Cloud of dust
emerges every twilight
at the stars
In the haze
of back streets
Wraith bone gardener
drooping blue bells
pallid clouds drift
One of these poems is for Jerry Garcia. Miss you Jerry.
I like the contrast of what we assume to be qualities of the undead, stark structural reminder of the seemingly lost humanity after death contrasted with the human nature of friendship and kindness. Moments that are soft and gentle are still possible without the soft human parts, proving that it has nothing to do with the material. Well, that’s what I took away.
Thanks to years of being a Grateful Dead fan and copious viewings of Ray Harryhausen films I have this odd way of seeing skeletons as living things rather than dead things. Its probably also a hold over from when I read zen buddhism books and the whole idea of death/no death.
So I do enjoy placing skeletons in situations were they are living/appear as living. In fact its becoming a recurring theme for me.