Furling Poems

Dinner

I try to smile,

But the more I smile, the more my eyebrows curl.

Now I need to speak, but I don’t think I can speak without shouting!

I’m rocking a bit now.

Which is making the floor shift and creak and my chair is about to crash through the floor. 

My eyebrows are furling and my fingers are curling. 

And the furling is ugly and makes me look like an old lady.

I’m thinking and trying to create more time by thinking slowly and gently.

But it’s loud. My thoughts are so loud.

The room is getting more distant.

The walls are creaking in tune with the floor. 

They’re looking at me!

The waiter, and my friends are looking at me!

They’re aging and furling and curling.

The garlic chicken.

Yes, the garlic chicken please.

And water.

Water always helps me.

And the moment is over.

A Wondrous Kiss of View

I am filled with awe 
Everytime I look at you
A wondrous kiss of view
That comforts and cradles
All we see and feel
To breathe in and keep
A frame that moves
Holding life infinite
After burning the night
The day does not 
Return in vain
The sun beams pulling
At my heart strings
The light descends with purpose
Each ray in hope it sends
Each stream reinventing 
Waterfalls to rivers
To seas to mighty oceans
A leaf like a flag un-furling 
Against a sky of blue
Filling trees to build us canopies
Animals birds flowers 
Bees and butterflies
Just to name a few!

6.7.22

Sabbatical Dreams -It

Twilight waved me sadly sighing, adieu,
Furling her rosy hue; cautioning me.   
Earie boardwalk creaks near the white sand beach,
But alone I dream here with piercing pains. 

The label I hide on the wine bottle,
A label of a shirt she bought for me,
Which I fondly kept as a souvenir 
Of my final visit home...years ago. 

They told me of the psycho cat’s demise,
And of horror stories that haunts a beach,  
Yet I've got no place better now to dream:
Sabbatical dreams after quarantine.   


*A 1st Place* win in the following contest (judged on Nov. 11, 2020)

Oct. 24, 2020
Collaborate With Me Poetry Contest 
Contest Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues

If Only You Knew

If only you knew the width of his love,
The breadth of his love, and you simply knew how…
How he sighs, and how his dark clouds of sighs 
Explode; and how flood does his head-high rise; 

If you knew, how his tongue, by furling its wings,
Snorts, and with untold pains he gravely wrings;
How dreadful darts of love piers his heart; 
And how blood floods and blots this piece of art.  

If only you knew the depth of his love,
The breadth of his love, and you simply knew how…
How deep in his dreams, he sighs to say you
He loves you, and yearns to love you - anew. 

If only you knew…if only you knew…
If only you knew…how deeply he loves you. 


 *HM Placement* in the following contest (judged on Oct. 30, 2020)

Oct. 24, 2020
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(35) any theme any form Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand


*A 2nd Place* in the following contest (judged on Oct. 26, 2020)

Oct. 24, 2020
If only you knew Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Silent One

Midway Scarlet November Corridor

Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap,
Brown bland blisters of trampled grey soil in bay,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.

Withered warm whispers in wet pastures seep,
Midway merging November winds to Winter neigh,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap.

Thousand tattered treasures revive slumber deep,
Calm crispy corridor covers secrets on the way,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep

Silver sumptuous snow solaces them who weep,
Intense iridescent incarnations of life each day,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap.

Wonderful white wisps wake desires, oh they leap,
Emerged effervescent existence born to fly away,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.

Magnificent miraculous moments I joyously keep,
Frosty ferocious fears, fervent furling hopes sleigh,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.



June 21, 2020

Month of the year I like most Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
~Premiere Contest Winner: 5th Place

Impurrturbably Above It All

Impurrturbably Above it All

Hail, Ginger Majesty on high,
where on your royal ledge you lie.
Occasionally a glance you throw
On us unfortunates below,
A restless crew who daily pace
Compulsively from place to place.
Appearances may easily fool.
When masters serve, those kept shall rule.
When Ginger slinks through furling silk
It is to claim his cool fresh milk.
Human cares may humans stir.
Cats generally prefer to purr.
Them no falling stocks appal
Who today have got it all.

Cats, of course, aren’t always nice,
Especially to birds and mice.

Four Seasons of a Broken Heart

First comes winter. The hardest to survive.
Cold and barren; the frost eats you alive.
Branches of hope bare; leaves of love decayed,
Around your heart and soul, you’ve built a barricade.

Next is the spring; winter gone at last.
The time for new life, no longer bound to your past.
Resilience gave you another chance;
Your refuse to look back now, not even a glance.

Now the summer, best season of all.
You think you’ve moved on, standing proud and tall.
Growing and blossoming towards the sky,
Barely remembering the last goodbye.

Darker nights now autumn is here,
Doubts create fog this time of year.
Leaves of joy and fulfilment are furling and falling,
Memories of lost love you just keep recalling.

Then winter strikes again, but not quite as strong,
You wonder why you still haven’t moved on.
Reliving every mistake and regret,
The frost bites your skin. It won’t let you forget.

The seasons repeat until you become winterless,
Your bark has healed, you are finally splinterless,
Life now a lattice of long summer, carefree spring,
But occasionally the autumn may sometimes creep in.
Or so that is what I hear,
But I still have winter as part of my year.

