Shivering aspens side by side
Standing against the chill
Gold crowns all are wearing
Until their diadems spill
I will doff my ermine gown
and take off my kingly crown.
The day declines, the course is run,
on fleece of gold reclines the sun.
I'll not retouche the Mona Lisa
or straighten up the Tower of Pisa.
Further work in that connection
I leave to those who seek perfection.
on night's soft pillow
sky's king is falling asleep-
abdication's dream!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 June 2020
* Seeing everything that happens these days around the world and being disappointed, the sun might like to give up his throne so he doesn't have to witness tomorrow!
Emerald paints hills
Tall cottonwoods dance
Soft clusters drift
Riverbank winds laugh
Leaves endorsing orange
Skeletal branches weep
Soft clusters melt
White wonderland bows
Emerald paints hills
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All Rights Reserved
castle walls breaching
a king weeps in mother's arms…
the tide rolling in
This,
was the matter of non-matter,
permeating in every pore, cell,
thought. An elusive,
connection to unknown.
You,
want to create a Grail
to receive the blood, of heaven
to imbue,
the dark space.
A chilling,
belief to confer,
a glorified name to astigmatism
without the consent
of the eye.
Arboreal,
the naked soul
renunciates all the fruits
and departs for
another sky.
Satish Verma
My Compassion's mute by her bedside
My bodies a host, a stopped up drain
She sucks for emancipation
And yet there is no air, no pillow light enough to
bring sleep or dreams
Hours n' hours a night I lay
Shaky awake to her needs
I fluff, I prop, I smile to soothe
Counting my silence less I scream.
It was a domestic pain,
when we came apart in boots and helmets.
Taking the shine away, moon gave up the fight
on lake, against the clouds, a sniper
intuitingly, started a homicidal blasting
to start the rains.
An ode to sepia needs scrutiny;
cuttlefish had a second thought. No faith
permits the slaughter of septa. Walls were squinting
to see better. A square root will find the squall,
between the breaths. Beyond arousal of oceans
a shaken, surreal, blast from a craven rifle.
Satish Verma
It was a domestic pain,
when we came apart in boots and helmets.
Taking the shine away, moon gave up the fight
on lake, against the clouds, a sniper
intuitingly, started a homicidal blasting
to start the rains.
An ode to sepia needs scrutiny;
cuttlefish had a second thought. No faith
permits the slaughter of septa. Walls were squinting
to see better. A square root will find the squall,
between the breaths. Beyond arousal of oceans
a shaken, surreal, blast from a craven rifle.
Satish Verma
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