Long Garden Poems. These are the most popular long Garden by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Garden poems by poem length and keyword.
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It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.
screeching seagulls dive
at sushi scraps on a plate -
the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier).
I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
between moon flowers -
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time.
The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat
shut out the bitter world -
a heart pounds
*The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia.
"bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers...
"flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku.
Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia
One morning early a Dad and his son Tom went for a walk in the country, they journeyed
through the still mist looking for flowers for the boy's Mum, but they did not see many.
Just then the foggy air began to thin as the sun climbed higher in the sky “look” cried the lad
pointing! There through some old white wooden gates were lots of flowers in the
garden just behind them. “Let’s get some for Mothers Day, Dad” said the boy,’ “hold on” said
his Dad, “first we must ask whoever lives in the house up there”, as they thought about that,
they seemed to hear a sad sighing sound. The Dad looked down and saw a pushed over
mushroom where he thought it came from, so they knelt down to hear properly. He straightened
the mushroom up with a toothpick which he pulled from his pocket. That’s when they saw a
small person shivering in fear hiding in the grass near the mushroom; “don't be frightened little
girl” said the Dad “we do not mean you harm”.. a very high voice answered them saying
“I thought you were the old witch”, “the old witch”, repeated the Dad and boy in questioning
tones, “yes” said the small girl, “we are Dymwellian folk, we live in the woods and gardens in
peace, when the weather is good we like to sleep under the mushrooms when they grow but
there is an old woman who has come down and torn up all our spring roofs, it has happened
twice just lately and we don't feel safe”. “Now, do you know where this old lady comes
from? ” said Tom’s Dad.
The tiny person pointed to the old house faintly seen at the top of a twisty path that led up
from behind the white gates. “Did you say we, meaning there are more of your type of
people?” said Tom “Yes” said the Dymwellian girl person “if you promise not to harm us. “Yes
I will call them forth,” “Oh, we would not hurt you” said Tom and his Dad together, just then
she spoke some words in her high pitched voice and motioned with her hand; there was a
soft rustling in the undergrowth and soon she was joined by six other like her; two girls and
four little men. ‘" We were going up the path to ask if we could pick some flowers, “Oh we
don't think it wise” said the little people who repeated that they thought the old woman
to be a very wicked witch; as why else would anyone want to destroy their mushroom roofs?
“Well” said Toms Dad “I think we shall go up there and see about this situation! I don't like
seeing such nice folk as you deprived of their shelters,” so leaving the little people, Tom and
his Dad started up the winding path; after a long walk they stopped in front of the house
door. It was a very old house and the door shone plum red. Tom’s Dad reached out and
taking hold of the brass knocker banged it twice; after a bit they heard footsteps and the
door opened a crack there was what appeared to be an old lady peering out at them “What
do you want?” she asked in a wary voice, “Oh we have come to see if you are a wicked
witch” Tom blurted out all of a sudden!! When she heard that the old lady looked most
shocked.’ “My, Oh my” she said... Just like that.! “What ever gave you that idea?” So they
told her of the plight of the Dymwellian folk who were living at the bottom of her garden, as
she listened her eyes began to fill with big tears, which she wiped away on her large white
pinafore. “Oh I do feel sad” she said, “you had better sit down on the those seats”. And she
motioned to a table and chairs to one side of the door. “I shall be back soon” she announced,
then with a bustling move she disappeared; well she didn't just disappear into the air! but
went back into her house I mean. After a bit she returned with a maid and they both held
trays of the most delicious fare of honeyed tea, cherry cake and the like, then she
introduced herself; her name was Alice, which was a nice name Tom thought, and wondered
how they could have thought her a witch. “Now” said Alice “I have not lived here long and I
was merely picking those large mushrooms for a stew, I had no idea I had such neighbours
at all.” “You shall have to introduce me.! You go ahead and tell them it is safe and you may
pick a large bunch of flowers for Mothers Day. “We shall not be long.” Tom and his Dad said.
They went quickly back to the little people who stood in a rather bedraggled group near the
gatepost, once Tom and his dad had told them of the old lady’s response they were happier
but Tom and his dads knees got wet from kneeling in the grass, so the little folk decided it
would be safe enough to climb onto the gate so they could all understand each other better.
