season
rolls on
hot days’
blaze strays
blue sky
clouds fly
hued scene
fleets in
awesome
autumn
grass few
dons dew
ground calls
bronze falls
trees own
bare crown
leaves wilt
lose lilt
they fold
film gold
rustling
leaves sing
fall song
prolongs
golden
garden
Monet
display
a thought strikes a match
nothing much, a little flame
moths alter their course
someone whispers, what if this—
the curtain catches the light
a balloon inflates
sky requires another sun
string loosens, goes slack
already counting the stars
on the backs of envelopes
morning finds the chairs
still facing yesterday's stage
confetti in shoes
someone refolds promises
along familiar creases
after all, a spade
fits superbly well in hand
soil under the nails
the gate can't bend or unhinge
rain dons handle with slippers
no trumpets today
the kettle attends to rain
a chipped cup, still warm
someone has darned the elbow
of the coat we nearly threw
She's a girl in a pretty veil.
She dresses herself in blossoms,
treasures those little daisies.
But I see her, soiled,
in a resplendent turmoil.
She's exultant
in a catastrophe.
I would clasp her hand
and run past this dismal truth.
But she has long kept me
her prisoner—
A deity,
one she'd never offer glory to.
She's a winner,
the vanquisher.
And yet all she ever flaunted
were her ruptures before me.
She lives her days in summer,
yet yearns for a long-lost winter.
She cherished daisies,
now she has only ever liked orchids,
the ones that bloom in blue.
She dons her pearl cloak,
yet ruins slip past her pearls.
She's vigorous
within a melancholy,
terrified it might perish.
Not in leaves or turquoise shells
Endure the rustic charm,
That dons its tanned hours
With wing-light's fire-- its lilt
And diaphonous sway
Shows a glorious bending of waves
A drift of lagoon In summer or fall
Gives not or takes away
The vibrant trail of endless stream
Like a season flowing without blame.
on rolling blue span
moon streaks make ocean wave crown…
beach dons pearl necklace
“When shining spring sets in,
The earth takes a new birth
Sheds all its snowy screen
Dons itself its new worth
To boast as a queen;” By author
**********************************************************************************************************
green returns
where deep snow prevailed
waking earth
from slumber,
tiny shoots begin their climb
with gentle sunshine
warm breezes
kiss each stroller`s cheeks,
sunlight spills
everywhere,
life awakens all around
with birdsongs on trees
joy unfolds
with dawn of each morn,
buds unfurl
gentle blooms,
sky is painted in bright tints
in spring of rebirth .
*********************************
**sky dons *s*a*p*p*h*i*r*e* sheen**
*********************************
*********************************
flowers e^x^ p^ l^o^ d^ e s>p>l>i>t colors
((()))
~~~~scent of spring ~~~~r i p p l e s~~~~
~~~~((((((())))))~~~~~
~~~((((((((( II )))))))))~~~~~
II
II
II
==========
“Know all instruments of perception to be like ethereal space. Know all objects of perception to be like ethereal space. Know this pure One as neither bound nor free. I am the nectar of Knowledge, homogeneous Existence, like the sky.”
To play a game, we frame some rules,
which repeated practice then schools
but in truth we are always free,
when we see bondage is for fools.
Our luminous Self is carefree,
yet dons form for a jamboree,
in the matrix of time and space,
as a leaf bound to the mind tree.
Our origin we may retrace,
in tranquil silence, by God’s grace,
to whose presence we are threaded,
known when we slow down our thoughts pace.
Oh hermit, where are we headed,
amidst demons who are dreaded,
as dream forms we have created,
to whom we seem to be wedded?
When we wake up, as is fated,
all darkness is decimated,
whence on reuniting with source,
our freedom is celebrated.
Ceasing striving, using no force,
we can choose to shift our life’s course,
by power of bilocation,
when ego cravings we divorce.
In rippleless meditation,
in the vast void of cessation,
animating our attention,
we entwine with God’s creation.
Age, baby steps across the icy pond
scorpions tap-tap-tap the flesh
the sun hovers brittle and honest.
An unknown selects the spot
passages are drilled then gleaned
seasons tangle-miracles are imminent.
