A saline dissolution of limbs

The poem was inspired by this photo I took at the Riverbank State Park. The park has beautiful promenade views of the Hudson River, the Palisades and the George Washington Bridge.
The words fan on her palm
a delta of a fine silt of poems,
seeking the deep of an ocean.

In a saline dissolution of limbs,
an alluvium of spent syllables
muddy water in turbid hours,

to lace the sea floor in real
sentiment seeking safe passage
to the pulse of a watery earth,

where in the piscean gleam of
dissolved voices, is the treble
of having learned how to touch.

Riverbank State Park (Denny Farrell Riverbank State Park) ~https://parks.ny.gov/parks/93

And all your Lares and Penates……

that comfort you in your palatine home,

could not for once quell the random conflagration of your specious thoughts.



You seek not solitude but a quiescent soul,

that life’s not thwarted to a cataplectic crawl midst  phrenic wantonness.



As you try and restore the ideal equivalence

between the various allotments of your mind, part given to logic they say and the other right given to chaos.



A rather silly see – saw I reckon that never quite steadies,

For beneath Still surfaces, waters run deep and so much lurks at a benthic low.


And you submerge; wailing, limbs flailing, clutching at straws,

yet, you never quite drown, immersed in  the adrenalizing asphyxiations of your mind.



………..”on a chaotic mind dealing with information overload” random word play for the love of words





Ah ! Sleep.


Another of the niceties of life,

Right there,

Knocking outside your glazed eyes,

To be let in.

And all your pressing deadlines,


The ticking time piece,

Wryly hinting that

There aren’t an abundance of hours

Left to the day at dusk.

You envy the feline

lounging on your couch,

And you long to sleep

To Silent Night.

You only give in,

When the bright screen

Flickers much

‘fore your steady eyes.

You write in Runes*

Must no mortal  disparage your tranquility,

For although you speak in tongues and write in runes,

Your mien inspires in me good graces.


I’m beholden to justify your metaphysical excesses,

Verily so, good stranger for I do not yet know you,

Even so, I am preordained to venerate your incomparable being.


You have been assigned august appellations,

And I allow myself be steered, unhesitating

Into your teeming, unsighted, middling cohorts.


*Having meant to write for some time now on the phenomenon of hero worship.