Just then Alice came along accompanied by a man dressed in country garb; the little people’s
spokesperson was the girl who introduced herself as Alfrisia. Alice told her if they did not
mind, her woodsman would be willing to make sturdy wooden mushrooms for them to use
when they made visits, that way Alice could enjoy mushrooms and know she was not causing
them hardship. The little people were overjoyed at this and apologised for telling Tom and his
Dad she was a wicked witch in the first place, then they all helped pick a large bunch of flowers for
Mothers Day and Tom and his Dad set off home to tell Mom all about their adventure!
©Joe Maverick 5-11-13
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
The Earth dry and bare; waiting eagerly for the drops of care;
Caught in the hot, steaming summer’s snare;
The flowers and creepers decorating window sills; all look desolate and ill;
As the nature withers away in the sun’s merciless glare.
The men and the wives; the kids and the wild;
All are enduring the summer’s waterless exile;
They are waiting for the rain; to relieve them of the heat pain;
And of that life which has become a sweaty turmoil.
The wind strong and gusty; makes the roads yellow and dusty;
And the air around becomes suffocating and musty;
The birds forget to sing; their lilting, musical thing;
Even as the tree leaves wristle and make noise so husky.
Then come the Monsoon showers; falling first on boughs and flowers;
Making the trees and plants glisten and glower;
So the monsoon comes in grace; driving away summer’s trace;
Lashing at window-panes with its all-reigning power.
As the monsoon drives away the summer heat; with its raining rhythm off-beat;
And the flower buds open up to return it’s greet;
And as the water seeps in soil; a refreshing fragrance arise;
While the rain continuous to cool down hot gardens and streets.
The Earth grows green; and water droplets gleam;
On the smooth, waxy surfaces of the leaves;
Everywhere the flowers grow; in pink, red, white or yellow;
While buds make their way blushingly between tendrils.
The wet and soft soil; now grows fertile;
And tender green plantlets push through the Earth in style;
Through soil the tiny saplings peep; as their sown seeds begin to reap;
And the plants and crops shake off the Earth’s temporary curse sterile.
As the raindrops go pitter-patter; water in puddles begins to gather;
And the little birds begin to chirp, twitter and chatter;
The insects begin to hum along; their irritating and happy song;
While due to rain and wind the roofs on houses begin to chatter.
As the showers for some moments cease; after giving Earth life’s new lease;
And the pitter-patter of rain is gently appeased;
The sun coyly shines; a cloud it half hides behind;
While the fluffy clouds move along with the cool breeze.
The fields now green and bright; are an artist’s sheer delight;
Pleasing to the senses of smell and sight;
The fresh air so sweet to breathe; that with pleasure the body writhes;
In the newly born rainy sunlight.
But this sunlight so quickly goes; as thunderstorms blow to and fro;
And Earth engulfs in darkness that now grows;
The wind rises and howls; with a voice that trembles all souls;
And day and night this gale roars.
The trees in fear tremble and shake; as leaves, twigs and branches break;
And the life of these trees is put up at stake;
Birds in nests cower with fright; and due to cold shiver with all their might;
And live in fearful anticipation of what else the storm may rake.
The monsoon now shows its ugly face; gone are its days of grace;
Rainy calamities take its place;
Cyclones and floods destruct worldwide; the raging sea throws up its tide;
“Nature reigns supreme”, we are forced to say.
Same is the life of man; may he do what he can;
But destiny will always play a hand;
What all will man control? So he should let destiny play its role;
And enjoy life and act as the situation will demand.
Somedays will shine the sun; those days life will be fun;
And work will be successful how much ever it’s done;
Somedays by the fun you will tire; and will long to get back into the attire;
Of normal life, however boring or glum.
Sometimes hope will come out; like a tiny plant sprouts;
And will remove from your mind every shade of doubt;
It will be a bright, hopeful ray; but for long it may not stay;
So we must make most of it when hope sprouts.
Just as the shower of joy; after summer comes out shy;
So shower of success will come when you have almost given up the try;
It will wash away your helpless sigh; and will give you a new will to try;
Which will help you succeed by-and-by.
