Stand firm though winds may try to break your will,
Dare to begin where endings cast their shade.
Endings are myths that stubborn minds distill,
Sow your own path though doubts may leave you frayed.
Withstand the tide, for even storms grow still,
Drive your soul where inner truth is laid.
As a lad four years old,
I knew what I could see,
and I knew what I was told...
and that was reality.
Then something popped that balloon -
appearances might lie.
It was a TV cartoon -
a mirage tricks the eye.
As a teen in junior high,
I found we only see
what sends photons flying by
in wavelengths we can see.
Our brain then does translation
into what we perceive.
Our brain's representation
is what we believe.
Now, I'm older than a hill,
and everyone knows what's true.
Reality they distill
and impart to me and you.
Society and politics?
They'll tell you for free,
Maybe we're all dumb as bricks,
and see what we want to see?
'Tis not of feline lives we'll speak today,
Nor lords of meth-wrought realms bid hold us sway.
Regrets we'll face, yet love shall not decay,
For life's true joys will guide us on our way.
Not false deceits that liberty would bring,
But honest toil, our grateful hearts to sing.
Though death may loom, our spirits e'er take wing,
As hope and faith their steady light will fling.
The path is clear; if we but have the will
To cast aside the lures that would distill
Our moral strength: With courage, we fulfill
The promise that our better selves instill.
Though shadows threaten, still our radiance glow,
Dispel the night, let brilliant beams hours flow.
Jill and Bill glide on the rill,
Bubbling with thrills,
Embracing the chills,
Past serene hills.
Patiently yearning for gills,
Jill—with her bait and skills—
Fills her spirit with a frill,
As tranquil waters lie still.
With each catch, a hidden drill,
Bill, overjoyed, concerns distill.
Moonlit eve; savor the grill—
Jill and Bill, relish nature's will.
The storm recedes, its rage now spent,
Leaving the earth to emit a scent,
A dank, damp, earthy smell of wet grass,
That breaks the drought, from its parched impasse.
In the quiet there after, all is still,
Thunder's rumble quelled to distill,
Sound to liquid, rage to peace,
As hopes of rebirth and new life increase.
The scent of rain is a heaven sent smell,
Wafting up to dispel a lingering spell.
It's a therapy from nature's apothecary,
Dispensed from a dry-grass prairie.
Imbibe the aroma of the heavenly scent,
To flush the stench of discontent,
From your life's toil and strife.
Imbibe its smelling salts, revive your life.
As daylight fades beyond the distant hill,
Dusk paints the sky in hues of soft repose.
Through swaying boughs, the birds their songs distill,
While gentle breezes dance on tippy-toes.
Lotus treads the path with a weary stride,
Her thoughts are as heavy as the fading light.
Yet with each step, her burdens seem to glide
Away, as if prepared to take their flight.
A flower, bent and worried, catches sight
Of Lotus passing by with a slowing gait.
Its petals tremble in the dimming light,
As if to share in her conflicted state.
The blossom and the woman, kindred souls,
Find solace in their shared anxiety.
As twilight deepens, nature takes control,
Embracing both in sweet serenity.
In the evening's hush, a transformation blooms,
The flower straightens, and Lotus' spirit lifts.
The worried stem no longer bends in the gloom,
As peace becomes the night's most precious gift.
Together in the gloaming, fears subside,
A fresh perspective blossoms with the stars.
The day's concerns, once seemingly amplified,
Now fade like distant, long-forgotten scars.
I once wished your praises to pen
O in our exclusive love den,
But most of such dreams—nine of ten,
Oh, buried were ere they began.
Poems are now bereft of words,
Our den, nestled by no more birds,
Before blossoming died have buds,
There’s no alibi to meet you.
I tried to distill me from me,
To filter my fair will from me,
And go uphill along with you,
Alas, it’s too late to meet you.
There’s darkness under a lamp
All undergrounds far too damp,
Now that I’m used to my camp,
It’s too late O to meet you.
I once wished brightness of Sun,
All shadows in life to shun,
From very Self I now run,
It’s too late O to meet you.
Flowers have lost old fragrance,
From steps hast gone usual dance,
Betwixt us two, no romance,
Far too late O to meet you.
I still carry old tuneless harp,
Old memories no longer sharp,
With life’s mixed-up woof and warp,
I wish no more to meet you.
