Try read from eyes in all details,
A word vouched dies with all details.
Lies can’t be wise with all details,
Truth infers from lies all details.
The cool hearth cooled off my hunger,
Hush did apprise with all details.
What can’t be told in all details,
My silence tries in all details.
What can’t be said but left unsaid,
Reserve espies in all details.
_________________________
Ghazal |17.09.2025 | eyes, lies, silence, truth, words
AUTUMN’S QUIET ARRIVAL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The days have cooled in autumn’s pleasant breeze. I bathe in the kind of weather that inspires long walks and poetry. Yet in this transition from late summertime into the fall, the autumnal blooms press on as if the sun were at its fullest. I savor this moment, this beauty in the season that walks calmly into the arms of winter.
autumn doth arrive
promising new life amidst
the drama of death
You'd tilt cartons under your nose;
milk missed your mouth and cooled my toes.
Droplets have hardened when they've seeped
under the bed, the run now steeped
in stickiness since you've been gone.
If shadows sleep, mine has withdrawn
under the bed asleep like dust
when squeaks wake up the bedframe's rust.
Your absence forces me to yank
the mattress off to scour the rank
sourness and rough smattering
of crumbs, the stuck broom battering
lampshades reddening my eyes , beets
as if I am a ghost in sheets
circling a glass bowl's facedown rim
embedded in the dust grown dim.
to paint with words and colored phrase
we breathe new speech and set ablaze
the hearts once cooled bereft their fire
now brought to life through told desire
and splashing verse in poignant praise
our canvas aches to speak the ways
we'll shape the bourgeois to amaze
and through our poems we thus aspire
to paint with words
we fill our nights and start our days
by finding tropes to bright rephrase
the common things our lives require
and if we're blessed perhaps inspire
another soul that greets our gaze ...
to paint with words.
Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art by Donatella Marraoni taken from public domain files at FreePik / Flickr )
I would’ve lived on
in a life composed of shades—
Black, white, and million kinds of gray.
Pulsing hearts rarely made sense
when even blood was
the shade of cooled cement.
That’s why you’re a mystery—
Your eyes are vibrant, water dancing
in a grace I cannot name.
They look like celestial crystals—
like if heaven has a shape;
Your hair warm, like autumn
before wind grows chilly.
It reminds me of maple leaves
I inked to seal fall’s harmony;
Your smile stirs—something
in my paralyzed soul.
like a gentle thunderstorm,
but instead of rain you leave petals.
The irises caress every
fiber on my skin, the electricity—
Then I knew:
You are color.
You are poetry.
You are the flustered butterfly
whom I felt across the sea.
A hush of gray descends, the world outside a blur
Of weeping glass and dancing leaves, a gentle stir.
The scent of wet earth and cooled pavement climbs the air,
As warmth from a steaming cup soothes away all care.
In her hands, a porcelain hug, the tea's floral grace,
Sweet steam whispers against the skin of her face.
The book on her knees, a weight of stories untold,
Its paper scent, a comfort, a history to hold.
The rhythmic drum of rain against the pane,
A soft, percussive melody to wash away the pain.
Each drop a tiny echo of a memory long past,
A life unfolding, too beautiful to ever last.
A sip of warmth, a bitter-sweet and soothing brew,
A taste of all the moments she has ever been through.
The cool ceramic on her palms, a solid, gentle feel,
The world outside is fading, but this moment is so real.
She closes her eyes and listens to the low hum,
The quiet symphony of the world she's come from.
The taste of tea, the smell of rain, the warmth within her soul,
The past and future merge to make her present whole.
When Bluto began to woo Olive Oil,
Popeye was jealous, it made his blood boil.
But when his blood pressure, made his skin itch,
He cooled Bluto's ardour, and his itch with spinach.
8 / 12 / 2025.
summer, the season
of love and celebration
with loved ones and friends,
enjoying their company
to cherish and remember
the fun memories
under the warmth of the sun,
cooled by summer breeze
Is it half past summer, two months till fall?
Actually a third of summer has passed, two and
a half months to go till fall to enjoy the long warm
daylight and the summer fun. Why think of fall?
With hot weather cooled by the summer breeze, people are
having fun in the sun and under the moonlight, from frolicking
on the beach, partying in the park during the day to strolling and
gazing at the stars and watching and listening to live bands at night.
Beneath a sky just brushed with gold,
Scott met a voice he used to hold—
Christina's laugh, a spark, a flame,
That time had dimmed but not untamed.
They talked as if the years had fled,
In verses spun from things unsaid.
Each word a thread, each smile a sign,
Two poets tracing back a line.
The coffee cooled, the hours flew,
Yet every glance felt strange and new.
She spoke of storms and calmer seas,
He listened close, he let her be.
He wiped a tear that slipped her cheek,
Not out of sorrow—just too deep.
The kind of feeling soft and slow,
That only wounded hearts can
His heart is full and she can tell,
For her own heart felt this as well.