Just as the sun goes behind the cloud; when thunder is heard aloud;
And darkness suddenly falls on Earth all around;
So also failure will touch you once; its upto you to prevent its repeated occurrence;
Or due to failure remain depression bound.
Sometimes through demotivation you will go; sometimes loads of success you'll know;
For we need all types of experience to make us grow;
Like some days it is wet; some days the sun for long doesn’t set;
But then it needs both the rain and the sun to make a RAINBOW…
Walking in the dawn,
in the forest loud with sound;
Hear the birds sing in the trees!
Listen to the wind,
see the stream flowing free;
Touch a leaf so green, dew wet!
Do you hear it now,
the sound of nature, the song;
A song so sweet, magical
Written April 23, 2009
Colourful leaves in piles,
luminous colours for miles and miles.
Burgundy, orange hovering,
the trees slowly relinquishing, surrendering.
A cool breeze makes them dance,
some quiet and calm, some leap and prance.
The Autumn sky so changing,
clouds moving, billowing, shifting, expanding.
And in one blustering wind,
piles empty where once colourful leaves had been.
Sun touches the leaves of a tree,
Like a stained glass window scene, to see.
Written October 15, 2008
deep clear sparkling snow
diamond like snowflakes falling
horse swiftly gliding
Written October 28, 2008
my little garden
plant unfurl your leaf
send your root deep deep deep
tis spring tis spring now
Written April 23, 2009
Butterfly hair clip
Deep purple antique necklace
Doll, of my childhood
Pearls, old and yellowed with time
Pink glass vase with wilted roses
Mom's favourite earrings
Scented candle, burning
Written November 5, 2008
On Bent Knees
Prayer books waiting at the door,
polished pews and stone cold floors.
Specks of dust glitter in the light,
half forgotten dreams still burn bright.
Stained glass windows cast a glow,
on bent knees this day my prayers flow.
Written February 2, 2009
Exploring the city on a rainy afternoon,
I happened upon, Ye Olde Book Store;
Opening the door, chimes sang out,
The store dusty, small and amazing.
To the ceiling books and rows of books,
The shop keeper, an elderly man, nods;
I walk quietly, I feel that I am in church,
Alone, I am in this place of books.
So many to touch, but one beckons me,
Taking it in my hands, I brush off the dust;
Opening the book, it seems to me so interesting,
I purchase it of course for a small price.
Finding a café close by, I settle in to read,
The words on the cover seem to be engraved;
A collection of poetry by the great poets of all time,
Page after page, tattered, yellowed with age.
Written April 23, 2009
Standing on a sea cliff with salt on my lips,
Holding out my hands to the heavens above;
Moving past me, a roaring wind, blows my raven hair,
Breathing in the sweetness, it whispers my name,
Tangled with the crashing waves, the birds soaring, the clouds rolling.
Written March 13, 2009
O, The Glistening Tears
You come in the light of day,
Through the ornate cemetery gates you come;
Down the lonely long road,
Past the headstones, row on row on row.
O, the glistening tears.
With a broken weeping heat,
You come, for us your family buried here;
What a cruel destiny and cruel fate,
Such love that even death cannot destroy.
O, the glistening tears.
And when the seasons change,
And fall winds blow over us resting here;
And when winter frost is in the air,
And we lay beneath the pure white snow,
O, the glistening tears.
And when spring comes and flowers grow,
You come in the light of day, you come, you come;
For us your family buried here,
Souls connected by bonds that even death cannot end.
Written February 8, 2009
The Memory Of You
Mom, today I saw a girl with her Mom
They were so happy laughing and talking
Together, mother and daughter, friends
I wondered if the girl realized
My heart was filled with envy and pain
I have so many things to tell you
Happy things, sad things, just things
Things only a mother would understand
Tears came to my eyes as I watched
God must have needed a special angel
To separate the puzzle that was you and me
The pieces that fit so well together
Mom, our love is an endless river
It will go on and on and on and never end
God took you from me, it was your destiny
I know nothing could keep you here
Our parting words, I love you so much
Your answer and I love you my daughter
God took you in the dawn but he left me a gift
A precious gift, the memory of you
Written February 8, 2009
...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot
On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light is dim, curtains at rest,
as dust mites dance, the clock ticks unobtrusively,
marking time, the chamber maids make ready for my guest,
and dust the tables, clean the silver, place the flowers perfectly.
