something hovers
quivering and alive.
feed it two drops a day to
sustain it’s persistent heartbeat.
try to starve it, it will lie dormant
try to fatten it up, it will eat you whole up:
engulf your potentials
ravage your ego.
nurture it. slowly, lovingly.
give it only what it asks for
nothing more nothing less
keep on your own track
and the rewards are innumerable.
the wet street is deserted tonight the rain is keeping it that way
an old couple in their slickers chat as they walk briskly by
their voices echo off the empty street, not loud enough to be deciphered
Morse Code of long-endured love
a young couple meanders; the scraping high heels resounding on the cement betraying their late-night inebriation
from an ember-lit hand resting on the sill, smoke drifts out of the upstairs window
cloaked by the rain no one sees her
the empty street eases her empty heart
together they are not lonely
though the pleasure of good company cannot be denied, solitude has a certain sweetness.
-written Nov. 24, 2012 -
I lie listening to the lie
- bah-boom bah-boom bah-boom -
that sound is an old window pane
broken latch
flapping in the wind
hitting it’s frame
the owner is locked out in the rain.
Inside the chambers are vacant
the functions set to automatic timers.
words fall on empty ears
echoing from the depths of a Carpathian cave:
“The heart is made to be lived in.”
cave in the Carpathians
There are so many ambitions in this world and yet the only one I seem to adhere to is the ambition to follow the wordless and incomprehensible musings of my heart – whose muffled and distorted signals tend to drive me to make bold and drastic decisions to compensate for a lack in overall design.
Perhaps I am on the scenic route to my own inevitable end, and perhaps that is the material point!
On the other hand, perhaps I’ve got it all wrong and the point is to build an empire; a family legacy that will provide the means for my many (so far unaccounted for) descendants to do literally whatever they can dream up. Compromise my humanity – sell it to the highest bidder – like the Rockefellers, Hiltons etc – ad nauseum.
Does success amount to a bronze plaque somewhere Important with my name on it?
I muse at times on what I will have I accomplished with my life when I die. At this rate, my headstone will probably say -
Here lies Jozel, a floating philosopher – she didn’t succumb – she didn’t commit
If only she could have bottled the air she was living off of
If I could get a famous poet or two to write on my headstone, it would add intrigue… or poetry… at the very least…
In any case, it definitely will never say -
Here lies Jozel – who succeeded in living 98 years without ever holding a lit cigarette
But by 2081 there won’t be headstones anymore, who am I kidding? They’ll probably be disintegrating my remains to fuel the newest wave of Alternative Reality Social Interaction devices. or something.
The grave of the Lazar family - Bucharest, Romania
(by dave watts)
— Andrea Gibson
all of the above via loveyourchaos
Red wine on my tongue
your hand on my back
nothing on my mind
but the chocolate in your eyes.
Seated on the floor
with open hearts.
The wood stove shares its warmth
with open doors.
Inside the flames dance.
photo via samanthabelly
Where have you come from?
I’ve been lackadaisical, I know, and you faithful few keep checking in, hoping I’ve put something new up. Well, here you go – inspired slightly by Ginsberg and mostly by my solitary evening. —– xo, J.
——————
sitting by the molasses lake
in the dark windy expanse of night
watching the parade of waves crash in
one by one
I am engulfed
the sponge cloud sky
soaks up my lonely spirit
leaving my driftwood self
perched on the shore
polished and clean again.
-jcl2011
——————–
photo of the Milky Way -via hobojungle
full moon over Edinburgh
The timeless moon,
gazing down on her,
filled her once again with faith
in the inexplicable mystery of existence.
She was revived
for the time being.
