across the road from my abode. With head cupped in my hands I dozed unopposed for half an hour at my desk. Oblivious I confess to appeal from my dog seeking evening meal. Two squirrels perch atop the deck rail. No apparent desire to race and chase across the wet lawn. Soon gone, both electing to leap to the nearest tree, bounding from branch to branch to scurry home to their cozy recessed nest.
December 22, 2021
Freezing cold this morning. My breath expels vapor like steam from an arctic geyser. My frosty chapped nose resembles a copper cooler pipe needing a wipe to remove the dripping condensation. I perform a little dance, not for celebration but for warmth. A chance glance from a neighbor might require some explaining. I bargain with the dogs to hurry them with their business. Not complaining. More impatiently waiting while acclimating to the bracing chill. A coat on the next outing a smarter choice than flouting the melee of the arctic nip. Shouting from the pulsating numb of a frozen bum might help some, but I find it wearisome and seldom helps to constrain the frigid pain driving me insane. With a bit more cajolement the dogs complete their morning constitution and back inside we flee. My hands blotchy from the frost, I prepare a life saving espresso as ablution for my winter stung tongue. Without palaver the flavor was sublime. My fingers entwined about the cup awaiting color to return and grace my frost bitten face.
December 23, 2021
Christmas with an abbreviated x is frequently and pedantically criticized with claims of disrespect. How so? Ascription's of love in remembrance of sacrifice would suffice even though concise I should think. Why blink in dismay when reflecting on this glorious holiday? Love and affection sustain sweet confections of giving dwelling in doctrines of devotion. In matters of mind and heart surely the best part is the care we share for others. Sister, brother, father, mother, and every other including doubters in despair understand the universal drive to unite in sharing the light of joyous kindness. Whether reindeer or Shakespeare why focus on the locus of contention like corrupted cauldrons of dismay? Aggression and aversions are distracting excursions from the truth belaying and betraying the spirit and auspice word of hospice. Whether caricatured or abbreviated, yuletide and affection coincide in purpose and premise as an envoy to enduring love and joy during Christmas.
December 25, 2021
Christmas day with yuletide cheer. Cards from far and near brighten the festive atmosphere. Ornaments and lights on trees. Gift wrapped packages tease with delight. Snowflakes sprayed white on window panes. Doors with wreaths and candy canes. Stockings bloated with bling. Music complete with caroling. Mistletoe hangs overhead. Turkeys bake stuffed with bread. Pumpkin and apple pies tantalize. Alibis strive to excuse ballooning stomach size. Chocolate tempts a fudge on diet. Added table leaves make room for extra plates and bowls of rolls and casseroles. Chutneys and cranberry canapes are displayed like conspiracies challenging digestive capacities. Meanwhile, flights, shuttles and taxis scramble as loved ones struggle to arrive and show respect. A time to reflect on how children have grow with families of their own. Sons and daughters know they are welcome home no matter how far they roam. A glorious day for faithful celebration, thoughtful reconciliation and prayers of Grace.
Achieving Alpha
Click on this link to view a book characterizing unconscious personality traits hindering creativity and peace of mind. Society attacks early while children are helpless. As we grow into adulthood, prior conditional regard leads to adoption of unconsious personality traits. The book was written years ago after my experiences working with clients experiencing multiple personality disorders.
Poems, Prose and Meditations
Edited in 2019. A compendium of poetry, prose and musings inspired by nature residing outside my art studio window. I trust you will find inspiration and resonance from my work and I am most grateful for your interest. The creative life is certainly worth living. Freedom of expression provides nourishment to our Soul and instills us with a sense of purpose and appreciation.