_________________________________
Inspired by a Gujarati Poem by Rishabh Mehta
Quatrains (rhyme and refrain) |06.03.2024| lost love
One of the poems from my chapbook #IT'S GODLY
The howling winds depicts no hurricanes
The sound of rains tapping on the stones is no noise
But a reminder that in the fields,
human silence predominates,
In the fields time stand still and troubles distill
Birds hosts with lullabies to comfort and heal
As flesh decompose, a beetles' meal.
Rest and forget! The world is cruel
The gap is undefined, the bond undescribable
Reading the epitaphs reminds how temporary life is
Holding close to the souvenirs reminds how good yesterday was
Crying for you reminds how chaotic the world can be.
But in the fields is where serenity is
Rest still, freeze till
We shall and we will
These boundaries will fade, be erased
And in that beautiful canopy, a mystery, we will enter
For in it there is a life again and forever.
With animosity I endure each pain
Read each word as they describe disdain
Do not compare or look for blame
Distill yet comforts release the gain
The outer world always preaches
while villains they reign like leaches
Do not give solace or even fame
Realize the love that comes from your name
Though long placed aside inside it stayed
Though only through words love was made
I recognize my loss by absence named
Yet I returned remembering our game
Time has past and it’s my still my move
I pause to think how to enter the groove
I cannot blame cold shoulders for my desertion
I still after time I held on to my devotion
And try to caress with words that charm
I try to take away the alerts and harm
And reach for times to reminisce
Use you as the tool my Muse gives bliss
You replace the widowers loss
As well as take place
of the Ex’s I’ve crossed
But in this outer world you remain
At least I hope that to regain
I don’t know what we are
Yet I know not insane
I could be your doll you be my game
And still resolve our lonely pain
While being one another's eternal flame
How far away is a memory
When we breath with
Cloudy eyes
And why do our organs
Numb our bodies
To the emptiness resting inside
A million tears were swallowed
Whispering your presence
one last time
But a million births were also planned
The day the sun
Fell out the sky.
Talina, your little bro
Wishes he can distill that memory
Of your smile,
your voice
And your sacrifices.
Yes, sacrifices
so giving of themselves,
They reiterate every word
I will sing back to you
With great ferocity
Through tears
And with great love.
What did i do?
But try to fall
Into that comfort of love
The bitterness of comfort
The unhappiness of putting up
But up with what
The sea of rapture
He pulls me out to be
Choking on the water
His pulling arms
Bringing me back up to see
He won't let me go
On earth he's the sun
On sand, and gravel i hide
He's got another shell
But it won't do to distill him
I will come undone.
Ideal instructor, shows integrity, impact in instruction.
5/2/2022
* Deuteronomy 32:2
May my teaching drop as the rain, my speech distill as the dew, like gentle rain upon the tender grass, and like showers upon the herb.
Work Perspective Monoku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
National Teacher Day is observed on the first Tuesday of the first full week of May (May 3) and we’re more than ready to show our appreciation to those who have taught us. Everyone has had that favorite teacher that has helped inspire them. This day meant to honor them was actually made by a teacher. None other than First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt herself. Eleanor Roosevelt was more than Franklin D. Roosevelt’s wife, she has a history of civic duty and was an advocate for fellow teachers. Her love for education began at a young age when she was privately tutored and encouraged by her aunt Anna “Barnie” Roosevelt. No matter how high she rose on the social ladder, she never forgot where she came from.
As per the ancient agreement, this costume of clay, we must one day return.
A creature made of flesh and blood, a mystical existence of spirit and form.
From which we must distill lifes' secrets, even until the very end of our lives.
For the hope is born of the faith, that even in death, love will not be denied!
date: 11/12/21
sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
contest:L.D. #8
from the poem: Even Flowers Must Die
sun flowers
rising to sunshine
leaving past
distill precious oil
moon flowers
night blooming
hides noxious effect
sealed in pods
October 25 2021
two virelai
colors of the wind
dust can apprehend
with skill
grayish storms impend
we scurry to fend
the chill
wind can be your friend
cool green breezes end
standstill
~~~
note gossip’s windmill
rumors, red lies fill
our mind
gold words of goodwill
hearsay can distill
rare find
azure fills the bill
between overkill
and kind
August 21, 2021
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