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The Passing Shadow…

In Uncategorized on October 18, 2016 at 12:05 am

The passing shadow, can only be seen through the veil,

For the days expire, like kindling to a match,

Sulfuric haze, mirrored glaze, and scratch,

Mortal, crude, nail,

The skeletons of this year falling to and fro,

Like enamored leaves descent-

Twilight never looked so appealing, repent,

In the blood, in the snow,

Frigid hands can only hold on so long,

Their obscene grasp, beyond the shadow,

Forlorn years weep bitter, low,

And she may call to me, a song,

Guide the veil over me,

Lay me down, rest,

One may, one attest,

For the day has been spared for thee,

Ship in excess distress,

This World wrought,

Tungsten gallows sought,

Death’s veil, caress,

The friends, the foes- equal stance,

Belay the torture,

End in forfeiture,

She, pagan queen shall dance,

And no one counseled the fates before the last,

Before the steam rendered eyes mute,

And the shiftless bard, called the dirge from his lute,

The scream of soul, has been a few months past,

There in the bed I witnessed,

The escape, the release,

Your everlasting peace,

None, the fittest,

And were we scuttled,

Coleridge and his Mariner,

I, the albatross,

The beacon- a glimmer from behind the veil,

Cast amongst the shadows,

And, here the story takes a turn,

For the chattel to be survived by the law,

Turned to the heirs,

From cinder, to green,

And all in between,

Miles wrought from family, and birth,

The story…

Were the maiden suffering would you attend her, shawl in hand?

The epic recourse would be to the end,

Defend the darning night, knitted in the canvas of specter,

Shoal and bar conspire against the tide wrecked hulk, now prone,

Conjoined in despair,

This pair, a mortal question…

Shall we?

Fire never knows,

And blunt instruments suffice,

To wrest the veil from the tomb,

Caught by forgiving womb,

Cast the bones, let the Autumn sun figure it out,

The shadows long this time of year,

The sickle cannot steer,

Reap, reap- at what cost?

71-97,

Coin toss,

All the coin and privileged,

Came into the fulcrum of crutch,

And now, in the ream, the whole play unfolds,

Where the human condition was spat out,

Over fine dinners, and sarcastic conversation,

Let out your bile, as a sail furls into the wind,

No one cares, alone this road, craggy in the steep wind,

Can’t see the lodging from tree,

No Diogenes…

The truth withered under the weight of plural,

So much deception, without truth’s courtesy,

Cannot bide the veil, nor stave the shadow’s grasp,

The highest mount will succumb to the river below,

As rifts undone will spoil the show,

Harbor held fast,

The storm consumed,

One ship pitched and rolled before the tide,

The maidens ribbons held fast through the gale,

While the mighty assailed,

The weak played in their tears looking for a solstice,

And I?

I remain aloof, and yet… frightened.

Outcomes and soil-

Outcomes and soil,

Erase the veil?

Summon the shadow so soon?

Curt could never hold a candle, instead spilling the wax all over longevity’s robe…

The stellar coincidence contrived to make the maiden bleak and well it may,

For the fire cannot consume what does not feed,

And feed it does,

As mist and smoke evade the subtle bend of neck- just for 30 odd,

And all the undone creeps up in the night like a 67 white Lincoln idling placidly in a garage somewhere in a sub division,

Those nights of hell,

Those fox-hole prayers,

All amount to the sum,

The equation must be satisfied,

There, he stood stern and fore-lorn,

A lesson away from the truth,

Now he rots upon her grave- craving the shadow, as his remains rebuke the testament of light,

Light drives the shadow, the veil is the shadow’s friend, together they obscure,

The vision, truth-

We slaughtered a hart in the name of noble to continue in blood

The rant rolled into morning and made no more headway than cursory explanation,

For rot and root, use the same tools,

And seed and spurn carry the same footprint,

A deed not sought, is industry wasted,

Wasted industry…

For cottages and homes, and heart are carried away

Eyes lose sight and hearing, dim,

Love, the end of excitement,

Love, the end of alright,

Love, the end of OK

Love delight…

For year hairy diligence sought,

While meticulous records kept, resolute betrayal,

It ends quickly- soon

Before it’s begun, when it’s due

Nothing is the all of something,

While pretense worked hard at getting you there,

Ego’s shallow veil could not be pulled down low enough,

To cover your embarrassment,

The Curious Case of JW’s Estate. . .