No rush, no scripts, no grand design—
Just wondering if stars align.
He cares, but lets the silence speak,
No promises, just week by week.
One date, one poem, one subtle chance,
To share a spark, a second dance.
She writes, he reads—then he replies,
In quiet ink beneath wide skies.
Two souls who once had slipped apart,
Now writing stanzas of the heart.
Scott W.
noon’s furnace: asphalt shimmers; air—thick, slow—
cracks open. cicadas drill through stagnant gold.
a sprinkler’s hiccup-hiss: the pavement’s glow
un/curls in steam. the hydrant’s shout: uncontrolled.
children shriek!—a liquid burst of now,
popsicle rivers bleed; knuckles—sticky, green—
cling to handlebars. shadows stretch: thin, lean
across chain-link. each blade of grass—laid down—
bakes. but dusk? a match-strike: fireflies!—
the yard exhales jasmine; stars prick the bruised eaves—
porch swings gasp. the melted things—still writhing—
pool in gutters: chalk suns, lemon peels, dreams.
the silence hums. even time—soft, unspooled—
beads on your neck. and summer? stays. but cooled.
Cooled off to take a sip; two.
Greedily waking up; fading
of the whole cup - butterflies,
trees, flowers; drips touching
the final vestiges of Antigua.
Fear ascended into the canopy,
slid along the line; work gloves,
gripping. Incomplete instructions,
lack of common sense, slowed
me down, with my feet off
the ground. Grounds remind me,
in this creamy, courage cup
to not give up, keep going with
support. I had to leap, to land
but otherwise I had support.
She, too, had courage, sans
my tears, my heart-pounding,
insane fear of flying; her words fly;
she’s shorter than I. She lands
on her feet. I’m behind. My friend -
a curious word; we shared a towel,
kissed dolphins; I hit her in the head
with a pingpong paddle (playing
doubles). Too close, these icons
of finance (we sailed upon a -ship
with). Friendship ebbs and flows.
You sea, you don’t need to pay.
Breach causes a realization. Suck-
cession of time and space, happy
place, but I soak in the memories
of once upon a time. Sipping,
sliding, incomplete instructions,
gliding, gladdened by adventure;
and even the brevity of affection.
A sudden drizzle gushed along the street,
That I wiggled out , romping and playing
In my cotton jumpshirt as summer cooled,
To allow a downpour of monsoon rain.
Swerving through puddles where debris
Gathered around little tots' feet,
Our lithe bodies slip-skidded, glided
On a roller-coaster ride of muddy suds... what fun!
Then, I picked dingy ferns coiled by reeds,
Merrily smiling past waters, unclear…
Till Mom and Dad yelled "kids , clean up...”
O youth's play of bubble-pop made us blush.
Then soft winds crooned among the trees
Where only spellbound laughter can recall
This whimsical atmosphere: A time to reel,
To cherish the frolic in heat of summer days
Which spangled my childhood sprees aloft!
Know ye thy No-No’s, mark 'em well,
Lest their folly trap thee in their spell.
Lick ye not the pie before it be cooled,
For hasty tongues are so easily fooled.
Pluck ye not the fruit that dangles too low,
For ease of pick, may a sour worm bestow.
Nor partake ye of the fig from Eden’s tree,
Lest thou nudity be pricked by destiny.
Dance not with drunks past midnight’s chime,
Lest thy foot tippy-toe tap in Devil’s time.
Nor jest ye too late in yon darkly shaded room.
For such livid indulgence leads to doom.
Sing ye, call ye, all thy No-No’s, out loud!
Like ravens canoodling, wailing to the cloud.
Their lessons learned in wine, sin and woe,
Of tales so true, of what those no-no's told ye so.
Be wise my friend, 'Know ye thy No-No’s' guise,
For sirens oft sing out in sweet disguise:
"To be or not to be, now that's my question be?"
"Come live with me, be my love; share thy no-no's with me."
For the Contest: Abandon
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written 20.05.2025
To live with abandon is to spend your soul as if the tab will never come, but it always does – by unknown
When abandon runs dry
He spent money with merry abandon,
Like laughter thrown into the wind.
Tossed akin to confetti in events of fleeting joy.
He kept no tabs, no ledger,
there was no tomorrow.
He moved through life
as a flame burns through paper.
Notes flew from his hands,
the way birds scatter startled by gunshots.
There was no guilt in his pockets.
He opened the tap and shouted the bar.
People called him legend and slapped his back,
till the wind changed and downturn came.
Then the centre of gravity shifted,
the barstools cooled,
the phones stilled,
silence frosted all the beer steins.
He found himself orbiting absence
nobody patted his shoulder,
nobody flipped a coin in his cup,
He had poured himself into the room,
and when the keg ran dry,
all the lychees vanished…
they all abandoned him.
He doesn’t speak of it now,
just nods and smiles with that tired kindness
you only learn after the last music notes.
Love you Joe
Related Poems