You return from 'La Boheme,' affected by the tragedy,
emboldened by Puccini's art, transfiguring his sadness
to an everlasting theme of hope eternal, with no misery.
A small group of confederates who seize the meaning clearly,
examine his conceptions with a true and honest face,
only those who can conceptualize his grace.
And we are bereft of conversation.
The curtain falls between our faces,
we are left with little else to say.
Gone are common talk, and airs and graces,
walls have grown, and bars along the way.
Your friends have grown in stature, tried and true,
reflecting what you feel within your soul,
and you must follow them and share their view,
as long as it will bring you to your goal.
Friendship is a bond that can't be broken,
even though you dally with your heart,
you cannot spring the lock, that sacred token,
that keeps your deepest feelings true to art.
Your friends are pure disciples of your creed,
they will legitimize your need
to pave your way to conquer and succeed.
Within the mellow of the violins,
the sweetness of the celli and the horns,
I hear a tattoo beating all alone,
the tympani begin to pound
a loud crescendo of their own.
I listen, there is something out of tone.
With cigarettes and sherry, unconcerned,
we wander through the garden unaware,
take in the sights and pass without a care,
as if our similarities don't matter,
we give ourselves to nonsense, idle chatter.
Roses now are brightly blooming,
to your friends now you are calling.
I know not of what you speak,
I cannot fathom your delight.
You say: 'Try to understand my mission,
learn to trust in things unseen,
I must find what nature seeks
and fathom its eternal meaning.
Youth will never gather roses,
never see beyond the garden.'
I will stay for now, trapped in the cold.
Though I'll remember nature's wonders,
sunsets and the breath of spring,
feel the wind blow through my hair
and know the thrill of sunrise cresting.
We see the universe as dancing,
two such different creatures trancing,
we two will never understand
the private notions of the other,
even if we take each other's hand.
Coming close to your destruction
you will see the other side,
who says who has satisfied
requirements for a better life?
Friendship, if we could but find it,
yields the seeds of greater profit,
greater than the seeds of strife.
I now remain just as I ever was.
I shall take my morning walk,
communing with the birds and talking
to myself while reading Kafka,
glancing at the latest headlines.
Dear Stravinsky's 'Rite' is slighted,
(he'll return when ears are righted.)
When I smell a rose I'm prompted
to recall a certain lady, gifted with
a new perception, I must sadly
take exception, for the moment anyway.
The chill of morning, people yawning,
I am tired, the blush of dawning has me
feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags,
I barely reach the second floor.
'When will you return? Is Paris so much more
than you have here?' is my unanswered question.
I drag my heels to breakfast,
listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast,
my countenance as pallid as a ghost.
A letter would be welcomed.
I shall miss you; there, I've said it.
I am your friend, are you not mine?
Tenuous and strained, two casual
acquaintances who share so little time,
we brush elbows, like strangers passing
on a platform, sharing sidelong glances,
afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.
Others swore we would be close,
peas in a pod, familiar.
Instead there is no warmth, not yet.
Were you to try we might combine
and nibble toast together, and take
a walk, your hand in mine, and
stammer conversation 'til we knew
there was no reason e'er to rue.
I shall sit with pleasant thoughts of you.
Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention,
pen in hand and no one to subscribe.
I'll scarce recall the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you were to die I'd never know your truth,
and I should lose the vigour of my youth.
Under a tree of wet blossoms, shimmering to life in the sun, one honey bee is circling around two burly men, who wave it off, with childlike dramatics...arms flailing. One of them, wearing heavy leather boots, leaves his deep imprints in the grass, still wet from yesterday's storm. I wince, as the toe of his left boot squashes a purple pansy that is growing along the border. Oh dear, her prized flowers,....they are like her babies! She has always had the greenest, thumb..and the prettiest yard on the block!
a white blossom rush hour traffic... a crushed pansy
lands on her shoulder.... bees circle the tree still beautiful in my palm...
