My birdbath has become
the backyard rage! Now,
as many bees as parched
birds, they line the edge
taking buzz-sips – then
back to the honey-hive --
water, a must, in the desert,
if to stay just barely alive….
My charity, a small oasis, little
bigger than a hubcap; thousands
of grateful gulps a day~ more honey
on the way. Wonder!? Should I
have a neon sign, to attract Night
Owls and bats, already a focus of
many feral cats -- lizards, scorpions,
spiders and gnats…? What must they
think, of a semi-soft heart and head,
sharing tap water~ but off limits a cool
kitchen and king-size bed?
I truly love it all:
The final days of f-all,
The shadows, looming t-all,
The stork’s goodbying c-all,
The wind against my w-all,
The beach-less orphaned b-all
Deflating, growng sm-all…
I truly love it all.
Late autumn’s wind
screeches like a banshee
and the sky is an angry ashen gray.
Our old tree -
stooped over and skeletal -
seems to convulse violently
as if in shocking fright
as its leafless limbs
eerily scrape the side
of our house
nearest to our bedroom,
tap – tap- tapping fiercely
against our window pane.
The wind recedes
and snow begins to drift down
from pewter-painted clouds.
The skeleton in our backyard
turns slowly through the night
into a grim reaper
wearing a robe of white.
Here grows a jackfruit tree in my office’s backyard
I wish to share a memoir of my life, which was marred by depression
It was just a sapling when I had joined duty
We both forged our respective journeys into the wild.
Having started flourishing in its own way
The sapling developed branches and started bearing fruit.
In contrast, my life started shrinking with depression
Following a negative trend and became messy
With people around me considering me a burden
Having had a roller-coaster journey of living
I feel my journey to be worth narrating.
Wishing to relieve stress from someone feeling depressed
I dare to share some of my experiences coping with depression.
Prior to dealing with depression and its resolution
I just want to let you have a glimpse of my journey.
The jackfruit possesses an outer spiky peel and an inner sweet pulp
Some people who seem negative on the surface, like the jackfruit peel,
are sweet inside, like its pulp
To some extent, this holds good for me too.
Having been a topper during my school and college days
I had always been under immense pressure to perform.
Rabbits thrive beneath our sweet-potato vines, quite the cozy retreat~
free flowers, fresh veggies, and rent so cheap they’ll never leave their suite.
grass stains on our knees
tin cans clatter bright
laughter skips like stones
day drifts into dusk
smoke in the night
sparks disappear in mid air
cozy bonfire
Red cardinal highlighted by white cloud and blue sky
Out in the backyard
The snow is melting
Brown grass is showing
A Mother nature tease
Up on a small hill
is a rock garden
The rocks are showing
White snow surrounds rocks
Squirrels are out searching
For their peanuts meal
A cat in the doorway
Watching the scene
Years passed
Journey through turmoil
America’s soil
Civil Rights attack
Battle that was on
Bus ride to Washington, DC
Awaken the world
Road to action
Fight opposition
Independence precision
Voices on accord
Multitude forces
Need for change
Taking aim
Freedom and togetherness for all
Through the streets of Washington, DC and National Mall
Time for stance
Freedom Riders chance
Chant out of “GIVE US OUR CIVIL LIBERTIES”
Forefathers fought
WE THE PEOPLE
Those words still stand
Nation’s demand
The powers that be want to rearrange
Constitution gives that right
Fast forward, it is now becoming a plight
States everywhere joining in America’s fight
Those words, “WE SHALL AND MUST OVERCOME”
One day
After while
Sunrise that says a new day of Freedom
Sunset being the job well done
Fulfillment on all corners of the globe
Freedom will ring
The change having a sting
Maneuver my brothers and sisters
Civil Rights will be ours and for generations to come.
This morning I noticed the fence leaning,
a tired spine under the weight of years,
its wooden slats splintered, soft as my knees
after too many trips up the attic stairs.
The body, I mean, not the house—though both
seem to sag in the same quiet defeat.
But look at the yard: crabgrass and clover
have staged a coup, their green fists punching
through cracks in the patio’s old concrete.
Ants march in neat rows, claiming the crumbs
of my breakfast left on the wicker chair.
Nature doesn’t care about my stiff joints.
I tried to pull a dandelion once,
thinking I could tame the chaos with a tug.
It snapped, left roots grinning underground,
as if to say, We were here first.
My heart, that old pump, skips a beat or two,
while the weeds write their novel in the dirt.
I sit by the window, counting my aches,
each one a plot point in a story I’d rather
not read. Yet the vines keep climbing the shed,
their leaves a bright defiance against rust.
Maybe that’s the trick—not to fight the green,
but to let it grow, wild, over my bones.
Zombies are not what you'd call givers
They'd rather sip blood by y'all's rivers
Butt crack stains on their legs
Ate backstrap, brains, and eggs
But, they preferred feasting on livers
BYOB: Bring Your Own Bruise or Bring Your Own Boos
IN MY OWN BACKYARD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
climbing stairs or books
I travel from world to world
in my own backyard
The sun is high in the summer sky
And no clouds to be seen
The grass is high neath the summer sky
And growing tall and green
The mower starts with growling roar
And cuts through swaths of fescue
This mowing proves a sweaty chore
And soon I beg for rescue
My lawn’s expanse appears to grow
The longer that I labor
Seems to expand as I cut each row
The mower becomes my sabre
And I a true knight dueling a foe
Who laughs at my every advance
He stands unyielding before each blow
And about the green our martial dance
With never a sign of surrender
The fight goes on between us two
Which shall prove to be the pretender
Victory comes with the aim that’s true
And at last my foe lies low
Beneath the heel of the victor
Yet even now it grows
Who shall win next Saturday?
Sadly there is no predictor
Within a crack in grisly clouds one night
I briefly glimpsed the redish-orange hue
of the Australian desert poking through—
pillars of bunched up puffs, in the colored light
of a sleepy sun’s rosy rays,—and the might
of such a sight struck my soul’s drowsy blue.
So suddenly my heavy spirit flew
like a falcon to that unequaled height.
And soon returning home, I shut the door
on that marvelous fantasy of mine.
The evening heavens, far from human reach,
yet teach me a quite foreign form of speech,—
that of mysterious, metaphoric sign.?
Thus I transcend myself,—find something more.
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