Who would have guessed — when I tilted my heart
toward baby lizard, perched on a colored desert stone,
she’d blink one eye at me, turn to smile, it seemed,
and lend a listening ear?
I’d only said in a lizard way:
I love you.
And who would have thought — that when stone had heard me
loving her, it would, it seem, speak back?
Loving stone, I was!
Stone, I so admire your villages.
I smile to your many stone peoples.
I eavesdrop on universal questions posed
around sacred fires carefully tended.
And around one hearth, among
cinder specks scattered– that one minute wisp,
grain of cinder there.
Dare I say I love you too?
I do! I do!
In that cinder grain I hear —
worlds of stars, sweetly singing!
By way of explanation, reader friend,
such is what a practice of
loving all beings equally
has made of me.
Crazed being?
Could be.
But could you nonetheless
accept the possibility
and likewise go love adventuring?
If you’d prefer, we could earnestly
and objectivity talk it all through.
Or say ~ Love come!
Speak through us.
Teach us how to listen.
I am very, very, very
Fond of riding on the ferry.
There’s no traffic on the river,
So it’s easy to deliver
All the riders when expected
From the boats they have selected.
Up on top, the ride is breezy,
But in any seat, it’s easy
To gaze out at your surroundings
While the vessel’s leaps and boundings
Take you all around the city
For a taste of nitty-gritty.
Passengers of all persuasions
Ride for various occasions –
Workers heading to employment,
Tourist seeking pure enjoyment.
People-watching is rewarding.
Check out strangers while they’re boarding.
Hear the accents from their nations;
Eavesdrop on some conversations.
Ditch the subway, bus or taxi;
Turn your mini journey maxi
And your mood from tense to merry.
Hop on board a New York ferry!
In nature trails, forests, green meadows
I love to dwell and eavesdrop on
that dulcet songbird chorus
wakening the dawn haze
where rustic wild life
and spring water
hint at lush
tranquil
lairs
I wonder where the wind goes
To be alone
To listen
To the whispers
Of idle leaves
Eavesdrop on the
Ripples of the pond
Succumb to the silence
Of nature’s hum
Huddle in the shade
With un-tumbling tumbleweeds
Vagabonds sharing a story
In a dusty train yard
Truths were told, yet beatings continue
He knows but he won’t intervene
Cries are heard from the floors below
He hears the damage she causes
et he remains hidden behind mahogany doors
Our lips gasped for air, as her grip tightens
Whispered pleas of repentance from what,
we did not know.
Shadows dance behind doors
An entity lingered with hushed sighs.
TV muffled their screams, desensitized him of
there woes.
His porcelain dolls shedding scarlet tears.
Pillows hollowed out there screams of intense pain.
Through the looking glass, they lay blank stares,
and outstretched hands, reaching...but for who?
He did not intervene.
Strained eyes through keyless holes
Stifled sighs as he did nothing but
Eavesdrop
My village around the borderland, estranged
Mountain from the other side, rejoiced within gray shaded area to bloom
Echoed the echo of the midnight hymn, darkened a shade, deeper fill in xanthosis, lasted beyond the yonder valley o'er the meadow, fall color blossomed then.
Echoed a sound lasted, I heard, an echoed a sound lasted
Eavesdrop and a try , as I meant for that
Beyond the sensible perception, to understand
Opening the eyes, I try to see
A failure to gaze to perceive a gaze
Closing my eyes , I am a fanciful thought
O intellect , I failed to perceive that
I am a failure to a thousand mountaineer causes , caused
A failure to climb those events larger than a life, presented
Echoed the echo of the midnight hymn, darkened a shade, deeper fill in xanthosis, lasted beyond the yonder valley o'er the meadow, fall color blossomed then.
Echoed a sound lasted, I heard, an echoed a sound lasted.
Based on a song from subcontinental vibe
Maybe it starts in this dimly lit room,
everything seems crystal clear alone.
Take in that serenity and trust it,
any time you are unsure? Seek.. ‘Voila!’
Make that moment start to scream,
open up a can of gasoline and go.
Remember you are a true banger,
people will speak soft and eavesdrop.
How, who, my god when? New is a rush.
Over the top and still so far to go,
sight’s set on a daydream that dawdles.