a goodbye gesture droning with noise lines in her face
Both men seem irritated, and anxious to get on the road, as they stand next to the giant truck, which is parked against the curb. The shorter man, nurtures a butt of a cigarette between gloved fingers with such intensity, it's as if he were sentenced to be hanged at noon, and this was a final puff. He inhales deeply, then, after a careless toss of the stub, they both climb aboard, into the cab, and squeeze their husky frames into the cab, like two coiled Slinkys , ready to spring into action. They start up the engine, and trails of cigarette smoke are left to mingle with cloud-white petals, that drift from the tree.
smoke spirals up from a spent cigarette...... truck coughs black exhaust
two nosy neighbors watch from dark windows.... crows gather on grapevine
The moving van,... a huge, battered dinosaur, wearing a big red proclamation, "TWO BROTHERS-VAN AND STORAGE",... looks so out of place, parked along my street. I begin to feel it vibrate the sidewalk and it deafens our ears. Slowly, it begins to roll, and we watch, as it lazily, lumbers down the familiar street. It turns the corner, and disappears out of sight. I lean over to grab her hand, and she is crying
and I find myself breaking the promise not to.
muddy truck tires....
follow from behind
I suppose it shouldn't matter to me now, but can't resist, and lean down to pick up the discarded, lifeless cigarette butt, and walk it over next door, to the trash can, that still waits for Thursday's pick-up. I blow my nose and dry my eyes. It won't help her, if she sees me fall apart.
I remember the day she moved in, over twenty years ago.
We were strangers then, ...but sisters we became.
Now it seems all those years are packaged up inside those cardboard boxes, wrapped in newsprint, taped shut, now moving on to another state, to somewhere I don't belong.
Her husband gently clears his throat, as he patiently waits by their car, giving her one last moment.
Her eyes glisten with tears. Mine sting too...but I had promised I wouldn't cry...so I am biting my bottom lip. A quick hug.. "Yes...we'll write...we'll visit...we'll call!
Soon! I promise,.........soon!"
She hands me a box of tulip bulbs. "These are the red ones... the ones you loved so much, something to remember me by."... I want to plant some in the new place, but have been saving some for you too"...
"Next year when they bloom, think of me, will you? A part of me to keep you company."
She walks to her packed car, turns once more with that familiar smile, the same little wave, that she gave me on that very first morning, as she stood at her mailbox. She jumps in next to her waiting husband. He starts the engine, and soon their car is heading down the street, that is no longer her street. Around the turn at the corner, that is no longer her corner
Tomorrow the SOLD sign comes down.
Perhaps a new wave, another smile, someone gathering mail ...will brighten my day.
But today, .....I will plant some tulips.
my garden awakes coffee brings comfort
from muddy slumber.... sipped from her favorite cup ...
lively red tulips my cat for company
For Deb's Contest: Spring haibun
You can always tell by the eyes
When they’re starting to go
You’ll fall for a few of their lies
Before you begin to know
And you will just defy it
(But they know you will never go)
They’ll glide through the waters and skies
The erratic behavior will soon begin to show
Above and away the storm dies
A cold, hollow feeling in a black and white glow
And they will justify it
(But you know it will take them slow)
You’ll slowly begin to realize
Static is policing their echo
The red stitching in their burnt Eye
That will probably never unsew
And they will just deny it
(But you know they will always go)
The phantom’s days are aphotic
Ocean whispers deicide to Moon
The morning clouds aquatic
Reaching the waves with a bent spoon
Mind is lifted and neurotic
The Earth will come back to you soon
And you won’t feel so erotic
While alone in your hotel room
(Sex with the city sleepers)
Alive where Death lives
Gone where the waves go
Asleep where dreams wake
Dead where feelings die
…A light where the stars are burnt…
Bid these feelings words
The machines of waters and skies
Embody the gliding emotions
Like clouds they shape themselves and go
Write this bidding to feel
Remember the thoughts that were
Like waves they flow and fade away
Rid these words of feeling
Feel anything at all, fall…
Like wind they take and they stray
Feel these words to rid
The masks and chains of oneself
And the dark feelings that boil within
Like trees they raise themselves and grow
Ocean dreams of phantom mechanisms
The world is cold and full of ghosts
They watch as their generation swims in murk
And the funeral of social segregation will never breathe
The night mirrors reflect the soul of a poet
Only one comprehends these idiosyncratic vowels
Like waves they flow and fade away
Under the white and blue cloak
The clouds are my poet smoke
Rain is the cleansing of wicked nights
With venom pollution and spider bites
That flood my mind with a static tan
Vanished through the wire, I already am
Her clouded eyes they lock to me
I, a sight she was not meant to see
My ghastly ripped soul exposed
Our deepest feelings transposed
And I know this one’s a lie
A worn exhausted sigh
Printed from the pressed death within
Those eyes seek Life all over again
(Her flawlessness the only flaw)
(His flaws make him flawless)
Phantom is high and dark as crow
Moon showers greetings below
Ocean mirrors it’s divine glow
Cloud attempts to steal the show
Earth is screaming, we ignore it though
Mind is planted and dying to grow
Life is tired and waiting to go
Static is torn and ready to sew
Death is late and killing slow
Eye is two and one doesn’t know(Shhh!)
