treading inwards indicates an
embrace of valour
knowing one is held ——
a journey strewn with jagged edges
unknown detours
once on a straight narrow path
turnarounds disappear
jungles untamed appear
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
though forging beyond crags or rags
one cannot sag or lag _____
perseverance becomes no severance
seventh heaven with salvation usurps
starvation
luminosity at end of slog holds steady
in solitude we need make no haste
knowingness, as Heart’s compass
keep us safe
hazards or hurdles cannot curdle
an inward journey ~
Spirit of destined fate never late
turns burnished key into Home to be
w i t h i n is
M A J E S T Y
Bridging the port
Calming wakes, defined as sport
Not needing any legal court
Only a scoreboard
Pointing which door
An Indianapolis checkered flag
Or hiking Arizona’s crags
Going in zags
Seeing single stags
Boys Fightin Illini windy gusts
Wanting a middle city bust
Girls giving USC, a nice tri
Enjoying a Final Four high
Reaching dunking heights
Friday night
Huskies have in sight
Next day another round
For the Nutmeg town
After dinner
There will be a winner
Due to an early evening rise
From southern gamecock cries
Serving gourmet steaks accompanied with eggs
Worth the beg
Two or three
Spectacle we believe
Are the attempts
Message sent
On the hardwood
By those who are good
Getting two points
Across the arena joint
But do not despair
What is fair
If your academic grades are not there
Since Huskie national championship hopes, are on the air
I scale the jagged crags on wings of whispered verse,
and strew my path with beauties freshly born.
Unhindered I invade the marble palaces,
armed with weapons forged within this mortal frame.
I draw the gleaming sword from its ancient sheath,
and pierce the tyrant’s heart with keenest blade;
I sever every cable of his fragile throne,
and watch his trembling empire fade to shade.
Like eagles I ascend on currents of pure thought,
where coruscating gleams of insight dance and play.
I drink the silent music of the waking world,
and roam through fierce, uncharted shades in search of hidden jewels.
Though pulses quicken with the chill of fear or doom,
I stand caparisoned in courage, undismayed.
I see vast legions trapped within their frantic race,
blind to the filth that stains their fleeting days.
Oh, that they might awaken while the ink still flows
how brief the hour, how vague these shadowed moments!
Yet poetry, in her quiet majesty,
captures but a chosen few, and lets the rest drift on.
Wild Irish sea pounds spray ashore,
its white teeth gnaw the stone down,
each tide returns, bites as before
wearing away the brown cliffs.
The wind flattens salted bluegrass,
while gulls wheel up in the sky
soaring as on an overpass
hang gliding over the crags.
Breaking waves surge up the sandstone
Falling back as white foam veils
stroking the old wounds to atone
for the endless scouring blows.
The strong swells drum through sea caverns,
blow-holes spray up in the sky
bringing cheers to seaside taverns
for the pipe, fiddle, drum songs.
Irish seals dive through kelp seaweed
silver backs, flash through foam spray,
twisting and turning at high-speed
laughing at angry sea grasps.
O Irish sea, carve deep tonight,
let your foam and surge shape me
for rugged crags are a highlight
on our weathered skin and shores.
O Irish sea, carve deep tonight,
let your foam and surge shape me
for rugged crags are a highlight
on our weathered skin and shores.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your black carriage moves through perpetual gloom~
Ravenloft’s castle sits, perched atop Barovia’s bone-white crags,
its spine hunched over fog-choked valleys.
You sit alone in Ravenloft, tracing chess moves on dusty marble,
fingertips lingering where Tatyana’s pawn once stood~
writing names in your ledger, the ink brown as blood.
You are a silhouette of despair, swirling brandy in your amber-hued snifter~
the moonlight bruising your study’s velvet drapery,
the centuries calcifying the ache behind your ribs.
Your shadow clings to the castle walls long after candles sputter~
haunting notes of an unseen organ drift through the night,
calling lost souls to your eternal embrace.
You stalk the hunt that cannot feed~immortal thirst, forever starved.
Yet you smile and pour yourself another century.
Lost within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below.
The ocean expands outward
as whitecaps whip frantically
while the beady eyes of seabirds
peer out from their stony perches.
Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock
along the rugged shoreline
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight.
Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish
their feathery wings spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself.
A timeless rhythm prevails
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
in a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers
within the endless cycle of life.
“The Path towards REMEMBERING is not for the weak. It is priceless. Move inwards, without faltering & know that you are held.” Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
journey within is strewn with jagged edges
and jewels
both can lead to detours
walking a straight and narrow path one
traverses own jungle untamed
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
not to forge ahead beyond crags or rags
is not an option once undertaking begins
screams may merge with songs or dreams
cream alongside starvation or salvation
a luminous beckoning lighthouse at end of tedium slogs hold us steady
often makes us heady
in solitude with faith we need make no haste
knowingness with Heart’s compass surely
keeps us safe
neither hazard or hurdle makes us curdle
Soul the master of destined fate never late
to turn cherished key into jewelled Home
within is majestic prize to win
Apparitions behind every mottled rock.
Shaded countenance surreptitious like shadows.
Fractured slivers and fragments boast -
On wall, ceiling and floor.
