Soaring summit's
highest grace
fills the soul stretched thin
by old winter's dying moan,
revealing the embrace
of coming spring
in sunshine scatterings from
drifts of pale crusted snow.

Surging
warmth's new enfolding
spreads low along quiet
stands of sleeping trees
still caught between
the frozen edge of Earth's
slow revolution
and nearing summer sun
concealed by cold horizon.

A hairy worm found a place to halt,
Smashing it would be my fault,
Thinking so I left it to rest,
Smiling to myself saying ‘interesting guest’
With days passing found forming something around it,
On closer look it was cocoon oval and hard a bit,
Within few more days it broke out,
There it was a beautiful butterfly no doubt.

Syllables and sounds
forming
What our heartbeats say with every
thump
Relieving the vibrations of our
throat
Echoes through their
eardrum
Resonates in the
sternum
Reciprocates
and procreates
With the same desperate
Vowels and
consonants

smooth articulate voice
quiet like a glade signal
the forest is listening
each drop waiting
humid tension
shadows like the edge
of an iris
at the birth of night
birdsong and insects
stilled
a moment held

like a white wing stretched
poised and held
hypnotic
dose
distraction

spines swaying through
the trails
the light diffused
like vegetations smell
tobacco in its strap
the soil soaked into
pores laces
pockets nails

Each night,
I miss your mint,
in mornings, like my coffee,
and in between
we ride on our breaths,
play, wind and unwind.

I wake up
on a crumpled sheet,
caress to find it moist,
pillows strewn hither thither,
as too is the girdle
sprawled upside down.

My eyes veiled in pink,
lips sore,
nails blunt,
hair disheveled,
and my skin
wearing goose bumps.

Would that I knew of a moment sublime,
would that I heard once a mockingbird rhyme,
but there is naught that’s divine I recall.
I know of only the depth of my Fall.

Would that I heard once a musical phrase;
phrases that sung to the heart of my soul,
music that might hold my too weary gaze.
I know of only the forspent and droll.

Nothing in life poses blessings of aught.
Nothing is bright, no not even my thought.
Thence, I am lonely, a bleary, old man,
one who shall muddle the best that he can.

Lawyers as fierce as tigers
locked in a battle of wits
Voices raised in anger
fists clenched, teeth grits

I object!
Overruled!
The tension filled the air
The judge warns with a glare

Accusations, condemnations,
the war of words debates
the claim of innocence.
Let the evidence be displayed!

The panel of jury listens
The judge sits in silence
The media witnesses
before drawing to conclusion

Someone's heart will bleed
for the hope of salvation

I refused to spend
our last minute in grief, so
(to remove this other visage
threatening a takeover)
I transposed over it

your face
with that gorgeous smile,
holding in contemplation,
a curious child, me.

then control was lost,
your eyes
swollen in sadness
with an agony
we carried together,
unmoving they
consumed me

and now,
my face burns,
with a heart
arched in sorrow,
in the knowing yours
is now reposed
in heaven

We’re So Strange, ARE WE NOT…

Tilting at windmills is tiresome, I know
because I’ve been doing it for years.
Still we’ve got to change this world we
live in, it’s just so ugly as it appears.

People dying for freedoms, they hardly
know what they’re struggles are for.
The next person to oppress them, is
the bastard who took them to war.

We need to take a leaf out of Gandhi’s book,
smash all weapons, use only a labouring hammer,
don’t fight, only work for each other,
you’ll soon hear our grand leaders clamber.

Each one of us is an identity
what a pity
we all are so different
and
have a different poetic inference

what of metaphorical notion
poetry is partly autobiographical

and

mostly inspirational
metaphors are known but rarely used
most poetry is generally implied
we thank each other
for being poetic guides
as all enjoy the mental
plateau- tudunal rides