Feeling strange when I am looking up to the sky.
Above me is a golden silence of my own expectations.
Maybe this bird thinks I also can fly maybe that only
tree knows the truth about all the locations of the oldest
treasures buried deep in the ground and I am still looking
up to the sky where the seagull is chasing the breeze and
laughingly cries, when the morning relieves, silently reveals
all the mysteries of the night when constellations were high.
The earth speaks in whispers,
Tell me about your journeys,
Where did your mind wander,
Where did your feet step,
Where did your soul flow.
Tell me all,
Life, as you sculpted,
I want to know.
A Potters wheel,
You were shaped upon,
Did the kiln that bake your passions,
Add to your core,
Little pools of joy, rippling about,
How much water,
For a thirsty road,
To slake do you still hold.
Tell me about your journeys, tell me,
Through the swirling mists of a myopic minds eye,
Allow me, colours reimagined, to see.
A waltz plays, from somewhere beyond,
Afterthoughts linger,
As footsteps glide,
Through an amative line’s curve.
Indelible prints of your designs upon my mind,
The burst of its’ fragrance,
The quilt of its’ colours,
Blossoms tinkling with laughter,
Under a happy blue sky to drape you.
Your kind thoughts prevail like the afterglow of a blazing dusk of compassion,
Your grace shines through,
From the margin where starlight begins,
And purity reigns,
Crimson strands of a sky cushion,
Your beauty, in thoughts and words…
My thoughts came to you,
Passion in autumn shades,
Cloaking time with your embrace,
Till,
Turns, a fork, paths split since,
A game of life’s dice,
I won my hand back,
Never the same, warmth bereft,
Yearns a familiar tingle,
No looking back, the seasons ever change.
Twilight, Sunset ! Strangers parting in the fading light,
Embraced the night,
Each to love the dawn.
The earth speaks in whispers,
Tell me about your journeys,
On this threshold of a hat tip moment,
Allow a glance to rebound upon,
An answer to a prayer, of souls in need of succour,
To capture intense moments of heartfelt delight.
Again…
Forgiven and forgotten
or forgotten at the least
is the harm I have done
to those I have known
on this earth of whom
indeed many are dead
immune to any apologies
whether said or unsaid.
Yet my mind is driven
backwards time after time
to the myriad moments
of cruelty or insensitivity
regretting while reliving
in that troubled subworld
of memory what cannot
ever be rectified now or then
myself by myself unforgiven.
Love came and whisper to me,
your life is finite,
and you an exquisite imperfection,
someday you will fall like the leaves
and your blood won’t be red any more,
you will pass the gate of silence,
at the intersection between the forgettable before
and the unending after,
so, don’t put it off,
find the sun on your eye
and the songs on your heart,
give rest in the poetry of light
More at https://twitter.com/AKarpouzos.
With his
bull terrier
temperament
he stood like Monet
by the San Fernando Valley pool
of rippling blue relatives
some in mid summersault
while other under
water kids in loud swim suits
spouted splash from their lips
like plaster cupids
and him snapping, “Hold still!”
trying to get the shot
for all time
and here I am
now a thirty
year old later
thumbing through
the
negatives
of us kids
under developed
we look like
fish apples
bobbing above water
visual inside out
legacies
we were
his water lilies
it was so like him
to leave behind these
Kodak canvases
More at https://www.ivanjenson.com/.
My father had a hardware store
He was always opening boxes
He sold CASE knives in the store
He could have had any size he wanted
He chose this little model
2 1/2 inches when closed
It was perfect
Sharp as they come
Fit in his back pocket
Didn’t weigh a lot
When he died 20 years ago
My cousin collected up his belongings
Made up a package
A key ring, a comb, a money clip, other stuff
The knife however is the jewel in the crown
I use it almost every day
It was MADE IN THE USA
Engraved into the blade
That used to mean something
Still does
Riding my two wheeler
Helmets not invented
Standing up peddling
I’m shifting my weight
Side to side left to right
Hey Wait for me guys
Leaning into sharp turns
I love that wind blowing
Press those pedals back
Skid into a sudden stop
And burn some rubber
Fresh juice, never buy Sno Crop
Moscovitz fresh warm bagels
Cream cheese, deli belly lox
Smoked white fish or sturgeon
Tomatoes, cukes and capers
Can only be served open face
Home-made herring in a large jar
Cups of percolated coffee and cream
Chocolate Babka and cinnamon rolls
Such were the joys, so it now seems
Nostalgia’s a mere closed eyes away
That was so long ago and far away
Things like that don’t happen nowadays
Tiny storefront restaurant
The middle of the block
Packed, waiting outside
Large family style tables
Mixing arriving guests
With no printed menus
Only two entree choices
Maybe salad or veggies
Red or white in carafes
Owner guards the register
Silently adding up the bills
Tells the waiter il conto
Nothing ever written out
Always an even number
Cash is the legal tender
No Michelin reviews
Just the best bar none
A river of memories
Flow into my life
Dancing like dragonflies
Chasing each other
Grey photographs inside
The album of my mind
Fingertips turn pages
On skin is last decade’s dust
Armchair dreams make me smile
Love journeys with heart and hands
Unaccountable footprints
Reach the ancient elm tree
Two bodies ignite the dawn
Dew drops fall from leaf to leaf
And the distance in their eyes is
A homecoming they can’t deny
Beautiful ghosts lay lost
Between walls of heavy sighs
Reminiscing in corridors
Nobody gets away unhurt