I must transform to let go of the quasi…
stay the same can’t be done but I digress…
Soap bubbles float through August
breeze
as children sneak in hushed delight, where fables reel 'neath maple trees
to glide away like jewels bright.
Now listen...elves and wizards hop
their peek-a-boos enhancing games
in dreamy land where stars eavesdrop;
creating tricks with playful names.
Here, fancy of new summer rings
when kiddies dance, "let bubbles flow",
while clear froths pop through dusk which
sings
before day ends their treat, aglow!
I sense you lurking and searching, just hanging in the backdrop.
Waiting, anticipating a spiritual eavesdrop.
My vision is clear, as I only need my first eye. The other two only serve as confirmation of the presence of a spiritual spy.
My spidey senses are tingling; the detection alert is on "Red." A schematic reconnaissance is in motion; the subject is carefully read.
There's nonstop monitoring and spiritual gazing.
With spies listening and peering,
For intel and character smearing.
Their mission is clear: to steal, destroy, and kill.
My! What a baneful bastille.
But salvation and freedom of sovereignty reside deep inside.
And there is a mighty fight against evil tides.
Free will is bestowed by the most high,
Meanwhile, dark spirits still lurk and spy.
.
The likes uv many have
entered
welcome
well c'mon
let's unravel he
let's not
let's eavesdrop
'twuz the fine late spring
mid day 'twuz it
yesss 'twuz
Thar her'z stood
'pon rusty angle iron steps
In'flight
The second story'd ware house
Whilst hern journey's
Up
Her dome swiftly
((snaps))
Over mine own
Mine dome
Her eyne shifted
Right
Whilst hern stared into
The mulberry trees
i mine self in bramble
Thorn after thorn
Bore each prick
Enjoying
hern bare
Ooops
I mean rare
"'twuz "bare"
would i've waisted the
tap"
*he would{haz}')
“A tattered soul isn’t always dark; there’s light within, amidst broken wings. Only a hyacinth heart would see the sun when it rains. ” ~
Quote by Poet
I
am like
tattered twigs
on dying trees,
facing freckled skies~
watered with blooming grief,
as tainted roots of life-lines~
keeps carrying emerald scars,
scattered along feathered rain-forests,
where devious dragonflies and cross-eyed~
crickets croon remnants of forgotten times.
There, fluorescent wild-flowers eavesdrop,
mocking tales of my weathered wings.
But will the rain ever see
how the sun in my soul
still spreads rose gold light,
across torn skies,
adorned with
splintered
dreams…
Midnight boom town streets have this allure
imagining an uncanny venture
eavesdrop veil surround but dark as coal
how I love my after hours stroll
Secret worlds unfold their impish plot
mesmerised entanglement a tiered whatnot
black crush velvet sky we must extol
how I love my after hours stroll
Gilt fantasies that float across each lane way
fluorescent gremlin from some ghostly parking bay
gust on salt ice pier might buttonhole
how I love my after hours stroll
Snow clad mall whistler gaffe prone
while wandering the ink hue urban zone
a chapter lift and snatch from begging bowl
how I love my after hours stroll
Traffic signals stellar stoic stance
heartbeat of nocturnal moonlight dance
frozen digit signage reeks of twinkling North Pole
how I love my after hours stroll
I am awakened by a whirling sound,
I hear that it’s time to go to the past,
A door stands before me that is time-bound,
It opens and pulls me through very fast.
Does time eavesdrop on our conversations?
How did it know I crave a back in days?
Cures are harder plights than preventions,
Redemption can be sought from the old ways.
I go ahead to make all the changes,
Putting my other self in the shadow,
I strongly believe I’ll see the wages,
The future will be a blooming meadow.
It is not the anticipated fun,
The future has taken another turn.
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they face whirlwind snowfall, freezing ice,
while others brazenly squirm,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
of this genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
velvet moon worlds sidereal captured,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
Coz the sea carries a million lost voices,
Voices of dreams lost ,
Voices of love lost .
Shun all noice and eavesdrop it's murmurs;
And you shall hear a million more,
Voices of dreams knitting ,
Voices of love brewing.
Whisper yours to its shells,
With a promise that travels by breeze.
And let your next meet be ,
A meet of promises held.
Let the breeze which travelled
The globe greet you
With the voice of a million dreams.
And you shall promise another dream
Untill the next day you meet
The sea which carries
The voice of a million dreams.
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