Dislodged Poems

Morphed Memory

On wrinkled canvas winter spider 
weaves senility web,  
grief of loss instilled in hedonist psyche. 
Memory morphs into metaphor 
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in snapshot of narcissist framed.

In the Heavens

In the heavens,  
Light pervades and intervenes.  
Mystery is unmasked,  
And the night trembles at the feet of the Divine.  

Souls that ascend to the heavens  
Stand in awe of their majesty and magnificence.  
The arts and crafts are beyond human imagination;  
The glow and glory surpass what the mind can comprehend.  

In the heavens, an ear listens—  
Our songs and heartfelt cries ascend.  
We await a descent,  
Optimistic that our ascent is a sweet sound.  

In the silence of the soul, there is an outpouring from the heavens.  
A river meanders through the mind,  
Treasures, as the sages say, await us there,  
For the river flows to reveal these hidden gems.  
There is a gathering in the heavens,  
And the princes of chaos are dislodged.


May 31, 2025.

Beachcombing

Early morning 
and I walk the shoreline
of my waking mind,
picking over what has been
washed up, the tidal spoils
dislodged from a dream,
scattered memories,
the flotsam of time.

These are what I lay
upon a page, 
the beach strewn litter
from a throw away age
and weathered sea shells 
that speak, murmur into 
a listening ear the incantations 
of the deep.

Perch Bones

The fillet was supposed to be boneless
but it wasn't
It caught me off guard, midmeal.
Between bites of slaw and baked potato
It wedged in the top of my whiskered throat
there was the palest form of panic,
I swallowed hard a few times
swigged root beer
everyone's eyes grew wide
it finally dislodged after a few attempts
thank God perch bones are thin.

At times, the death of something loved 
comes out of nowhere 
from the cloudy depths
ruins the confidence
twists the heart into unrecognizable things
life is so very thin like perch bone dreams.

Winded Wings

From the late 50s until the mid-60s,
As I struggled through the mid-summer heat,
I searched but found neither retreat nor relief.

From before sunrise until after the setting sun,
a little boy labored with a hoe in the hand in the
Spring or with a big cotton sack on his shoulders
in the Fall. Very little favor was the lad ever given.

I longed for the brevity of a sweet release.
It wasn't enough to be shaded by a willow tree.
I craved for the lasting joy of being forever free.
Freedom to feel a cooling comfort upon my body;
Freedom for my soul to set its compass toward my destiny;
Freedom to refuse futility and determine my own choice of toil;
Freedom for my spirit to be dislodged from the cherished delta soil.

By grace, my spirit rose from Cottonland to a higher richer ground.
And like an eagle, I soared high with my wings on the wind.

Simple Style Statement

Time strokes the wrinkled canvas,
the ancient spider in twilight hour 
weaves the senility web, 
the empty eyes wander in the wasteland. 
The hedonist psyche refuses 
to gauge the grief of loss. 
The face morphs into metaphor 
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot 
of the narcissist impulse congealed
in the portrait I make of me.

It’s made of latent lattice of delicate design,
lines on lines contour my body.
The vibrant epitome of expression align
with the pattern of unique look personified.
An insular captive of my mental making, 
I’m an inimitable loner within me,
defined by the entrenched essence singular,
scared to face the crowded world.

I get driven by the self-obsessed urge
to uplift my sagging morale,
clothe the portrait with an apposite attire. 
I open the sparse closet to select a T-shirt
with the walking punchline  
“Be Brave, Be You” inscribed bold.
It makes a simple style statement
for me coming out of the lonesome shell.

My Dream Sky

In the desert of my forlorn life,
I wandered across desiccating dunes you made.
Enticed by your impulsive mindscape,
I sauntered in the sandstorm of dismal time. 
Yearning lost in the debris of broken heart,
I ambled with silent sorrow, 
emotions swirled like dislodged sands
in the tide of remote time when you were mine.

The transient trajectory of devoured desire
furrowed a blazing track of craving, 
I wished I could trail the shooting star, 
even if it faded away like the flicker of your love.

In the mesmeric firmament of fervor 
you blazed the trail of passion in my heart. 
In the configured horizon of longing
I desired to fly as a beguiled bird, 
for in my idyll thoughts I wished
you were my dream sky.

Emotive Eloquence Of Silence

Enchanted by the mirage of florid ecstasy, 
the flower in my desiccated heart blossomed
when your charisma drizzled on me 
like the soothing rare summer rain of oasis.