The line quivers, age dons a child's heart
silver thrash is coaxed into silence-
as memories flaunt their fractured crowns
...a wall, a vow, a flag encased in glass
the birth of birdsong-whispers of loves long dead.
A bird bleeds color along the shore
age thinks the truest smile
is the one performed alone.
Evening's grand candles commence
crooning a miracle's lament.
Only then does age re-enter the ice forest
leaving the pond alone but unforgotten.
an evergreen tree
dons a frosty coat of white
its snow-laden boughs
hang heavy with winter’s tears
like incandescent pinecones
a jolly snowman
with a Pinocchio nose
wears momma’s red scarf
its buttoned smile, coal black eyes
and pipe, polished to a gleam
I dance in the snow
as arctic breaths billow in
a mushroom of smoke
snowflakes faintly touch my lips
then melt in a puff of air
puppet on a string
dons desire for bling
then since hypnotised
truth’s not realised
Gloom blooms as more bombs boom;
Even saints are tainted by crimson stains.
Fears tear through cradle-cries,
And withered blood floods the clustered gutters.
A prowl of projectiles surrounds their bounds;
Wounds whine on a round ground.
Pleas fail to heal the skin’s impetigo—
As silence stains the lens.
Then violence dons another garment,
While silence lies dormant;
Cries from festered wounds pry the dry, wry air,
As echoes crawl along.
All goes to soothe egos,
They boast with coats of loathes in floated boats,
In self-conceit concerts,
They celebrate nothing, noting no woe.
Wicked wicks don’t wink weak,
They sow discord and spit splintered discourse,
They supplant hate as baits,
And their words plunge the world to more dangers.
Peace peeks through a bombed hole at round tables,
Yet war speaks through their mouths;
Those who would quell the spell still sow their guile,
While skies scold, souls lie cold.
The night slowly unveiled its meek presence,
One final call from nature its essence;
When lullabies awaken some from sleep,
While others conjure softer naps to reap.
The moon and stars had just chased out the sun,
Their twinkles the clouds could no longer shun.
The sky now dons an airglow-twined garment—
Its twilight robe left sombrely dormant.
The chirps and croaks were hymns for that silence,
Both friend and foe in ruly defiance,
They thrilled the dark as they all soared and flew,
Unbothered, though their seasoned songs weren't new.
Sharp jaws filled stomachs yearning to be dared,
Yet weaker grasps let certain grubs be spared,
All in the race to beat the sunlight scare,
Before the night leaves nothing left to share.
The revolving season’s ever-changing sensitive facade
dons the new ambiance of hues designed by nature.
Autumn’s fiery foliage bursts with mélange of colors,
shines with the last golden glow as the wilted leaves fall.
The aureate leaves hear the December wind’s whisper
as they crumple with the rhythm of the attuned rustle,
composing the melody of the song of winter wonders
that beguiles me as the mist melts in the sapphire sky.
The defoliated trees shiver in the waves of arctic wind,
following its flow I see you return to me from the cold.
You melt the miasma enveloping my glacial memory,
enter the crypt of old times through the icy door I open.
The polar winds blow with chilled tunes across the clouds,
swans fly singing in the December sky on wings of winter.
The morning mist melts away over the sunrise horizon,
gleaming with joy spectrum of Christmas time in the air.
I feel delighted the warmth of winter sun you raise for me,
from behind the fog I see the ascent of a new dulcet dawn.
As I hold your hands, ecstasy defrosts the memory lane,
my mind wanders in the winter wonderland of December.
Say what you will ’bout early mornin’ risers,
Say what you will about those who’ll not sleep.
‘Fore the sun comes up, their breath warms incisors
Ready to chomp at the day’s ripe meat.
A song in their heart, no stars in the sky,
Glittering dons the city her light
To death to steal what's mine go I
For I'll not abandon for that which I fight.
There's hope in my step, this early mornin' riser,
There's song in my throat surely as I breathe
Soon my son, we'll laugh all the wiser
At the challenge we've won at death's defeat.
Who can sleep so late into the morn?
Who can wait to start so fine a day?
Within my heart the cloud-fleece is shorn
And the melody’s changed to happy and gay.
So say what you will ‘bout the early mornin' riser
Say what you will ‘bout he who can't wait
He yet knows death's rematch, that stubborn prize fighter
Cannot long be stilled from his front gate.
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