The cloud of gloom hovers over the sea of sorrow,
surges in distress tempest to my mental visage,
melts to make the torrent of tears to flow
like the trail of raindrops on the face of foliage.
With the brine condensing the pain of molten grief,
the teardrops are poised on the eyelashes for a while.
Like the raindrops on the edge of the leaning leaf,
they slide down slowly with dreams’ debris pile.
Down the parched crease of the pallid cheeks,
surges the silent streams of soothing solace.
The serene touch of soul the mourning mind seeks
in the course of tears, in its embalming embrace.
Fleeting flow of tears cascades on my cheeks mellow,
splashing after rainy night the dawn with sunlit hue
in the yonder horizon over the verdant meadow.
On torn tips of droopy grass shines the teardrop dew.
The machine awakens as a coin slithers in the slot,
a smoky voice whorls through the satin curtains.
Zoltar waggles his head,
hand hanging on the crystal ball.
His grave voice utters a mysterious prophecy -
“You look for the future, but it’s within you”.
Ensnared in a perennial aura of velvet and neon,
his eyes are fixed on a point of fused time.
His pallid hands hover over the crystal,
weaving a quiet mesh out of our despondency.
Zoltar speaks,
we believe the cosmos is stilled to answer
the riddle of fortune scripted for us
that resonates the intonation of destiny,
condensing into a display of prediction
getting access to something deep and profound,
stimulating the eternal human desire
to know the mystique future.
Of its nuances in a delightfully dramatic manner
Zoltar speaks.
If I said this is me trying,
If I told you that
Isolation was becoming
More of a destination than an action,
Would it be enough for you?
I know I’m too much,
Not enough to fit the mold that I once laid
Perfectly in,
I know I failed to flourish,
I know I faltered.
I’m sorry.
I learned to swim before I could run,
Because when you spend your whole life drowning,
Floating becomes survival.
The pavement hurt to fall on,
But at least I could patch myself up, heal.
The water takes everything.
It’s surround sound,
Sensory deprivation,
My lungs fill with the density,
And I sink deeper and deeper,
And I finally understand that it’s got me,
The darkness that doesn’t quite dissolve.
A lingering,
A taint.
I’ve learned to live with it,
I can’t remember a time it wasn’t in me,
But I can feel the level rising,
It’s consuming my entirety.
Each and every time I think it’s getting lighter,
The pressure doubles
And I feel myself condensing into nothingness.
I thought I could leave this all behind,
Until I finally understood,
This depth,
This ocean,
There will be no escape.
Twinkling lightning bugs
Condensing synchronically
Luminesce dusk fields.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the door clicks shut
leaving only dust particles
dancing in sunbeam's path.
four walls hold their breath
waiting for footsteps
that never come
a single nail protrudes
where a frame once hung
its shadow stretching longer
with each passing hour.
the silence settles
thick as plaster dust
in corners untouched
no echo answers
when the floorboards sigh
beneath the weight of absence.
light bleeds
across bare parquet
marking time in slow degrees.
air grows stale
withheld breath and unspoken words
condensing on the ceiling
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the door clicks shut
leaving only dust particles
dancing in sunbeam's path.
four walls hold their breath
waiting for footsteps
that never come.
a single nail protrudes
where a frame once hung
its shadow stretching longer with each passing hour.
the silence settles
thick as plaster dust
in corners untouched.
no echo answers
when the floorboards sigh
beneath the weight of absence.
light bleeds
across bare floors
marking time in slow degrees.
air grows stale~
withheld breath and unspoken words
condensing on the ceiling.
Is the tangerine tranquility
of divine signature—
a chlorophyll sanctum
for kindled minds,
where identity softens
into its sovereign form.
Uniqueness glistens
like diamonds in agate woods,
flowing like a brook
through silenced seastorms,
casting resilient ripples
of peace in chaos.
Kaleidoscopic hues
lather liberation
in lilac breath,
woven through rose-glazed silk,
layering thy self
beyond binary divides.
Weaving a raspberry mirage,
condensing orbits once defined,
gravity kneels to lucid silhouettes —
where polarization, veiled in vines,
drifts through phantoms of shadowed memes,
labeling itself among quiet captives.
Appearance deceives—
a haunted massacre,
gnawing at edges
of borrowed illusions,
trapped in the coffin
of jinxed confessions.
Still, I yearn for that foetal light—
a harlequin armour
on mannequin soul,
held by the thinnest threads
of clairvoyant defiance,
tethered to becoming.
Dusk drapes the horizon
in crimson hush,
penning butter-paper dreams
into the murmuring breeze,
where buried silence exhales
fractured fragments of valour.
