A twinkling sea
And sand in
This morning’s
Spectacular
Display for
Our pleasure.
This foaming,
Bubbling land
Smiles at me.
For our leisure
Is the source of
Our vernacular.
The daily grind
We left standing
In the bitter cold
As we’ve traveled
Long and hard far
Away from home
Before we’re too old
To fully enjoy landing
Beside palms sublime.
For we never truly know
When the ending starts,
And ultimately unravels,
As we are as sand in time.
So Still
So peaceful
Like water traveling down a free-flowing stream.
You can hear everything
Crickets
Concerto’s
Rhythm & Blues
Anything you choose,
But most of all
You can hear your own heart
And the beautiful memories it brings
With every single beat.
No need for words
No need for sound
Listen to the silence
It’s such a beautiful sound.
Towards the evening
even the wind winds down
At the end of the Court
mini pine forest ablaze- at sunset
Sky master flaunts
brilliant fusion of colours
on open canvass
Clouds paint heavenly scenes
And if you close your eyes for a moment
they vanish into- emptiness
Towards the evening
fragile twigs fall from trees- weightlessly
Autumn leaves settle on moist earth
Birds become restless,
unsettled- like human hearts
As you walk, you tend to turn back and check
who is following on the same path as you
Nothing is clear like in sunlit hours
tension seems to linger
inside the chest, under sparse dim light
Thoughts wrestle, hurried like birds
searching for a place to slumber
Towards the evening
our reasoning wavers,
doubts sneak in, though
I will never admit I fear of being old
Now when my vision gets blurry
when I walk awfully slow,
and each bone in my body aches
I fear not of what night might bring-
but sad I will be
If I can not
see Martha in her garden- whispering
to last flowering rose
Leaning on a cane
Watching a teenager flying down the street
on a skateboard, racing for time
Careless- fearless
And a boy still attached
to his mothers thigh
gazing in wonderment
How sad I will be not to see another Fall
Marvel at flaming maple leaves,
walk on emerald lawns
covered in dew
Witness another day
one more sunset
And a chance to wait-
for wintertime to arrive
A poem for posterity is
Alas one for the ages.
One which will withstand
The time tested travel
Amongst past, present,
And future generations.
One which seeks solidarity
Even in the coldest of places.
One that will not become
Jaded, faded, and frustrated
Unearthing that vile serpent
Of ugliness within us all.
For we must refrain not to
Display it upon blank faces
If we are to remain at peace,
Not permanently guaranteed,
And shall neither wither on
The vine of self-indulgence
Overtly masked in creativity.
My history is
A part of me
For it has made
Me who I am.
My reality is
Never far from
Me. I can grip it
With my hands.
My fantasy is
What came to me
When I imagined
Fully that I can.
My sanity is what
Separates me from
A world that I can
No longer stand.
in the beginning a god created
this god with no beginning
created all that is wondrous
this god with no ending
leaving us baffled by the unknown
thinking the profane is wisdom
we’ve been around long enough
to be overwhelmed over time
by the arrogance of the experts
who haughtily claim exclusivity
the sole pathway to knowledge
everybody walks around in disguise
masked contestants expecting a prize
yet I’ve been here long enough
to derive wisdom from the unknown
a story of no beginning and no end
when my mind is free-floating
I always take the long way home
the route secures a path for itself
disclosing what’s on my mind
the long way is a method for discovery
an interval to unravel the knotted twine
most of the time.