In Uncategorized on August 13, 2016 at 10:32 pm

Section II:

. . .Bridgette, the domestic partner, cut bait and ran.  Brent, and his wife Sue, were left to pick up the remaining pieces of the estate.  Don had to return to the Midwest, and poor Mary- the mother, had broken her hip just a week after her son’s death.  She was recuperating from surgery, however, she would never return to her home.

Brent could not administer his late father’s estate- the state would not recognize him due to his criminal background.  So, Sue had to boldly come forward as the Personal Representative of the struggling estate.

In the midst of taking care of Mary, and selling the remaining property of JW’s, Brent and Sue tired their best not to be consumed by sadness and pity.

The cars were sold first, a boat, a landscaping trailer followed.  The primary residence had to be cleaned out by a crew of six- it took four days.  Everything was taking shape in the void.  That is, until Mary had a few down-turns in the early summer of 2016.

Mary was in her late 90s, and had she had a bout of congestive heart failure, which led to a debilitating stroke.  She passed on 7-15 from her injuries, the family was stricken.

All we have for certain is the moment.  All we have is now.  We can lay store by goods material possessions, but in the end they possess us.

The Penance Hole

In Uncategorized on June 27, 2016 at 11:49 pm

Penance Hole
06-27-2016
We all enter life much the same- by accident. Our spirits are out surfing in the ether, enjoying the our neutral disposition in the universe, when we are summoned from the depths of the penance hole. It’s a place between dream, and death, life, and wake.
“Well, we’ve decided there’s nothing more to do, so we’re putting in the order for hospice.” The doctor at Sarasota Memorial told my brother and I. It appeared that the end was near for Gina, our 97 year old Grandmother. She’s the one that told me and Dylan (my older brother)about the “Penance Hole.”
I’m Clint, 42, he’s Dylan, 49- then there’s my wife, and her family. We don’t talk too much about Dylan’s wife, she’s in Michigan and that’s about all you need to know there.

The odd thing is we never remember the penance hole or surfing in the ether, were brought to, or decide to come back here, every time from, one source. We shuffle about taking turns at the helm of the universe, we have our good and bad times, then we come to the Earth. One can see the penance hole from dreams or near death, we visit, and visit often. The thin veil isn’t always that thin and we have trouble believing half of what we see.
Sometimes it’s art or fantasy, other times it’s a long drive in the car. Yet, we clash into each other fighting over every dollar as if it were the only value in the world. Gold, Land, Pussy- J. Maylin. Human Fucking Greed. Yet, I digress.
For myself, Dylan, and Gina- the penance hole, or was it “whole”…? They were the last of the Demitris. Clint and Dylan had chosen not to carry on the legacy, at least for the time being. Pap, passed in March of 2016, and it was now May of the same year. So, the Demitri brothers muddled around their sadness, staring at each other, as if: “what is there left to do?”
There was much- the probate of Pap’s sickly estate, the care of Gina. Dylan had to return to Michigan carry his load there, while Clint and his wife had to pull the cart in FL.

Life, Death, one source. There was a song by The Semisonics, “Closing Time.” The lyrics “…Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end…” struck Clint.

Here, in reality, we think live good, and goodness shall happen to you. We live where we work hard to raise a dollar just to give it away, we live to promote, and endure. Often, we do not care, severally, we care too much. We cannot consume the riches of our “world” fast enough never knowing the equation must be satisfied at some time. The penance hole equation. Remaining in a state of neutral, stay in the ether. Stay in one place. We seek why and how, we know nothing of our where and what. Be still was taught to me by a shaman that didn’t know she was a shaman! Yeah, that remaining teachable stuff, that never ending humility. That place of wonder, and wander.
The spirit of man isn’t corrupt. The spirit becomes corrupted, through the first lie- that we die. Yes, the shell may quit, the husk, may remain here- adding to the juggernaut. The spirit remains neutral in the equation fulfilling the grand design- the outline in the ether. We choose to leave and come back- as what and why we never know, it’s a subtle form of of reincarnation. There are no penalties- just more to learn and experience.
Each time we leave the penance hole we want out on our volition, then we are escorted here, for no other reason then we try to improve. Isn’t that the point? We, me, you, the unborn- all striving for the same why and how? It becomes pointless and therein lie the point. Pointlessness, is stationary, it’s neutral. We all say the same things feel the same emotions, go through the entire “cycle” exactly the same, what’s the difference? The timing of it all. There are three notes that compose the entire shebang. The three notes are played each day, each minute, each hour- by a different entity be it God or spirit or whatever. They are broadcast through the universe and you can either tune in or strife. Constant cosmic harmonic reverberation…