It’s a rainy morning at the harbor
Under a low-hanging gray sky I sit parked
I can usually see as far as the city
But this morning the view is just dark.
It all seems strangely incongruous
Because in reality a new day is dawning
Prospects are bright, emerging from night
Into a glorious morning.
The old shell cracks and falls away
And I step out into the world
Like a baby bird who’s heard the word
Stretching out after months of being curled
And forming and incubating
And dreaming and scheming and planning
Until the time to hatch and to be born is here
I look about and see where I’m standing.
I could stretch out wings and fly
Through that cloud-packed sky
And up above I can feel the love
Of those happy to see me try.
And how come it’s been taking me so long to do this
What’s been keeping me from being this way
It’s been taking me so long to understand
That the sum total of the past is where I am today.
The flag is flapping with a frayed edge
Some seagulls fly sideways by
They say there’s a winter storm headed this way
But “they” have been known to lie.
The hunger pangs start to attack me
And distraction begins to set in
But those are only temporary setbacks
As I wait for the era to begin.
The era can turn into an epoch
If I only take a small step
But the sidewalk crack it is may as well be the Grand Canyon
The simplicity is so hard to accept
And how come it’s so hard for me to do this
What keeps me from breaking through and flying away
How come it’s so hard for me to grasp the idea
That the sum total of the past is where I am today
©2023 The Hesh Inc.
This one dates back to the writing burst that happened in the period immediately preceding 9/11, when I was working at a publishing production services company in Atlantic Highlands, NJ. The town itself is quaint in an old–Jersey Shore kind of way, with Victorian houses along tree-lined streets and a harbor with a spectacular view of New York Bay. My office, however, was a windowless room inside a steel shed of a building, and it was quite claustrophobic, as was the job itself. During lunch I would go down to the harbor and ponder my assorted predicaments as I ate and watched the boats and ferries come and go ... chiefly, why am I stuck in this day-job predicament when there are so many musical irons in the fire? And what keeps me from taking that step from 9-5 servitude into the artist's life? This was the agitation that produced a lot of songs, as well as taking some actions in my life to try to improve the situation without producing the desired results. And so it goes.