February is a love song
composed on the mood of spring
in the tempo of a Christmas waltz,
modulating to estival embraces—
recapitulating vernal feelings
when autumn falls.
February is a pulsing heartbeat,
a twinkling eye,
a bold susurration,
here and gone in twenty-eight days—
an interrupted cadence.
The whole world would be stoned
should Cupid's quivers march along.
February is a bouquet of roses,
a box of chocolates;
goblets of a bubbly cherry wine,
threads of scarlet satin suited for ballroom romances;
two salmon swimming upstream undaunted
to birth the next generation.
Intense and absurd is the ecstatic sorrow of Fall,
Could it be ephemeral craze or the rust within my mind?
Easeful summers and beatific springs placate my angst…
Balmy feral winters palliate my soul and my sense, yet
Eylul remains the ufindable season of my earthly craze.
Ruthless is the depth of the iceberg that depletes my sense!
Greenish and yellowish leaves are now under my feet, and
Estival budding love still haunts my restive, whimsical heart.
Into love-ish whims I subterfuge blasé of the yesteryears,
Haply my ephemeral insanity becomes his sane lunacy,
And all that comes along is but proof of humane lucidity.
I soon becomes us and the magical bond dispels my fears.
Is it a mere reverie or am I back to my olden deferred dreams?
Easeful is the thought of his shady iceberge in the daylight,
Yet the nocturnal darkishness it is not saccharine as it seems,
Still into love-ish whims I subterfuge blasé of lunatic insanity.
30/10/2020
My scars belie my smile and my eyes bereft of sparkle.
Oh God, estival whims cannot bring back my sparkle.
The ruthless stabs of his tenderly touch my heartstrings,
and I am evermore sentenced to remain without sparkle.
His unapologetic absence renders me homesick at home.
Iron man, did you not sense desire through my sparkle?
Perhaps there is not a road to your callous heart,
I, all the same, walked towards it and lost my sparkle.
Of Lethe I shall drink and forget the unforgotten days
that we once relished when your eyes shone in sparkle.
My heart aches in Mid-September and the azure sky bleeds.
Oh God, fragility becomes me, yet I long for my old sparkle.
Winters and summers ahead, memories of the yesteryears,
And I still dwell in your present absence, bereft of sparkle.
September 10, 2020
Each night, when I’d come home from work,
She’d jump out of her bed,
Run down the hall, then down the stairs,
Hug me and kiss my head. “Daddy,” she’d say, “I’m glad your home.
I waited up for you.
Oh Daddy, I love you very much.
I really really do.”
“Honey,” I’d say’ “I love you too.
Now go on back to bed.
I’ll soon be up to tuck you in.”
And then I’d kiss her head.
She’d have a gleam in both her eyes
And a smile upon her face.
It was so great to come home to
A peaceful, loving place.
But now each night, when I come home,
There is nobody there.
Nobody does run down the hall
And then run down the stairs.
'Cause Annie’s life was taken by
A drunk behind the wheel.
The man was doing ninety when
He barreled down the hill.
Now, here at Annie’s funeral,
My emptiness, it grows
And on my angel’s casket, I
Have placed a red red rose
.I know that we will meet again
Some day when my life’s o’er
At that great and mighty Kingdom
On God’s ce;estival shore.
“Daddy,” she’ll say, “I’m glad you’re home.
I waited here for you.
Daddy, I love you very much.
I really really do.”
~*~
===========================
SULTRY zephyr's gust incinerate milieu
Estival breath perfumed the whimsical view
Perfect metamorphosed season ensued
Torrid wind whistled as fall foliage mind-glued
Exquisite maple leaves cascade in vivid red - auburn dyes
Moon of AUTUMN's nocturnal murk in premature soar - in it's crib, he lies
Bursting colours of halcyon "era" - gilt, aureate carpet of terra firma
Enticing, alluring realm cuddled with perky pigments, WINTER's ready and waiting
Reminiscing the "SEPTEMBER FALL" is harking back from my myriad tears in SPRING.
~*~
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*-* jun-jun villanueva
*-* Carol Brown's FALL contest
F lame like flower
L ighting the horizon
A gainst azure sky
M esmerizing minds
E nter the Spring,
O pening the door,for
F estival of Colour.
F orget all pain
O pening your heart
R eceive the warmth
E mitting from it.
S pring has come
T ime to celebrate.
**Click on "About this poem".Flame of forest is a springtime flower in India.
*Festival of Colour is a Spring festval known as" Holi" here in India.
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