Fort Crown Point sits on the big lake
that’s long been called Champlain,
its broad earthen walls left open,
thrown up, but built in vain.
Its roofless barracks give no warmth,
just gutsy shells of stone,
unlike its more famous neighbors
no story here was known.
Ticonderoga, near the south,
battered by history...
and Saint Frederic, just steps away
still got a chance to be…
But Crown Point never was a fort,
never besieged or wrecked
before that old war passed them by,
and redcoats took Quebec.
It makes it strange to see it now,
unfinished, yet preserved,
a monument to a place where
no great glory was earned,
no battle raged, no people died,
no purpose did it get,
like a life with great potential
cut short by early death…
Can that apply to a building
if in serves not its task?
But then, it was designed for war…
maybe there’s good in that.
Yet still I get a forlorn sense
on seeing it because
I’d hate to be remembered for
something I never was…
The titular template
of lyrical loneliness,
serenading
spaced out
the upbeat ethereal
mystique melody
of dreams
cadenced with
rhythmic quietude,
invigorated by
the rhapsody of
the million idyllic steps
I walk,
setting free
the hesitating heart
that quivers with
the wilderness willows,
the concrete contours
of inflexible essence
repudiate intractably
the catharsis reprisal.
I find a placating place
at the serene edge
of the stalled time,
sense sedated
the sound of silence.
All the dreams
blaze like emotive ember
in memory inferno,
swathed by the ashes
I breathe besieged
the smoky past,
whisper hollow words
to the amorphous air,
for I have nothing
more to say,
and silently float
in the sky of nothingness
with splintered awareness.
The sulking space between
the slices of soul,
where frail feelings
get frozen,
the lattice of desolation
is configured
with the shards of
shapeless desire,
turning to illusive images,
as they soar
to the void
of oblivion
in the solemn sky of
silence…
Midnight groans so quietly
From a churchyard far below,
Sky within the pathway
Gives off a charcoal tinge,
And darkness roves, alone
Farther than my throbbing glance
And moves back into a shade
Like the deepening of these eyes
Where pale nocturne withers
Past ghastly streaks of mourning:
Like nibbled ashes through late dusk
Setting the sun to be gone
Constellations peacefully gather,
like acrobats falling to sadness
The moon peruses a small light
Overseeing time's twisted face --
This agony evanescing into another trail
Besieged...pierced by stars.
Is everything a message
A message we can comprehend
Isn’t the universe unfathomable
Aren’t we clueless about what God sends
A wildfire in California, a volcano in Iran
Terror everywhere ~ Is the Messiah a madman
O, for the comfort of your arms
Wherein there lies no harm
Turn off my device, shut out the news
~ Jerusalem’s besieged again, so are the Jews
Oh, love, you fragile bully
beguiling us with rumors of your need
to be replenished
but from where.
Must I become an emptied vessel
Or a vibrant voice
Your unwavering instrument
Channeling an unheard mantra
Am I not besieged by love’s presence
Soft words that linger on a mist
The whispered wonder of friendship
Time’s riotous roar slowly passing
But you dear love
You intangible tyrant
Do not rule
But invite
Both loved and unloved
To conspire in attempts to be
Your touch, your soul,
Your voice, a prayer
mind still after shattering storm
in the scoured soul’s deep rift
stream of silent sorrow flows
with memory dregs of drowned dreams
on the dry trail of tears etched
beneath the forlorn eyes besieged
The Kingdom’s seeds
within his heart
its reign
a heavy stone
The Jester dancing
with the Queen
caught naked
on the throne
His back now turned
the Jack of Spades
a dagger
up his sleeve
A palace coup
in bold relief
his lineage
besieged
The music stops
the Jester laughs
the Queen cries out
for more
The Princess
in the tower
where her subjects
cry out ‘WHORE’
The drawbridge falls
the King is back
his armor
red and stained
The final battle
yet unfought
dark prophecy
— ordained
(The New Room: February, 2025)
Dressed in white christening gown
Creaky snow break mountain melt
Dissolves rigid in simmering spring
Ached ankles pummel, putrid pond
Ancient decompose steams surface
Sulphur syphons Winter hestitance
Grabs goblins soup bowl grotesque
Monster murky rub manic massage
Active agitate upsets puritan sculpt
Boiling bubbles bump aside burden
Besieged by beast belly, slimy spa
Crystallises chartreuse, past spent
Dunk of disgusting salve, hot spew
Baptises black ducks in inky erupt
Aotearoa flow, now zeal spills over
Rejuvenating Rotarua
- two lakes -
5th January
You've read it correctly,
that's what the directions said directly
but
it's not some innate random homogeneous gift
that encourages and displays these internal poetic rifts,
we are somehow blessed,
betrayed, besieged, bestowed, beleaguered and bemoaned
by words, phrases, unmatched rhymed teasers enthroned
upon some grandiose display of mismatched garble
a picture, an image, a brain's ensemble, quite remarkable,
the integral, seamless agreed-upon selection
of who or what could be prisoner to our dissection,
there within the confines of heart, body, and mind
lay hidden pseudo images soft, hard, vile, and kind,
therein those coherent enigmatic systemic wholes
buried, shaped, unseen, rhythmic whispers of our souls,
the center of our individual, molded, subservient whole.