Adjudication

Well a hundred and forty six degrees of drip droop is a plant no longer upright. So uptight were the non furling leaves and stem. Plasma dormant. Formation formatted form fakes. And now begins the tidally adjusted bud. Loosely forever alone. With capacity of a land. An untameable free colour adaptable. Sap not a steeple of garden bed. Dig dig dig. Coloured cubes can clap. Cuticles of tinted petals. And a writhing growing mist. Alteration. Derailed. Alliteration deemed. Stepping stones then. Good. *** questionable honour *** adjudication z

Autumn

Autumn arrives and trees are brown
Up comes the wind, leaves tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
Upon the ground they formed a tapestry of colors
Merrily furling and swirling as the wind comes puffing by
No seasons has such beauty as this autumnal face. 

                  
September 30, 2014:
Form: Acrostic
Sixth Place win
Seasonal Acrostic by Charlotte Puddifet

One Autumn Day

Walking along the lake under the trees brown
Up comes the wind, the leaves tumbling down
Furling and swirling as the wind comes puffing
When Falling down make not the slightest sound
Forming tapestry of scarlet, yellow, russet and brown
I have never ever seen such beauty in any season
Where the leaves look like flowers of different colors

                               +++
September 11, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Seventh Place Win
Contest: One Autumn Day by P.D.

Passion and Shame Torment Him

otra vez,otra vez`

I do, say and say again
I am the rock star of the ring
I risk my life again and again for fame,
Some might think of my passion 
As just being poetic and practical
Or simply culture or unethical
However, nevertheless not when my life is on the line

Stronger than a herd of Buffaloes
Faster than the 
Speed of a race horse,
He is now broken free of his corral
A streak of fury, rushes me

Despite my fear of dying,
My main focus is to
Take the bull down by its horn
>>
I looked deep into his eyes,
I saw mingling of rage
I carefully swung the cape,
A taunt of furling red 
Aiming for its horns

The crowd roars, while
The old ladies sob for the bull
The men cheers for
Salvatore the Matador
Nothing more stimulating than the ladies 
with the beautiful smiles

The bull is going to die

The Voyage

As a young man, I cast off my line 
And sailed into life's sea 
My destination was unknown 
Just happy to be free 

I oft sailed troubled waters 
Furling sails til the time when 
I'd ridden out the turbulence 
And my seas were calm again 

Each storm I met would leave it's mark 
But it also helped me see 
It's all part of the voyage 
It made a stronger me 

My trips took me to many shores 
Each offered something new 
I would fill my hold with knowledge 
Then my anchor weigh anew 

My moral compass set my course 
Truth kept my vessel straight 
Integrity filled out my sails 
Friendship was my mate 

But alas, this weary sailor
Knew when he should sail no more
Since time and tide had run their course 
I set a course for shore

I sailed into life's harbor
Where my anchor came to rest
Threw my seabag on my shoulder
Full of memories from my quest.

I often open up the bag
And relive the years inside
Back when I was a young man
And I rode the rising tide

Soldier

MY FIRST PATRIOTIC


SOLDIER


Thoughts drift towards another world
Mind starts thinking in different fold

Lets you down with no hope for
When loved ones leave alone for war

Moments spent were really happier
Day they left eyes were full of tears

Dark night waiting to sight 
Joining the group in the loop
They were traveling with the troop

Fighting hard with the foes 
They showed courage, brought them to toes

Land was full of blood as seen 
To be martyrs, they were so keen

Victory is what for which they die
Furling the TRICOLOR in the SKY.


------YASHU

Flying

Flying
My feathers would flutter in the wind, past the angels and the moon
The wings would lift me off this place called Earth. 
I would drift high into the sky... 
I want glide high above the highest buildings. 

I'd be beautiful. 
I'd be a miracle. 
My wings feel as soft as satin 
Softer than the softest velvet.

I'd fly from coast to coast 
From Pole to Pole. 
Nothing would stop me 
not even the  harsh winds of Chicago. 
Further than they thought I would go.

Not stopping for shouts in the places of war. 
I'd never stop 
I’d be far away from everyone else. 

         adrenaline rushing through my veins. 
 from the wind furling my soft feathers. 
I’m awoken to the buzz of an alarm clock. 
And begin another day without my wings

Cleaning Fish

A shimmer of scales moves iridescently
in porch light, flying over nicked knuckles,
falling to grass milky white.

Detached, a rod jerked to deep water,
we follow the blade blooming belly to vent--
fingers pluck viscera like harp strings, cut
deeply into spine, searching for blood pockets.

I, father's sissy, prepare pliers for a peeling of skin.
You laugh at the pale bladders of my eyes,
watch the hesitant scooping of entrails into newspaper,
the scurry between bushes to bury my dead.

A white enamel basin is pink with our washing.
Outside the window, a blue-veined moon
is caught in a crisscross of nesting trees.
Dreams float like corks, fish frenzied in gunny sacks.

Your eyes are glossy as shells and empty, blindly
sensing that resonance of the sea, that catch:
the nearness of the day when a furling of scales
will come, and these hands will hold living things
turned ruby in porch light, taking blood as their own.

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