The flame of my heart was stoked 
by the breeze of the yearning spring.
Flaring beauty of glowing fresco flashed 
on the beguiled blushing face of desire. 

The wilted petals were dislodged  
by the destructive dust storm of desertion.
The split flower saw the dreams in debris, 
its shriek was lost in the quietude of desert.

As you drifted away from my stormy horizon, 
thunder of torment ripped my forsaken flower. 
The broken heart suffering mute pain I protected 
for you to hear silence speak in emotive eloquence.

Vagabond

“In chaotic times the madness of the drifter mind 
follows the footprints of the vagabond dreams”- 
Quote by poet  


The blue hills cascaded down the verdant slopes 
in the  rhythmic ripples of the tinted topography,  
cradled the charisma of the humming hamlet 
that once harbored my home and my dreams. 

With the sliding shadow of the cotton cloud, 
scaling the halcyon heights of the cerulean sky, 
my gallivanting dreams soared up high afloat 
with the colorful kites I loved to fly in the blue. 

The sparkling stream flinging up the fluid pearls, 
flowed with flamboyance  with my roving reverie,
girdled my teenage landscape in embracing loops, 
set in vagrant meanders of gliding garland of fancy. 

The paper boats I made with the motif of my dreams,  
drifted away in the current of the stream’s silver trail 
to the distant dreamland destination unknown, 
and on these I perceived my drifter fantasy sail. 

The surging storm swept across my turbulent time,
the capsized boats sank, the snapped kites flew away.
I turned into wandering driftwood dislodged from root,
searching the itinerant mind for the vagabond dreams.

Undeceived

Just let it go.’ Easier said than gone -
‘You’ll be nothing without me, says pain,
‘I’m your identity.’ Well,

listen up, old man of the sea,
she’s dislodged you, uncurled
her spine from the burden of you;

spat you, shat you out,
delivered you, ectopic cuckoo,
to sprawl helpless on the beach.

What will you do now?
Scuttle sideways, find
another hollow person to crawl into?

But you’re fading, dissipating,
becoming nothing.
The shoreline will be clean of you.

She can see so far across the water.

Lost Love

Ductile banks are eroded by swelling stream, 
on the surging water the dislodged soils ride,
unsure if they’d disappear in sea with dream,
or would create a new land somewhere with pride.
Lost love the broken heart can’t ever redeem,
on upwelled tears the distraught emotions glide,
unsure if they would get lost in soul opaque, 
or would build a new heart that won’t again break.

Narcissist Impulse

Time turns on wrinkled canvas,
winter spider in twilight hour 
weaves senility web, 
empty eyes wander in wasteland. 
Hedonist psyche refuses 
to gauge the grief of loss. 
Face morphs into metaphor 
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot 
of narcissist impulse congealed.

Graceful

“The blessed soul designs with serenity 
the graceful motif of peace” –Quote by poet


A dislodged lonely leaf my mind floats far away,
on the rhapsodic river of reverie from life’s cacophony, 
to a calm cobalt lake with a scene of serenity on display,
soaking the azure melody of the singing sky’s euphony.

On the bank stands a petrified tawny tree, lively luster lost, 
the stilled supine branches don’t sway any more.
The static shadows on the stagnant lake languish untossed, 
for the serenading squall has found a new course to soar. 

The mystique morning mist spreads a shroud of dense solitude,
until the dissolved clouds descend drizzling ecstasy
with the raindrops on the river’s ripples of quietude,
filling my hollow heart with the alluring aria of revelry. 

The silent river flows to the shore of the divine sea,
from deep within, the scroll of sanctified soul I lift from abyss, 
perceive my engraved dreams weave there mutely, 
the graceful tapestry with the pattern of profound bliss.

Disruptive Pattern Material

I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool; 
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.

“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green, 
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.

Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.

The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.

Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.

Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.

I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.

Bridge of No Sighs

Coming down to this lost pier
Under the bridge of no sighs 
The bollards not used, no boats moor here 
Back and forth on the river they ply
Carrying tourists, and locals as well
To destinations unknown
I do not envy them, though cannot tell
Which place to I do belong 
This spatial disorientation
Is such an exhausting disorder
Dislodged, I offer frustration
For the ticket to cross your border
I hear the trains clanking buffers
Over the bridge they rush through 
You say there’s no reason to suffer
I would love to agree with you.

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