Anything you do
is like what you’ve done
Anything you find
is like what you’ve found
Anything you say
is like what you’ve said
Anything you dream
is like what you’ve dreamt
Wherever you roam
forever afar
Whatever you say
forever you are
Wherever you look
forever you see
Whatever you pledge
forever you mean
If ever you wander
the world at your feet
If ever you daydream
the world is complete
If ever you dance
the world is your stage
If ever you write
the world is your page
Whenever you ask
the questions reseed
Whenever you reach
the distance besieged
Whenever you wish
the future at dawn
Whenever you love
— the darkness is gone
(Dreamsleep: July, 2024)
She came from remote Albania to Calcutta all the way
as a young Catholic nun to permanently stay.
By chosen profession a passionate teacher unflawed,
destiny drove her to be a benign missionary of God.
Overcame ups and downs in pious path for herself she set,
besieged by the agony of the sick and the destitute she met,
the self-less soul heard the compassionate decree of divinity,
and home she brought them to the Missionaries of Charity.
Decades ago she made alone her singular humane journey,
absorbed in fountain of joy the tears of the indigent and needy.
For human service her kind heart did whatever it could surmise,
she received the Magsaysay and also the Nobel Peace Prize.
The benevolent soul got beatified and she was canonized,
caring universal mother entered the sanctum of sainthood sanctified,
for, to the world of the deprived she belonged divinely enticed,
and found a blessed place in the heart of Jesus Christ.
Besieged by stygian forces...
Left to rot a hermit's gloom.
I lay hidden from the world
Entombed within my room.
I would not venture hither
Against a cold that swallows whole
And challenge winter's malcontent
That afflicts my troubled soul.
But Nature is auspicious
Knowing the coward that I am
And grants me some advantage
And insight to her plans.
She springs forth the blessed tulip
To bring wonder to my gaze
As winter's shadow starts to dissipate
With the lengthening of days.
But the sign that lifts my spirit
To know winter's laid to rest...
There are robins flirting to and fro
As they build their family's nest.
The End
The titular template
of lyrical loneliness,
serenading spaced out
the upbeat ethereal
mystique melody
of dreams cadenced
with rhythmic quietude,
invigorated by
the rhapsody of
the million idyllic steps
I walk,
setting free
the hesitating heart
that quivers with
the wilderness willows,
the concrete contours
of inflexible essence
repudiate intractably
the catharsis reprisal,
I find a placating place
at the serene edge
of the stalled time,
sense sedated
by the sound of silence.
All the dreams
blaze to emotive ember
in memory inferno,
swathed by the ashes
I breathe besieged
the smoky past,
whisper hollow words
to the amorphous air,
for I have nothing
more to say,
and silently float
in the sky of nothingness
with splintered awareness,
the sulking space between
the slices of soul,
where frail feelings
get frozen,
the lattice of desolation
is configured
with the shards of
shapeless desire,
turning to illusive images,
as they soar
to void oblivion
in the solemn sky of
silence…
No one can feel the pain of a molested female
She cries from her soul
She is alive from her body,but her uniqueness, her authenticity, her desires get annihilated
She gets besieged by the allegations of society,
Ultimately she is rewarded by the tag of "Culprit"
And harassed mentally to the point where she decides to quit by suiciding
Is a female, mere a material for the men to fulfill there so called sexual cruelty, to show there masculinity
Whenever she is raped
It shatters all her dream and independence to fly high..
And all her grief is mere a joke for the so called"MALES" who has dilema of being a god of a female??
Besieged by cruelty
In the wicked hellscape
Turned a blind eye to the latent beauty
Of both love and hate
And like the memories, rewinding
Nevertheless, surviving!
They said, reckless you are
and left me as a dystopian
Those ill disposed ones who were never a star
As disregarded the beauty in each of my scar
From the leading light they are yet so far
And like the spirals, binding
Nevertheless, surviving!
Collapsed brain, isn't bearable
infidelity from someone inevitable
Led to the affliction for that gullible heart
Everything is tearing apart
As if carrying mess isn't anymore an art
Still painful, the riving
Nevertheless, Surviving!
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