I found sweet deeps to plunge you in
where oceans cease and vaults begin
the wakes there roil in brumes of mist
and cheeks of sky are blushing, kissed
the face oft’ graced with features, yours
thus featured with what each adores
soft bats each lash o’er polished stars
that melt midst moony eyes … like ours
for beauties borne as thine shine bright
ne’er chanced askance for fancied flight
and should some others draw those gifts
they’re tossed to where the flotsam drifts
lest drowning cold what absence pours
they’d take from light what light abhors
and float there buoyant twixt dark clouds
their vixened visage swirled with shrouds
still - most looking glasses feign that grace
should god-skilled sculptors give such face
for women’s charms are poised and crowned
to swoon their prince where hopes are bound …
with wonders soft …
and warm …
and round.
I chanced upon a rushing mirror
who danced along with all the urgency
of an early summer's wind,
a serene creature whose silver surface
seemed to only focus on reaching the sea.
In its tail I saw a human,
whose hair was the same colour as mine,
whose nose and mouth breathed the same air I did,
whose eyes captured my every memory.
They were someone who I recognised,
indeed they are who I am
just not who I considered myself to be.
Sometimes, I lose myself
becoming fixated on who I was
and what I had done
not what I am doing nor who I was now.
Every so often, I find it helpful
to find somewhere dark and silent
and, just briefly, think.
The mirror flows on
cascading over rocks and toppled trees,
smothering my face in frothing bubbles.
In better days of better ways we chanced upon the mind
Of great and grand adventure, of great and grand design
To sail the open seas coursing near and far
Uncharted in the ways, unguided by the stars
At the mercy of the wind we vied the stormy seas
To mount the raging crests and weather in the lees
Onward ever onward past reasons reach we strove
To gather to our breasts the sum of wisdoms trove
stooped is our stance
yet soul’s dancing
heart chanced to love
believe it or not, it is true
once when in deep meditation
we chanced upon a lower realm
and lo behold, met Baphomet
upon so meeting the goat head
we confess that we were afraid
he as the guardian of five gates
offered us access to them all
declining, we beat a retreat
but later did pause to reflect
though he is a fallen angel
is he too not a child of God
the fault line is our delusion
judging by outer appearance
but we know now it is God’s breath
enlivening all forms of dust
if we were to meet him again
would we pause for a cup of tea
or walk away, wishing him well
respecting our differences
As activities
shrinking, retiring from work,
needed an outlet.
I had to fill vacuum.,
when reduced my broad spectrum.
All on a sudden
in year Two Thousand Fifteen,
tasted poetry
in web site poetry soup
igniting my interest.
Planted first poem
in Poetry soup garden
for relaxation.
In the world of poetry,
just I chanced to get entry.
In the last sector
of my life zone , I invent
this field to explore .
Enjoying my creation
along with recreation.
I was going along the road
When I chanced to look up at the sky,
And see him soar by.
He could have been mistaken for a glider
Had not he been up close to me.
But no, he was a beauty to behold,
Against the golden sky
A jewel rarely seen.
His velvet wings
Powerfully spread,
He rode the wind,
Reigning the vast skies.
So many times
We have come across
But never this close
Never this way.
Though brief, this encounter
Will last forever
Etched in my heart
As a token never to be forgotten.
As he glided above
The gentle breeze took a wild turn,
As if to resist him.
But he did not cower
Nor did he struggle—
Instead remained resolute
His piercing eyes focused
And forged ahead
With his goal in his heart.
Leaving me there, standing stunned—
Wondering if he could
Get any more majestic
Than he already was.
Until not a speck of him could be seen,
I stared into the space where he had vanished.
Clouds floating underneath caught my vision
like torn pieces of white carded cotton.
I was flying in the sky crossing ocean.
Red Sun about to peep through horizon.
Charmed to see changing color-spectrum
on my flight, looking through the plane-window,
overwhelmed, watching the sky-album,
amused to see me above, Sun below.
Sunbeams started to paint sky at random.