The flames scorching the depths of Eye
Splitting the reign of one into two
I met Satan at the gates of Hell (Phoenix)
Only to be spit back to Earth like scum
Half alive and crawling through the moor
Realization was the key to the shining door
Oh my god, I’m one. Eye am God.
The mountains between the waters and skies
Keeps dreams from reality and pulls reality from dreams
Mind faces fears of the night mirrors and reflections sleep
And the liquid light of the moon opens a gateway
Where dreams don’t sleep and strength never weakens
A world where control doesn’t slip between the seams
Of your sewn mind…
(Free yourself from the shadows of life and death)
Through cataracts in the skies
A distant moan begins to rise
Through an uncharted cloud
Of a puddle yet to be in drops
The fruit sky shrieking aloud
In a garden of iridescent crops
With blooming pollution in clad soil
Entwined in a cumulonimbus coil
Morphing into a levitated brook
With a broken and faceless rook
In a receding horizon losing it’s form
Cackling out to the tempestuous storm
Flashes of embers in skies blink
Flooding the faintly seen brink
Of the distant washed away galaxies
Pygmy slowly galloping through
Rolling clouds in the skies of aquatic blue
A delicate touch of colored waves
Painting rainbows on sea graves
Where pirate ships set sail
Through a violent pour of hail
In a limitless sky of falling streams
And an icicle ocean of drying dreams
Through cataract jets in the skies
A static ambience calms and dies…
Today opening my door to descent the steps to visit my garden
makes my dreams come true, my green garden enlightens
my heart most of the time i spend it there, whispering with
my roses, watching the very old green trees, watering the
green grass, i love it.
Suddenly my heart starts beating just found an envelope with
white roses sleeping at my doorsteps, anxious to discover the
sender, with a huge smile my surprise, it was from my darling,
You are the woman of my dreams, I am taking the liberty to
announce, you are my reason to live, if you are not in my life
I will not tolerate my existence one moment longer, I need to
become stronger to carry you towards our love nest share our
hot body, love the love that will slowly put off that burning fire
between us under our green trees very soon.
Lay your roses down, free your hand to hold mine, together,
we will walk towards our green garden and dream of that day
when our eyes will meet to become bride and bridegroom
surrounded by the green trees everywhere, friends clapping
so hard for us to engage with that beautiful touch of our lips,
a sign you belong to me forever.
Will you marry me my woman with green eyes? Oh! yes yes
I screamed not realizing he is not here but a letter in my
hand, the invitation for my own wedding, how blessed we are.
The weather was happy the full moon lighted up the outside
view to watch my roses blossom and maybe tomorrow we will
walk together not only to get married we will upgrade our
thoughts to the highest peak,we will reach our goals by living
as one, we will enjoy whenever we can and endure when we must,
we will not anticipate trouble or unhappiness about what may
or may not happen, but we will walk towards our green garden,
soon as husband and wife.
We will not allow any obstacle stop us from becoming what
needed to be successful, in love always, my heart was
instantly beating towards positive thoughts a husband to love
to sleep with, to cook, to wash, to wake up in the morning have
our cup of coffee in the fresh air, i will stand by my man,
no matter what.
A beautiful marriage in my green garden, all surrounded by huge
green trees ancient as this house belonged to my grandfather
and I inherited it.
