Let the cold, integral to fall
Allow a furlough from life’s gall
Zapped of heat, my water love lost
Yielding to blankets, dark accosts…
Days mist like ghosting memories
All wrapped warm, swaddled in stories
Yet, outside forces beat and knock…
So wish to hibernate, doors locked!
(12/12/21)
Delicately smoke stacks rose in tendrils
From my lobotomised mind, tracks of steam
Channels which searched for surrendour
Teased unfamiliar air aflame, eventual glean
Chances which blind chases never uncovered
Now relaxed stance soul caresses confirm
Worth in the venture for connections recovered
Ratified tangible textures of trust returned
Sharply sprung tongue sprig of marjoram burst
Sends corresponding signals sweet salty
Cardboard dry enclosure summoned my thirst
Seasoned with fish fall apart white sultry
Flipped on my untrained pallette, ripe silk drips
Nourished throat thrums an unsung tempo
New reward captured bite butters impatient lips
Slippery flesh accosts a switched off depot
Aniseed's dark unrivalled flavour pinnacle
Nasal travelled spice kidnaps bland indecision
Abrupt acetic fingers, processing difficult
Held captive by capers strange punch derision
Ambience clink clanks cutlery's untimed tune
Calls faithful patronage who pay in blood
Inner soft lobsters promise flesh of high noon
Claw shards pave a love path summoned
20th September 2020
Pray dream of wondrous places where inspiration grows on trees
And jangles ever more in a soft warm scented breeze
Where all of us that ever paused long enough to write
Will find some inspiration accosts us in the night
When dreams portray through swirling mists
The true passions of a lovers kiss
And so can bring more than prose to those
Who strain to see up on their tip toes
The wonders of a new bloomed rose
That's growing there behind the wall
We couldn’t climb when we were small...
Sweet dreams I sanction for all who scribe
Those who create must never be denied
A vision from whence they cast new scenes
Painted in rhyme from those eery dreams
Take sustenance and candles long
Behold the words that flow upon
The parchment, screen or paper pad
With quill or type or pen we're glad
To find the steady pass of time
Does not our spirits undermine
As long as we may ever sit and write
For all our days and flicker filled nights…
©Rhumour
February 6th 2009
The Bitter End of the Road
Travelers coalesce as if from as dense fog
about the grounds of the retreat.
The lodge shimmers silver-gray
amongst the changing autumn woods.
The gravel way diminishes in rearview mirrors
with the pinging sound of pebbles against
the metal horses of the day.
Civilization, ever trampling,
encroaches upon what ages ago
had been a pristine forest, now swarms
to the Lodge’s gates:
ants to the picnic
late comers in search of the scraps,
the leavings,
of much abused nature.
Slamming car doors, buzzing cell phones,
endless chatter accosts the forest’s skirt.
Beaten paths awaited those stalwart enough
to venture in, rushing ever forward
and upward
through the crunch of fallen leaves,
the snap of branch,
the distant warble of unseen birds.
Water, when near, adds
its own rush, and babble.
But, the smaller critters seem to have vanished
tracks and spoor, trampled
whether in reverence or disregard;
it matters not.
In our ever onward rush to enjoy,
the sounds of cricket,
cicada, the squirrels chitter,
the owls call;
we by our mere presence
destroy.
First Published by Poetry Quaterly
It’s just become almost an usual ache,
At night longing for rest, I stay awake;
Sleep accosts me hardly ever these days,
As I keep on tossing indifferent ways;
Slumber remains aloof and disdainful….
I coax it to share my pillow, its rightful,
This way or that, my sleep plays coy,
My ploys are useless without any joy.
The night turns me helpless with desire….
Shuteye eludes the clock ticks on, in mire;
Known and alien faces make their rounds-
Seamlessly the day makes up lost grounds.
I don't know why I cannot sleep, it’s a dread,
Slowly I stagger out of the hot rumpled bed.
Restless nights take me to my cabinet of stocks….
I’ll perhaps have some McCallan upon the rocks;
And hope its charm will work and do the trick~
I just need to get some bagful of sleep, thick.
As the skies show traces of colour of the dawn……
The stars dip their light slowly,the moon too gone;
Ah, to sleep to sleep, ‘as my eyelids dips over fast -
The mind on fire,on the bed I fall back, asleep at last!!
Balancing your pocketbook,
Umbrella and a bag
While the wet relentless rain
Accosts you is a drag.
Whipping wind is adding fuel
To metaphoric fire.
Wish that where you’re going
There would be a waiting dryer.
Nothing you can do when days
Are windy, wild and wet
Except to know that once you’re soaked,
No wetter can you get!
I watch the swaying brown tipped rushes
Against my cheek the gentle wind brushes
On quiet blue a dragonfly dips its feet
Landing where the sun and water meet
Blackbirds flash a wing of ruby red
Busy keeping a nest of fledglings fed
Bullfrogs with throaty voices call
Declaring their presence to one and all
Faint sound of traffic accosts my ears
As twilight descends and darkness nears
Saddened by the coming months of fall
This habitat destined to be a shopping mall......
A step in time I took one day
On specters mist who led the way
Down cobblestones and garden paths
Armless statues guarding baths
Armored beasts reflect the sun
Gallant knights are all for one
Hedge puzzles line the gardens fair
Hide and Seek for those that dare
Ladies clad in whale bone stays
Surreys pulled by chestnut bays
Sticky buns and honeyed mead
Cards and races slate the greed
Then on he led to shanty town
Down rows of tenements falling down
Sewage stench accosts the street
Where doxies in the alleys meet
Walking peddlers hawk their wares
And homeless children, no one cares
Disease spreads rampant through the town
Renaissance Art, the churches frown
Then through the mist he leads again
Back to my time; my heart to pen.