under a delightful moon
air silvermist due to drizzling rain
a pale patina rode wavetops
of the mystic sea
creamy waters washed across my feet
depositing opaline conchs, whelk egg cases
and bits of purple fan coral
oceanic generosity
fueled my thankfulness
as the horizon's apricot blush
announced sunrise
Categories:
conchs, imagery, moon, ocean,
Form: Free verse
Secrets hidden in the sands
known only to the tiny crab
or starfish wandering idly by
as waves collect the ancient treasures
send past truths drawing ever, nigh.
Sand Dollars glisten in amber glow,
as murex and cowries roll amid waves;
of the all the things the beach collects,
amid all shells, the conchs resonate
their waving echoes, seas story treasures.
Categories:
conchs, nature, ocean, places, poems,
Form: Free verse
CONCHS
Sound of conchs in the temple,
God remains there.
I am writing poetry for readers.
I think for best poems.
Like my prosperity.
Try to keep pace with rhyme and quality.
I know how to write haiku.
Where demand of few words matching for nice view.
Saroj khan [sakha]
Categories:
conchs, dedication,
Form: Rhyme
O to be there again
Little boys dancing for calypso dimes
And the US marines, angelic in white
White rum frolicking in the chapel of their brain
Laughing like water on the ships grey side
Sons, fathers, husbands
Finding respite in the sedulous arms
Of intinerant lovers
Milking their wallets with sugarcane charms
Not that significant fact
That stalled my hunger many days
Is my longing now
But the friendhsips we share then
Bees swinging sibilant songs to tease
The honeyed flow from orange blossoms: hookers of the breeze
We fragment of a frantic civilization
Marginalized by the necessity
That sent us pirating sea shells
Selling purple throated conchs for breeze
Of charity satiated with alcohol and disease
And trees for white flesh of almond nuts
And a safe place to sleep
Above the coral theatre our clouds
Meandering like eyes over the city's
Barren breast in delicious idleness
I long for friends again like those
That made time's calcite hands beautiful
As a stalagmite
In our oppressor's concrete heart ...
My best imagination then
Was our racing kites tugging at clouds
For white puffs of affection.
Categories:
conchs, childhoodlonging,
Form: Free verse