springtime

jerked awake by a click in the head,
rustled by a stirring breeze;
there are decisions to make.

new trees are growing, old trees disappearing;
time is moving fast.

a new beginning, a new beginning, a new beginning;
they say.

a new beginning, a new beginning, a new beginning;
they say.

time is moving fast, new trees are growing;
jerked awake by a click in the head.

Looking for advice, and saw it everywhere;
buzzing every hair, particles in the air;
seedlings with messages to bear;
fractured apart.

My eyes are wide, toeing the starting line;
electric spine, electric spine, electric spine;
toeing the starting line, swaying to the click.

false start hesitation, false start anticipation;
these times are made to make you think.

false start hesitation, false start anticipation;
these times are made to make you blink.

it is the time to cut, the time to tie;
the time for you to roll the die.

to focus and find what’s on the mind;
to focus and find what may be blind;

a cool drink of water.

let’s just lie in the grass with ants in our hair and the sun on our face and the clouds in our minds and the birds in our thoughts and seep into the earth to find our place and our selves and confront the comfort through bliss with no remiss or hiss and toss the kiss.


springtime
Daniel James 2011

confessions

When I was a boy, I could watch television for eight hours at a time, twelve in a good day. I would tell time by my favorite programs, keenly aware of the elements in them that defined the culture for which I lived. Morning for updates, noontime for serious, daytime for gossip and drama. 5pm gets sober, 6pm gets nervous, 7pm gets exiting, while after ten means danger.

As I grew older, I realized the best hours of television were between 3-4am. These are the times when all you have is passion, grit and madness. Primal. Illusive. Solitary. These are the times when live Weather Channel reporters get wacky and delirious, when Public Access Television delves into their deepest, darkest corners and even re-runs become too good for the likes of you.

Whenever on a long trip and budget allows, I will find the smallest town over 500 on the map, on the most remote sector of my direction. I will find the old highway off the glitz strip and search for what looks to be the oldest, cheapest and most forgottenly American motel. I will find a feast for both the body and the mind, and revel in the luxury.

It will likely be a Monday, or will feel as though, and they will have something guiltily extravagant to buy at the local service station. A bottle of wine, pop magazine, or Polish hot dog, perhaps. Lady Luck on my side, the Taco John’s will still be open. If not, I will order a quesadilla to-go from the 24hr roadside dive, to accompany what would hopefully be a Molotov cocktail of wine, smokes and that shiny pop magazine.

Once returned, I take off my shoes with a deep victorious sigh, create an appropriate pillowed nesting zone, and finally grasp the wand- the taser- zapper- and clicker of wonder--- powering up the box that once gave me so much joy as a boy. We will laugh and cry, stare and zone, think a befuddled thought. Baseball highlights will loop to my heart’s content, Star Trek or Quantum Leap will sooth and amuse, and a local Big Band will play summer picnic socials on Channel 4.

But it all waits in anticipation for that glorious hour between three and four.

You will find that most major storms in the Midwest occur during these mystery hours of the night, when only a streaking semi truck dare challenge the rounds. The wind will howl and a loud CRASH will jar you from a dozing haze. You’ll crack the door and peer outside, only to see your jalopy in the lot and a skinny black cat slinking around the corner, barely crevicing the neon light puddle cast by your motel marquee. You’ll feel a sharp cringe of paranoia, realize you’re a mad man in a lonely place, and then the Television will take you in. The love and compassion of a room of lost relatives. The love and compassion of a world you may never meet.

Take me in Television, take me in.


confessions
Daniel James 2011

night drive

OK, back to my story;

I pull to a stop and a police car that had been following pulls up.

Pause. Stand. Look. Wait.

Window opens slowly,
"Do you go out much?" he says.

"Well ugh..." I murmur. "I suppose I do. I ugh... suppose... I do."

"We've been getting calls." he says in a calm, cool voice in the dark of the squad car. "On Mountain Lions. Once we get one, they all start coming."

"Really?" I question, trying to sound sober and Southern. "Are they aggressive?"

"If they're hungry they are!" he srugs back in disbelief. " They can get a dog, or a little kid. Little ol ladies, walking their dogs in the morning. A lion run out from the trees and got a little chihuahua. Yanked the leash right out of her hands and run it back to the woods. Calls like that come in all the time."

"Just thought I'd let you know."

"Ugh... thank you, " I say. "That's good to know."

He gave a chill nod and slowly cruised up the winding road,
and into the darkness of night.


night drive
Daniel James 2010

prelude

Somewhat altered by my State
I found myself rolling through the cruves,
a horse on wheels, pinned to the road, burring.

Swift as it were, a tumbled spark to a world of bliss and pain benign;
I felt impowered by a sense of Fate.

Stop, Pause; Look Look, Drive.
Pause, Look Look, React.
Pause, Look Look, React.
Drive.

It was time to Stop.
And stop I did.
Confident reverse maneuver.
Sling! Pop! Bruuuuuuuuuuuuu
oh the feel of a German
a German
German
c.arrr
rrm
m
a
.
pop!

err......
>dunk< > dunk<
ssstop.
ppp
p
.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

"And now the story begins, I thought.
Andernow, constoryanderson
Hear me now danandwhen
andwhendrsn,

The story has yet to begin.
And
dnA
dannA

Start the gaddong story.


prelude
Daniel James 2010

desire

Tick tock Tick tock
Time Time Time

Tick tock Tick tock
Time Time Time

I feel my heart
I pull my hair

I postulate thoughts
I formulate wants

Tick tock Tick tock
Time Time Time

Tick tock Tick tock
Time Time Time


desire
Daniel James 2011

lessons

I was lost,
learning an eternal lesson.

I was found,
but a bit said forgotten.

I had lost my way, had nothing to say;
always on cusp lest never the middle.

I had spun some fun, those colors and sounds;
feeling the way by making the rounds.

I had spun some fun, those moments and glances;
skirting the sounds of the sudden romances.

Second chances, hidden circumstances;
burning a spear through flesh and bone.

Second chances, hidden circumstances;
tearing a fire through heart and soul.

that of which we love; that of which we need;
that of which is seed to be freed;

Is found to succeed, in a time of need,
yet you must bleed the deed to feed.

And that is the lesson indeed.


lessons
Daniel James 2011