snow on cedars before dawn -

When Strong Java And Deep Thoughts Collide

Writing for me has become like a sport, an exercise for my mind. I live in this yin/yang world now, of a physical job, with a more, em, comfortable hardly seems the right word but is in that mode, of leisure, as some would believe of the writer, amateur or otherwise, it is the stereotype.

Though, I don’t find writing leisurely at all. It is a wake you up hours before the dawn peeps an eyelid, and quaffing strong java before I know it, watching some news vid from the night before, hunting out the next tidbit to add to the puzzle, the next intrigue, podcast, or otherwise, the next thang that sets the ball in motion, or rather my fingers in motion. Hunting for the spark that sets it off, ignites, bouncing off one lecture into another, digging up the past, reading about stuff I never thought I’d find interesting, but, there you go. It can be like an endorphin rush as I am off on one tangent or other, hardly coming up for air, and hours later I look up and two hours have passed me by unnoticed, as time and space disappears and I am caught within that place between, the lines of The New York Times.

Of late the ignition du jour tends to be of the vast highways and byways of corruption various Trump compatriots travelled, of where, and with whom and all the lies and spies chirping out their anonymous why’s and we all sleep with the understanding that we could very well wake to a world turned upside down and backwards, as ya know the circus is in town, and it ain’t going away.

But I’ve created this balance, of hard and soft, heavy and light, even between love and hate the path I suppose has been the way, a middle way thru, or I try to. Well, fail miserably on occasion as life intercedes and I go off half-cocked on some tangent or other, but anywho.

But let’s digress…

pre-dawn sky -

other days like today where I just putter around,
maybe a leisurely stroll through twitterland,
a peek at the faces,
the places,
the peeps that I follow,
because they aren’t hollow;

meditate, ruminate, sedated within my bachelor pad,

enjoying the nook that I have.

fly high
dig deep
say why
let it be
on the lips
like a this is it sort of kiss

from nowhere those words emerge,

as I’m meandering outside,

dog on a leash,

watching the falling snow gather on the rather raggedy cedar hedge

the backdrop of the parking lot next door,

tire tracks in the snow,

and the lights illuminating

the soft blanketing of the world outside my door,

and those words flew in and I just caught them.

a leisurely stroll to nowhere,
nothing but just me
how beauty can sometimes lovingly
like a hug from mom,
the crystallized light ignites,
today poetry and prose at once,
and I thumb my nose at the waking world outside my door,
introvert that I am,
in my glory,
with a gift from the divine.

lines in the snow -

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