In potted hills Finnish
Cauldrons run quips losing custard!
Vanquished serpents necking
Lounging cretons lavish
Tasking tisks
Mirroled bounce
Hinde bounding exiles
Worrisome kneels condensing bonnet?
Will and either knawlings
Coffered
Loave of Samson
Reason less below her faults
French horror?
Recalcitrant!
WATER AND TRUE LOVE
Water has its ways,
It’s always disappearing
Always returning:
Evaporating to leave,
And condensing to return:-
You need not worry,
That love, you feel has dissolved,
If true, will return:
Like water, true love condenses
And rehydrates broken hearts:-
Imagine an alternate universe, one born in the reverse rhythm of our own Big Bang.
In this cosmos, the arrow of time flows backward, not as a regression but as an elegant symmetry, a dance of retreating possibilities.
Galaxies do not expand into the void but instead coalesce, condensing into radiant singularities, the luminous echoes of futures we can never reach.
Here, light emerges only to fold inward, its journey truncated before it graces the expanse.
It is a universe hidden from us not by distance alone, but by the very nature of its existence—its glow always arriving too late, its truths eternally just beyond our grasp.
Yet, even unseen, such a realm invites awe.
It suggests that reality is not a single thread but a cosmic loom, weaving countless tapestries in both directions of time.
It is a humbling thought, a reminder that the cosmos, vast and intricate, may hold infinities we can sense only in the whispers of our dim imagination.
Painting a picture,
Without any scripture,
Soon to be a permanent fixture.
A mixture of all types of things,
I'm excited to see what it brings.
Feel the colors sing,
Timelines condensing,
Closing,
Superimposing,
Shadows showing,
Dimensions are growing,
Bestowing stroke after stroke.
Adding in a little joke,
You're never broke,
Take a little toke,
Poke the bear,
Stay aware,
Prepare for a new medium.
As life hands you them,
Premium products of perfection,
Placing them for your selection,
As you choose each direction,
Painting a reflection of life's projection.
Clouds of despair drifted in seamless sky of sorrow,
storm surged from the dismal horizon of mind’s visage,
showered tears in psychic streamlets in torrential flow,
like the rolling rills of raindrops on the face of foliage.
All the dark clouds didn’t dissolve in the deluge of grief,
a lone clump clasped the crushed heart in emotion deep,
like the raindrops concealed in the fold of sodden leaf,
waited within me to wail for the promises you didn’t keep.
With the emotive brine condensing agony in pail of pain,
the teardrops got poised on the eyelashes for a while.
Like the slithering raindrops the leaning leaves drain,
they slid down slowly with the dreams’ debris pile.
Down the crumbled creases of the pallid cheek,
cascaded the silent streams of soothing grace.
A touch of divine succor the mangled mind could seek
in the course of teardrops and in its healing embrace.
Water has its ways,
always disappearing, and
always returning:
Evaporating to leave,
and condensing to return:-
No need to worry,
that which you may feel dissolved,
will always be there:
Like water, supreme love is
willed to condense in our hearts:-
(“Depth Psychology Merit Badge aka The Myth of Being”, 2015, original oil)
The Weight of Time
Experiences fall like snow flakes
Full and soft, floating down to settle gently
Building up in layers, forming drifts
And, with the weight of time,
Ice in glaciers and massive shields
That smother the ground
And eventually work their way to the sea
To form blocks of experience
That then float away.
Sunlight illuminates their inner being
Releasing memories all packed together
In sights and sounds, smells and feelings
Faces and words, thoughts and dreams
Hidden beneath a surface
In unfathomable depths
Each bonded with other moments
Supporting and sustaining
the notion of a whole
Greater than the parts.
Each of us exist like this
Bergs of distinct memory and identity
Adrift and at ease
Subject to the flow of tides and currents
Beyond our control or comprehension
Subject of the ever falling snow
Full and soft, floating down to settle gently
In layer upon layer
Condensing into something more
Under the weight of time.
(12/21/24)
lost words are wolves hunting
heat from the herd, raw desire
one day less alone
American prom night
youth-swept hair moussed down in place
cigarettes light, poof
there goes Mary's lamb
water pail swings from her jaw
blind to the boil ahead
it begins like a bath
soft as the sun's seduction
quiet as a rack
back window fogs up
fingers paint shapes on car's cave
condensing moments
it was kilning day
he, my substitute art teacher
ersatz guardian
photos of his kids
near the hearth of his grandma's
basement fireplace
I was a student
thirteen is an innocence
despite the heated clay
Sandro knew his kind,
let's call him Terry Carter
because that's his name
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