She thought
her idea
wonderfully brilliant,
he could only defenestrate
any
thought not
his own, and so, bag and baggage
she became the homeless
slightly loco
witchy
woman
of forest glen,
legendary tender
of fair magical mystical
critters,
secret
Elven friend and full moon dancer,
silly mushroom picker~
but I just call
her Mom.
If it lasts it must be good or is it just a bagatelle?
Mountain tops inspiring cryptic lines that vanish in some moth infested haze,
Boulevards beloved of budding artists whose mocha fueled creations stray off point,
Mother Earth obsessives as they press their rosy vision
into silver clay mosaics,
tune smiths in a dither over windy forest musings without rhyme,
the rising tide of booker listed penmen cramped by their own inflated style,
heady tales that stretch across horizons as muggy moonlight antics tapered off, bag and baggage endlessly recycled and repackaged, needing to be told or so we’re told
I look within my bag, and baggage more unquenched desires.
N erve wrecking mental state, thus illogically surmounts.
T he wisdom of sages to simplify life ends in absurd futility.
R ather than emptying my burden, I trudge along heavier.
O ptimistic spirits flag at half mast with added expectations.
S oul's agony increases as all choices seem primordial.
P eople and their superimposed views ironically carry more value.
E ach breath, thus hisses heavily to keep up that image with fleeting time.
C aution is blown asunder with the pleasurable deluge of being constantly affected.
T ransparency through our traits help us to know ourselves better for intellectual purity
I nner view of our dilemmas and ripping apart our masques is essential to peace.
O ur own self awareness has to be critically analysed to realise what is to be valued.
N onetheless, self introspection is a beep which debates to create order out of chaos.
June 24, 2016
For John Hamilton
Introspection-Acrostic
Up,but Down…Part-1
This bus old as this rutted road
Panting to haul its sweaty load
Moves along the steep gradient
Of these hills stoutly determined
Raising to heights which although small
Are far like aeons beyond recall
To the place men and maps from yore
Call by a name now part of lore
It stops and ejects a lone man
Bearded, forlorn, bag and baggage
A petty forest official
Perhaps on punishment transfer
To these hills, unfeeling and cold
Where his ticket has taken him
Which could take him no further, no less
Away far away from sweet home
To where it’s for predators home.
It turns left, heaves off a U-turn
Climbs on to a conglomeration
Of tenements of refugees
From a strife-torn island, whose hopes
Are holding breath in another land
Uprooted amidst the rooted
All at sea amidst hardy rocks.
And returns to the highway where
The forest man still stands rooted
Aghast where he was offloaded
Like one of those gaunt and old trees
Failing to find his way to those
Who came before, missing the link
With the before and with the now.
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