Splattered drop cloth - reflective dread.
Fun house of Zeus,
The zigs and zags -
Thundering fakes, illuminated lies.
She claws her face.
Crags of wilderness.
Deep etched drama.
Whirlwind’s not glue.
One face.
One mirror.
Truth
Once, the rivers ran free and bold,
Through emerald lands, rich with gold.
Mountains whispered to the sky,
Under the watchful, sovereign eye.
Then came ships with foreign flags,
Tongues of steel, and hearts of crags.
They carved their names upon our soil,
Turned our labor into toil.
Spices bled from calloused hands,
Traded dreams for foreign lands.
Rubber trees stood, tall yet tied,
Bound by laws the West applied.
Sultan’s voice turned faint, unheard,
Drowned beneath the master's word.
Hands that built were hands enslaved,
History’s pages torn and paved.
Yet, through the storm, a spark remained,
A whisper strong, unchained, unnamed.
In the forests, hearts rebelled,
Stories of warriors fiercely held.
Merdeka rose with morning’s light,
Breaking through the longest night.
Chains had rusted, cracked, and fell,
Freedom rang like gamelan bells.
But echoes linger—soft yet deep,
In names we keep, in wounds we weep.
Still, we rise, through time’s embrace,
Holding strong to roots and grace.
The train fled through forlorn forests
Emerging on the stormy steppes
It crossed the raging ravine waters
Up the rugged crags it crept.
I was on that midnight journey
Seeking you to join your cause
I felt your honor and your yearning
Your defiance of unjust laws
(chorus)
Your example was the spark
And as long as you stay true
The torch will light up in the dark
And I'll follow you
Through the shadows of the city
I searched each alley, every street
Whispers told of your bravery
How you stood, did not retreat
Near dawn, I finally found you
Eyes aflame with steadfast fire
You said, "The old ways can yet renew"
"To real freedom we shall aspire."
(chorus)
Your example was the spark
And as long as you stay true
The flames will rise within the dark
And I'll follow you
(bridge)
We'll gather the despairing souls
Ignite the hope that once was lost
We'll strive to reach our righteous goals
No matter what the cost
We'll cut the tentacles of the beast
We'll tear the web that entangles all
See the silver sunlight in the east
They will rise, hear freedom's call.
My sorrowful spirit rose high above the rainbow,
higher yet, until it reached the snowy peaks
of the ragged mountain. It was cold there,
though above the severe sun blazed hard.
Here and there rivulets tumbled roughly
down the mountainsides, and occasionally
meet to form a river that cascaded downwards
towards the high cliff beneath the hills.
The icy waters fell towards the crags,
forming a waterfall of fresh water, producing
a constant melody as the waters hit the plain,
forming a delightful and narrow lake.
Birds above twittered delightfully,
a serene sight and sound that pleased my sad spirit.
Tall verdant pines exuded delightful fragrance.
How I wish I could stay there forever.
But my tired body beckoned
and my spirit returned to my lonesome solitary bed.
brilliance bona fide in redolent skies
keen red submerging, clementine twilight
sunflowers show-offs of the waning sun
wedged within burnt orange escarpments
swifts of volcanic horizon in desert crags
old West crush corralled in surround-hugs
Three sister winds,
Ephemeral progeny,
Spawned by the sun's relentless
But passionless heat,
And the earth's inexorable
Grinding rotation:
Sirocco dances across the vast emptiness of the Sahara;
Mistral roams over the rolling plains and briny lagoons
Of the French Camargue;
Santa Ana, mistress of the paradoxical
Lush aridity of Southern California.
Solitary nomads these three siblings,
Never meeting,
Rarely resting,
Always appearing unannounced,
Creating with cold dispassion,
Then leaving in their wake,
Their own ephemeral progeny:
Summits and trenches,
Hills and valleys,
Crags and craters.
Sad reminders of their brief visits
And lonely passing.
Continually shifting,
Eternally sifting,
Maternally treasuring,
Methodically measuring,
As if carefully counting each precious grain
In the sands of time.
Smiles and blooms have crawled away in haste;
Cool sweetness and incense of the prime
Have receded into the pothole of time
With the irritant summer and the rainy waste ;
Winter is an epitome of the silent knell --
Pale , pensive, plaintive, heavy and cold ;
Colours are all lost in the grey fold,
With the bright charm of the bygone spell ,
As she sits robed in ashen attire again ,
Streching herself with limbs wide across
The deceased crags and the patchy moss ,
Lining randomly along the sickly plain
Weary, withering, wany life and all. ..
Are thus sadly shrouded in the last fall..!
In tertiary times, when two continents adrift
Titanically collided to tectonically uplift
The gasping ocean floor
Resurrected up once more
Left the water for the land;
Five miles high it made its stand.
And to these youthful mountains (that is as mountains go)
The monsoon clouds paid homage as they gathered far below
They strongly spouted fury and made the foothills wet
But the scornful Himalayas dried the plateau of Tibet
And then the disbelievers from the atheistic West
Where time is not a circle and there is no Ever-rest
Defiled up the silent crags
At the peak they planted flags
You, Himalaya, tried to hide those flags with snow
But...
We know.
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