I am a ruined house
With a rusty fence,
So many phantoms reside resting recklessly,
A clock on the mantelpiece that won't work. It's stuck staring at me,
Tick………,
The wallpaper is crumbling and fading away like my miserable memories.
It doesn't seem real even though it is.
Dreamy, dreary , dread , dead.
But the fire is still working
Though everything is cold
And almost dead.
Somehow it is never always cold,
Flames auburn and assured.
I fall in love,
When the wind
Clatters and chatters the weary windows.
When you knocked on the tedious door,
I fell in love with you,
You seemed full of halo light,
Full of sparks
Like the 4th of July,
Your words full of life,
You could make thousands of people alive.
But I can't untarnish the fence,
Can't paint the walls crimson.
But your eyes think,
I'm beautiful,
Life is fleeting and transient,
So, I started painting the panelled wooden house crimson.
You can't paint oak crimson.
It's ruining me,
I can't fall in love.
I was sitting near the shore,
listening to the waves.
The blue and the night sky spoke to me like never before.
Their distant voices became dull—
something inside me twirled.
The sound of the waves
was just like the voices, long forgotten.
Sand burned my feet,
memories rushed back.
While I kept ignoring it,
the pain slowly, painfully crept back.
The voice—now more clear.
I could hear the chatters, the laughter.
Tears brimmed in my eyes,
as the burning grew more intense.
A hand on my shoulder
slammed me back to the world.
The voice now long gone,
but the stars glimmered brighter than before.
Dancing at the chance to advance,
Through every single circumstance,
Exponentially enhancing the experience.
Evolving, adapting to this existence.
Energy permeating the expanse,
Creating a physical romance.
A performance based chase,
The Soul wearing a face,
All together in the same place.
Receiving the gift of grace,
Chasing after what we feel matters,
Climbing our invisible ladders,
Defending ourselves from attackers.
A busy mind constantly chatters,
As thoughts splatter the landscape,
Your world starts taking shape.
There's no reason to escape,
You're the Hero, Grab your cape,
Scrape away layers that stink,
Reshape the way you think.
On the bottom you can't sink,
It's time to find the kink,
The weak link out of sync.
Drink from the fountain of youth,
Know you are the truth,
Advancing through dancing with you.
Red-wing blackbirds symbolize protection, good luck, and even prosperity. They’re a reminder that something else is out there watching over us and guiding us when necessary - Quote by Vanessa K. Eccles
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Zorro of lakeshores, coasts,
waterholes amidst tall reeds
Redkissed on wings, nicely earned
proud yellow shining badges,
worries so much over his
subdued, streaky brown missus
bossing around claiming digs,
ruling the roost, many gals -
fearless keeper of his lot
he whistles, she chatters mild
Such a harsh gelid sprechgesang
filled with such soprano snowflakes
bitter whistling but so very beautiful
melodies change with the temperature
emotions fall and form a blizzard
the wind’s echo is never too sharp
a masque for a glittery wonderland
eyelashes made electric with silver
backup singers for an icy smile
knives sharpen themselves on the air
putting an end to the reticence
seasonal recluse finally set free
that first scent sparks out of control
swerving all over on black ice
lips on fire at the thought of danger
flushed with the breath of condensation
the stutters and chatters have eased
wrapped in this quilted blanket
an unequivocal need to cover up
Sprechgesang, so hard and gelid
Ernestine
Miracle Man
10/23/2024
Dementia isn’t something
my loved one has chosen,
So I readily admit
that in patience I’m lacking.
It seems in a time zone
a memory has been frozen,
Repeating things daily
is quite nerve racking.
Things are lost daily,
and sometimes never found.
We no longer can agree
on a myriad of matters.
The smallest of things
are the easiest to confound,
I attempt to write
as my loved one chatters.
She hasn’t many thoughts
that she doesn’t verbalize.
But if starting life over
she’d still be my prize.
My cat crunches her chunky canned food,
My cat crawls and creeps, curious- and shrewd;
My cat chatters and croons, so cheerful and charming,
My cat is clever and captivating, carefree- and often alarming.
