Quiritation, quintessence.
Quirister, chime in.
Sickle moon, slivered crescents.
Harvest, glitter grin.
Quickening, quill? Quoth, quotum?
Grapes of wrath, red tide?
Shelter well, velarium!
Vinomadefied!
Viscid, visibilia?
Victrix, vair, vespoid.
Squirrel, thin ice? About me thaw!
Wasp, be paranoid!
Balefire, baetyl, bedaggle.
Ballyhoo bold, bagarre.
Nacre, naiad? Ne'er naggle!
Baisemain? Bizarre!
Blind bandelet? Binausic.
Belie, binaural beat.
Baragouin, barbette brick!
Blind, basiation? Bleat!
Best, bathysphere? Bathysmal.
Batrachian bateleur.
Ailed, apathy? Abysmal!
Bought ticket, took tour!
Abased or abacinate?
What is left to see?
Death and Doom, dread not thy date!
Just move in with me!
Abodement, abnegation?
Bad omens to renounce?
Chaos, cold is creation!
Pound, buy not the ounce....
along busy road
young deer chime in with traffic
startled by car horns
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Petals chime in porcelain white~
a secret vow beneath the leaves.
Their fragrance wafts through morning light~
tiny nuptials on vines.
At midnight sharp a bell tolls,
but there's no tower near.
The notes float and then melt
within the crypt of sleep.
I listen to the chime in dreams
that linger without seeing.
Everything is normal in morning,
except for what I still hear.
For their roar is never heard
Be their roar , be their pride , be their light , be their guide in every stride
Be their strength , be their wavelength
Be their for them to vent ,
A safe space to their hearts intent
Be their frequency , be their rhyme
Be their mime and chime in time
Be their harmony embracing and racing through their garden of opportunity
Be their umbrella , be their shadow,
to their open sky they seek the opportunity window,
Be their guardrails , yet their freedom too
The world feels safe when held by you
Be there to care for they matter
Be there , be there, just be there when their dreams shatter
When broken pieces is all that they see be their vision of art their ecstasy
Be there for their ups and downs as they see saw in mere life’s playground
Be there when you can for time is dear life disappears before it appears
"Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering" (Nicole Krauss)...
and so went ventured forth to do so,
stringing the answers together like a song,
and all of them were right, but all of them were wrong:
a bell, a wind-chime in a soft-summer breeze
sparkling wine, a coquettish tease
a siren song on a lonely sea
disguised as a question, but really a key
a challenge or a call to action
a promise of elusive satisfaction
an opportunity to grow,
the seeds of love at last to sow
a sojourn of unending length
a demonstration of enduring strength
a lifelong quest, a sacred duty
a mysterious, arresting beauty.
In the end, he kissed her memory goodbye
as his immortal spirit floated in the sky.
He pondered, when he got to Heaven's door,
a question he had no answer for.
"Mother’s Milk"
I don’t know -
what would you have me say?
Life is a gourmand perfume
rolling along on the notes of air
intoxicating musk a jubilee
music you breathe and reign in
words lactonic heaven scent
stimulating the beginning and the end
in synaesthesia the let-down presents
succulent life, a moment brief and swift
a hint of warm peppered cinnamon
with gunshot sparks recalcitrant pink
a straight shot from the heady accord first off
hard points from mother’s breast rouge the plot
we drink it all in
life is the sweetest illusion
bittersweet and burnt bent
we are all drunk to it;
before we begin,
we begin again,
we are swallowed large
into this small life
like an unknown mystery
karmic charms chime in
fragrant and in fragrant notes
recalcitrant journeys
roads less taken
sweet and bitter almonds
we hear the distant bells chime
we sign off reluctantly
to only begin it all again
Candide Diderot. ‘25
The sun does arise,
On the valley sweet,
The birds & pups wise,
Call our kits to meet.
The hoots & hollers,
Sound loud for miles;
Yet! Amiss is one collar,
Lone in the Sky Isles.
The sun does down,
On the green hills tired,
Lining the vale round,
Our pets to bed retired.
The whistles & purrs,
Chime in the crisp wind.
All but one bed stirs;
Our dear numbers thinned.
Long time does pass,
Bleak winter does come,
Hoar-frost is the grass,
Warmed by a low hum.
We stand together,
Upon valleys sharp,
Wond’ring: ‘just whether,
You’re hearing, fain, the sky harp.’
In the LIGHT, I FIGHT to find my clear SIGHT,
With echoes of TIME that CHIME in my HEART,
Each moment's a GIFT, a spark that feels RIGHT.
Through SHADOWS, I TREAD, where doubts may SPREAD,
Yet hope's gentle WHISPER will never DEPART,
As dreams UNNFOLD, chasing bright paths I READ.
In the DANCE, I PRANCE, embracing the SPHERE,
A purpose that CALLS, within me it PLAYS,
To share my SOUL, I'm WHOLE, this is why I'm HERE.
Interesting conversations started as a strangers chime in
Grown men in fuzzy hats riding three-wheeled bikes
Try to envision oldster type males on oversized trikes.
One was a walrus, you cannot fool me at all, said the Prez
And on his head, of course, he wore the fuzzy red Fez.
We are the Rhiners, the diners, the cool cats, the best!
Their chanting was soon followed up by everyone, such a test.
Except if you did not belong, you had better not try to chime in.
For they would throw snowballs at your head, and at least hit your chin.
I hear your voice when the breeze blows
My wind chimes ring out the song
That stirs my heart, for my heart knows
Of whom and for whom it longs
Our frequencies match perfectly
In sync is our melody
Two as one in unison
The song of you and me
Dream catchers chime in the wind,
like soft tones of a xylophone.
Melodic melancholic rain,
is free flowing,
but morning birds still arrive,
sitting on wet window sills,
singing about their desires.
In daffodil daydreams,
the breeze resonates like a flutist,
gently swaying bluebells in a rhythmic flow,
as pink, silver and lilac heather spread
around a bed of golden violet crocus.
Under my magnificent magnolia tree,
ivory petals dance in puddles upon
damp lawns with fresh grass,
weeping love songs strummed
on acoustic strings of green.
Sprinkles of drizzle sparkle,
like an absent lover's ostinato,
caressing the earth in a
rhapsody of tender kisses,
nourishing it's soul to harmonise with
a symphony of returning sun rays.
As a chorus of clouds clear in
a final crescendo, introducing
sapphire hues with golden delight,
rainbow pastels bless the tempo
of rows of tantalising tulips
in kaleidoscopic shades -
as natures breathes in alternating fusion.
The lake has its own orchestrated acoustics.
The quaking of oboes and the bassoon-ing honks
of a skein of geese
conduct a loosely scored morning air.
Rustling reeds chime in fluted stems,
a wind section throats through its hollow notes,
and then there is you.
you who hesitantly strum
within each lip-breathing earshot
nevertheless
your strings are tuned high
to the vibrating moment.
All this ‘a cappella’ is inside you now
like a chick cracking though its own eggshell.
You look around your shoulders
searching for the composer
see nothing, only a naught that imagines
paused fingertips above a keyboard.
Will you sing now or depart unfinished?
The ensemble of the assembled
has left.
You can try again
when your inner metronome
is less bolted to its mechanical tongue,
but for a time
harmony nest elsewhere.
Clear crystals eat iron voices.
The wind dies; its bones rattle on.
A stealing wind moves many loose tongues, but where?
"Where' is not the question but a movement,
a rapport pealing from somewhere.
When wind is silent, wind chimes listen.
Speech goes deaf when the wind rings.
A snow laden sky sings under our feet.
Icicles chime in the sunlight.
Tinkling is the light.
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