Refraction, reflection , diffraction dazzled.
Dawn-sky touching horizon turned awesome.
Gorgeous Sunrise made me just puzzled.
Once I chanced to glance amazing sunrise
resonating on rhythmic symphony
on splendorous view with grand surprise.
Sky glowing on sunshine in harmony.
a painting of mine found by a chance happening
NOTE: THE ABOVE IS A RECENT CHANCE ARTWORK OF MINE - created purely by chance happenings in the creative art process itself
Never have I seen trouble as deep as
The catastrophe in Tamaulipas.
I chanced on a 6-kilometer crack -
A lot of information to unpack.
If you fall into the crack, it seems,
You'll be in China or the Philippines.
I tell you straight, put it on the level -
It is either drainage or the devil.
Sitting in the sun room
At a nearby hotel
Reading a new book
All was going well
Ringing, the phone danced
I had an incoming call
“Who is this?” I wondered
And answered it I chanced
The heat travelled through the glass
My sweaty palm grappled on the phone
An anxious voice was on the line
“We need you quick, come home!”
To the car I ran
And fired up the motor
Onto the road I glided
Like an old milk floater
Back at the house
I had arrived
To see an ambulance
“Your mother’s died,” the medic said
A moment anachronous
In the quiet of the night, under the pale moon's light,
A heart whispers softly, burdened with its plight.
The echoes of laughter, now silent in the halls,
Memories like specters, on the mind's walls.
The ache is a shadow, a constant, silent guest,
A reminder of the love that once filled the chest.
It lingers in the corners, where happiness once danced,
In the empty spaces, where love once chanced.
Yet within this sorrow, where the tears freely flow,
Lies the strength of the human, a resilient glow.
For even as the heart aches, and the soul feels its loss,
It beats on bravely, despite the heavy cost.
So let the pain be a teacher, not just a bitter sting,
A guide to a future, where the heart can again sing.
For every ache felt deeply, is love's enduring mark,
A testament to its power, even when the world's dark.
In a dream, beneath Columbus' watchful gaze,
Where the capitol’s dome with the blue heavens waltz,
Strolling alongside the Governor, in harmonious ways,
Our footsteps chanced upon the city's hidden vaults.
Dusk beckoned, a murmur urging us to roam,
Cleveland, my home, through the fantasy did thread,
First adrift, then guided by heart back home,
A train missed, the voyage's lament, a path of dread.
Another locomotive, with heartbeats encased in metal's hold,
My briefcase and luggage, on the platform abandoned in the frost,
A conductor’s poetic words, let go of your baggage, be bold,
Tales of life's loads, and the art of releasing what's lost.
Halted, the train on destiny's meticulously drawn line,
A voyage through life, where loss and blessing entwine,
At every halt, a lesson, an opportunity to align,
Where dreams and reality, over time, combine.
You would never know me,
But a theme you were of my dream,
Filled by love to the brim,
Unfulfilled that withered like cream.
You would never know me,
Nor my rose petals in your book
I chanced to have a look,
Loveless that dried up, a lost brook.
You would never know me,
Who once came, buds as to blossom,
Unwelcome who had come,
Who could not but keep utter mum.
You would never know me,
Who came to build castles in fort,
Who just hassles did court
A racehorse who had fallen short.
You would never know me
That famine-like when you had felt,
On prayer who had knelt,
And rain clouds had loosened their belt.
You would never know me,
Nor ever remember, for whom
You had in heart no room,
Who was swept aside with a broom.
You would never know me,
Who once shed for you copious tears,
But returned reverse gears,
To go far from you like lost years.
__________________________________
Reminiscing |17.02.2024|love
. . . and with a haughty drink
of Virgil’s water
from the River Lethe
I venture forth knowing nothing
bring on the steps ahead
and what awaits . . .
but the waters have a taste
and some things feel familiar
a few of the steps ahead
look like my footprints
turning to a river
I feel I once chanced upon
and sensing
I am but circles within circles
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