My cat is so cute and chubby and likes to cuddle with me,
My cat is camping-out on my cozy couch purring on my knee !
ON A MATTER OF PEACE
Cock a doodle doo, good morning to you.
That rooster’s woken me again.
And pitter patter goes the rain,
Beating on the window pane.
Tick tock, tick tock
Tells me it’s just five o’clock.
Shuffle over once more,
Then, just as I begin to snore,
Moo moo, good morning to you,
The cows are in for milking too,
Splashing through the liquid poo.
Bucket clatters, milk splatters.
Farmer to the cow hand chatters.
Escaped the city’s roar andrush
To seek the country’s peaceful hush.
Went all rural; what a mug!
Peace and quiet with those sheep bleating ?
Baa humbug!
Budgie's Quote:
There is a balance between the Divinity of nature,
and the Divinity of spirituality.
Soul of mine you have taken a shine to the beauty
that resides in every tree and every lake.
You have left behind the noises of this world
and embraced the sound of a cooing dove,
the hooting of the owl in the prime of night
the blare of a cardinal by early morning dawn.
Soul of mine, you have illuminated my path in life
with the breath of heaven and yet you have not
spoken, one single word*
Soul of mine for the sake of you, I have renounced
all buzzers crackles and chatters, for the love of you
dear soul, I have embraced the mystical experience
of just being me, and within that moment of being,
I have given you me and you have given me you.
cat chatters through glass
mourning dove walks on back deck
cat ready to pounce
Laughs, chatters here and there
When the teacher is seemed to be nowhere
Eating together and sharing lunch
Sometimes in between class, having a good munch
Smiling and cracking jokes
And getting scolded in front of our folks
And then enters exams when everything seemed alright
Putting on most of the students' faces a look of fright
The person who gets the highest score
Not by studying extra but by having interest more
Feel sad for that one ward
Who even after getting good marks gets scolded hard
But one day we will have to separate
To take our career gate
I know it will be too emotional to take
But that is a decision we must make
We might have those little fights
But now we cannot do anything to set it right
So, let's leave those things back and free
And let’s continue our beautiful friendship journey
Even though we might not meet ever
I will have your memories with me forever
- B. Charan
I walk the cemetery all alone with me,
loving each ancient, gnarled, beautiful perfect tree.
The grief in this graveyard hangs like a green curtain,
the grass- and filigree leaves swaying in each tree.
Once these souls had a life and I hope happiness,
oh listen- a thousand songs coming from a tree.
I read the inscriptions wondering how they died,
one day perhaps I will rest under a shade tree.
This is so sad to think about but it is real,
now, a chickadee chatters from a bent old tree.
midway to winter
morning fog shrouds leafless trees
all color is gone
but the robin still chatters
with the last sad chickadee
Wild, old dog singing everyday
It does not have a holiday
Singing songs about other's glow
Like, it does not have gleam to show
It sings on dark and stormy night
It always sings when day is bright
It sings to halt how others shine
It's drowsed on other's own fine wine
It chatters like an old, old goat
Instead of rowing its own boat
Feels bad when pushy dogs succeed
Just like envy is its own feed
But comes a one dog with wild dream
It does not care about the scream
It only cares about its catch
That one day, its hard works will hatch
The glass chatters, clanks, and shatters
As it hits the ground
But makes no sound
The only thing heard is the
Screams of pain
As I get hit into the glass
Blood everywhere
Pain unbearable
The ripping of flesh
Cracking of bones
Screams of pain
Yet no one hears the screams
No one to save me
From this nightmare
From that thing
Evil and putrid
Bragging of his virtue
But he’s hurting me
Ripping my skin
Breaking my bones
No one can hear my screams of pain
Why can’t they hear me?
Does virtue truly block others from seeing the torment before them?
Does it make its followers so blind they cant see the bruises?
Does it make its followers so deaf they can’t hear me begging for mercy?
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