I felt like getting married with all those greeneries surrounding
our guests i will place 100 white chairs on each side on the green
grass, and the aisle in the middle with green ribbons on the chairs,
at the end will be the priest standing behind a white table on it
a beautiful green table cloth the chalice and cross next to the bible
between white roses and greeneries.
I need to sleep to wake up early run to my garden and prepare
the roses to share and whisper to me how beautiful they will
become on that unforgettable day, the green grass will emerge
to beautify their existence for our guests, the huge green trees
will wave endlessly with the wind, a flow of some breeze.
We will be married as soon as he walks through my door,maybe today, tomorrow or after tomorrow.
Now we became a family with my green garden it will live to shine and
share the amazing wedding of two lovers married at last with the green
beauty of our garden.
At that moment my thoughts tried to trick me in a discrete
conversation saying, how do you know you will be happy?
can you guarantee that happiness will exist? those were my
repulsive thoughts, disregarding them, i shook my head
with sophistication a vigorous reply we will become
Thee couple in love forever.
Our unique marriage in our Green Garden Of Eden was televised that day
a huge surprise to us and our guests by a close friend as a wedding gift.
Contest for PD. Nature.. Win N0. 8
Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 5
Anulom Vilom or The Science of Alternate Breathing
HOW TO DO IT
Take your right thumb on your right nostril and while pressing and closing it inhale a deep slow breath from your left nostril. Hold the breath for a second in the beginning and then open your right nostril so that you may exhale the air you have filled in your lungs.
Now inhale deep and slow breath from the same nostril, where you have just exhaled (right nostril) and again hold it for a second and then exhale it from your left nostril.
At the time of exhaling air from your right nostril press and stop your left nostril from the middle and ring fingers (Imp). Repeat this action from 1 minute in the beginning to 10 -15 minutes by doing it again and again as you had started earlier. Do this breathing practice from 1-3 minutes to 15 minutes to get the maximum benefits.
Step-5 How to do Anulom Vilom
Sit in Sukhasana or in Padmasana on a comfortable flat ground or on a Carpet or Durry. Start Anulom Vilom in the morning hours, when your stomach is empty and clear . Close your eyes and sit as relaxed as possible for next 2-3 minutes, so that your muscles may get relaxed.
Anulom Vilom or (Alternate Breathing)
Among all the breathing
Exercises of Yoga
Anulom Vilom shines
Like a glittering jewel
Where one sees
The Astonishing results of Yoga
Taking shapes like the
Painting of an artist.
Which only get appreciated
It began to show some
Lines, figures and shapes
And when the picture get filled with
You would only fall in love
With the richness of
Colors and shades
The most precious gift of
For all the human beings.
It almost rejuvenates and transforms
Like the finished and colorful marvelous painting
Of an artist
From a dull and colorless shape.
The wonderful effects of
Will slowly purify your lungs
Body and mind
And many of human bodies
Curse like ailments
Like circulatory problems or Heart diseases
Blood pressure problems and Blockages
Depression and migraine pain
Asthma, sinus and allergy.
It is highly beneficial
For those who suffers from
stress and anxiety.
Once you gain the time limit
Or number of Anulom Vilom
You will find yourself
With a new personality
Filled with energy and peace of mind
And above all
Love and kindness for all
Which began to flow from your heart
And helps you
To accomplish your
Tasks and talks
With the grace of good health
Endowed with the blessings of God.
Regaining of good health
Your daily partner
Restore your love and confidence
And your faith in Your God
And it would make you
More wanting and artful
For you and your family and your life.
Kanpur India 28th July 2013
Important tips and precautions:
-Anulom Vilom pranayama can be performed by any one of any age group.
-Please perform this at calm and clean place either in a garden or at a place away from dust and pollution, and where there is a lot of oxygen.
-The best time to practice this breathing exercise is considered to be early in the morning before having your breakfast.
- However, performing Anulom Vilom should be avoided by pregnant women and during periods.
-Persons having serious heart problems should not practice it without the guidance of a proper Guru or instructor.
- Its benefits would be more visible, if you can practice it daily.
Although Anulom Vilom is the gift of ancient sages but it was brought to lime for the general good of the world by Swami Ram Deo of Patanjali Yog Peeth.
Ravindra K Kapoor