On The Porch, 6 AM

Dawn is approaching, 6 AM,
Zack is pacing, growing impatient,
I hobble out of bed to let him out,
It’s nice out here,
I should have coffee on the porch,
I tuck this away, go inside and lock the door. Continue reading On The Porch, 6 AM

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Tom Petty-George Harrison-Learning To Fly

A Happy Accident 

It was an exciting time for music and to be alive. Continue reading Tom Petty-George Harrison-Learning To Fly

Return To Old October

“All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to the field, hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.” -Thomas Wolfe Continue reading Return To Old October

If 6 were 3, I’d like to be…

If 6 were 3, I’d like to be all the things that you will see, if 6 were 3. Continue reading If 6 were 3, I’d like to be…

A Question of Balance

I have a friend, whom I haven’t seen in a while. I’ve been thinking of him lately and about a curious incident that happened a few years back. He has this temperament about him, sort of whimsical, imaginative, more of a humorous disposition. Underlying all of this is the fact that nothing ever seems to bother him. Naturally good-natured, Dave could energize a room just by his presence. It adversity were to hit, he could be solemn, and respectful but in his deep-set eyes is a hint of humor. I’ve had people complain to me that it seems he’s making fun of them in times of distress. But it was his demeanor to always be upbeat and positive. Continue reading A Question of Balance

Echoes From The Eye Of The Storm

It is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came… John F. Kennedy Continue reading Echoes From The Eye Of The Storm

Hey Joe

A friend of mine called one day and stated in a matter of fact tone, “you have to read this book; it will change your life”. The book was ‘The Power of Myth, by someone named Joseph Campbell. I was just divorced and trying to find my way in a strange new world after 13 years of marriage, a world in which I felt as one of the lost boys in Peter Pan. I was ready for something of substance but had doubts as to my friends implied assertion that this one book would open a new world of meaning to me. I was familiar with the works of Thomas Moore and M. Scott Peak so I wasn’t completely unacquainted with the idea of mythology as a psychological tool. But little did I know I was about to submerge into uncharted waters, pushing me intrinsically through the door into the abyss. Continue reading Hey Joe

The Madman and the Moon Princess

A certain incantation of beauty is thrust into the eye of desire, leaving one hapless and inept with longing, on the brink of insanity in body and mind and at the same time transcendent into the spiritual void of the Divine. Continue reading The Madman and the Moon Princess

In The Heart Of The Night

In the city of my birth,
On the third floor of Beckham’s Book Shop,
Surrounded by stacks of books I can only dream of reading every title,
Falling asleep on this worn out couch,
The musty smell making me dizzy.

They call it ‘the city that time forgot’ and continues to forget as we saw with Katrina,
Or the ‘crescent city’ for the bend in the river which Bienville saw as strategic,
Many nights I walked that same bend along the railroad tracks by the river’s edge,
Drinking hot beer procured from the abandoned Jax Brewery,
Oblivious to the rich history I was born into.

Wandering these streets of the French Quarters,
Past the painters, fortune tellers and street musicians trying to make a dollar,
I find myself in St. Louis Cathedral staring at the stained glass,
The pipe organ playing Bach while someone is blowing a horn in Pirates Alley,
Both melding into a complexed whole, as candles from the altar, burn our sins away.

So many nights strolling down Bourbon Street in a haze,
How many ghosts have crossed my path this night,
Dripping in the humid air of summer is like breathing thru syrup,
Or the damp cold of winter cutting you to the bone.

Growing up we’d take the Algiers Ferry across the river to the West Bank,
When night falls on a full moon you can see the city’s horizon shimmering on the water,                                                                                                                          

I think we only leave home so we can love it all the more.
It is then I understand this longing I feel for my city by the river,
You never really get over it, just strike an uneven peace between the heart
and head.

©jc2017-9

*Photo courtesy of Pixabay