When words won't form prose....

At times when words won't form prose..

And a void lives between the eyes..

We turn to words of days before...

To say again what has been said before...

This time we turn to words of great ..

That were found by someone before ..

That fill the void that existed there .. .

To let one think of things alone....

Sonet 81

William Shakespeare

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,

Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,

From hence your memory death cannot take,

Although in me each part will be forgotten.

Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

Though I (once gone) to all the world must die,

The earth can yield me but a common grave,

When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie,

Your monument shall be my gentle verse,

Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,

And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,

When all the breathers of this world are dead,

You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)Where breath most breathes,

even in the mouths of men.

Beginning of Day

In the denseness of the sleep, the sound started to wake the soul,
The sound of tire traveling the road, splashing water from the road,
Gradually the eyelid parted to absorb the surrounding sound and life,
Parting the soul from sleep to life, the day dawns.
--
Thrashing about, removing the warming covers, the feet move to the carpeted floor,
Struggling to gain a balance between life and slumber and slumber still in control,
The body rises to stand, and move through the dark toward the beacon of light,
Turns on the florescent glow, and officially introduces the day.
Bringing the sight and sound of the days weather news to life.
--
The sound and aromas of coffee brewing, further stimulating the brain,
Finally the hands and eyes are more coordinated, as the keyboard is reached,
And one finger initiates the view to appear, the gray light of another place and time,
No presence there, than an Art Deco Maiden, guarding the resting place of the garments of change.
--
The caffeine jolts the mind awake to note the grayness before the eye,
Though time zones apart, the days begin to mirror, no sun is visible, the drought has ended.
The brightness of the resting plumage dulled by the surrounding blandness.
Save the adornments of the guarding sentinel standing by the way.
--
Struggling with life, to begin the day, the fingers move, the mind is blank.
Supping on the cup of brew, the struggle continues, to this end.

That day is here, life resumes, and soon the light will appear,
To send once more a day of toil, as the as the beginning of day .. is here.

The Cast of the Moon..

The moon is bright in the evening, eastern sky ...
The cycle rapidly drawing to the full ...
No sounds are made by this travel ...
No shadows cast upon the ground ...

Slowly each floating cloud ... there is ..
Passes across the growing face ...
The shadows reversed upon the moon ...
Absence is the familiar sight ...

The familiar sights that once were there ...
Like the moon ... revolve into the void ...
The shadow again has covered the face ...
Like the moon was cast ... away ...

**NH**

Moonlight in the Hills

Exiting the car ... and looking around in the night ...
The bright light of the first half of the moon is there...
To light the path to the dark view around.

There is no haze on the moon this night...
In the distance of the trees on the hill..
The faint sounds of a tarty traveler ..
Heading to a potentially warmer nesting place...
Hoot ... hoot .. hoot...

With the moonlight bathing the darkness with a faint light..
The current years fawns lift their heads from grazing in the meadow..
Knowing the place is safe ... they move a step or two ...
And return to their re pass.... ignoring the house lights ..
As they come on .. the night is young .. and the sky is clear..

The moon continues its travel across the deep blue sky...

Light in the Tunnel

Many times we look into the void...
And the void shows ... a thin tunnel of light ..
But the sounds are strange ... redundant ..
Much like the sounds of the whirling winds ..
The flash of light before the thunder.

Then the void again opens and reveals the past..
An image once enjoyed in the past ..
A sound that is now distant and faint...
But still, it is there.. alive and well ...
But still the beauty of voice and word..

Then with the snap of a finger.. the light is gone..
The past is gone... the day returns ..
But then .. one knows where it resides ... and lives..
Available for a return to enjoyment ... and view.
The tunnel closes and is imersed in the past .. but alive.

Words of the HAVIK ...

This blog ... is a holding place for thoughts and references. Some come from the past .. some are new and untried. Your comments are acceptable .. and will be considered .. hopefully to produce something that fills a void. We will continue this as long as there is light in the eye ...