Opaque opal- like white Moon
showing pallid face at noon.
Nascent crescent descent Moon
peeps at dusk reflecting reveries.
Maroon Half-Moon rises
arousing ripples of romance
Clouds at platoon trying
to put astral veil of mist.
Giant gorgeous gibbous Moon glazes
to enrapture night.
Abloom Full Moon in spoon full charm
makes lovers frantic lunatic.
Soon smiling couple is hypnotized
in gaudy glare and about to swoon.
Ensnared in eclipse Full Moon
slips through shadow of Earth
leaving behind sullen silhouette
sunken in starry sky
Blue Blood Moon in scarlet glow
winks in frolic flare to mesmerize.
The Color Blue
A blue rinse enhanced her short-cropped hair,
eyelids heavily coated with frosty blue shadow.
Bright blue nail polish drew attention to her gaudy rings.
The blue dress she wore clung tightly to her voluptuous body.
Moonlight shone on the blue fringe of his tallit
which lay, discarded, on the counterpane.
Blue exhaust trailed from their departing car.
Written: August, 22, 2026, for this Week's Poetry Challenge: No Letter E
***************
Autumn walks, a vagabond in gold,
gamboling in gossip,
rinsing last growth
from trunks with song hush.
A crown of ivy and wilt,
a bold tomboy with worn charm,
rushing through cloudlands
as Icarian murmur—
gauzy, mournful, godly.
Calyx cracks,
stalks twist
fronds scour air with art,
all a glyph of adios.
Sky foam grows thick—
gassy, gaudy,
a cosmic curse of color and closure.
Birds hiss through mist
as urging ghosts.
Not an idyll of gods,
a labyrinth of motion,
a slow waltz,
as foolish visions fall into dusk.
Still, in loss of sun's glow, joy stays—
a holy cornucopia of final acts.
A tonic of rot,
a song of parting.
Autumn bows to nobody
a smash of vanity, a pliant mouth of hours,
gamboling past grand norms with talky charm.
At Autumn's call, folks prowl past,
pluck catharsis from vast hush,
sip sap of shift from that odd cup.
When knowledge fades, the fables fill our halls:
So truth is mingled with a fancied bird
That candlelight outlines on homely walls.
What once was held as fact was slowly blurred,
And time and wit combined to mend its shred,
And stitch it clean to an embroidered past;
Each of our fathers took on him the thread,
To weave the raiment fair that it may last.
For naked truth is loathsome to the eye:
It needs the gaudy dye and glinting light,
Lest it be cast away as 'twere a lie.
Yet by such lies forgotten days grow bright,
For a clear sight of yesteryear is lost;
But glory ever came at shameful cost.
we were bombarded for half an hour.
pepsi, popcorn and upcoming movies blowhard
gaudy and ostentatious and galling
my son asks, 'when is it going to start?'
jet-lagged to infinity
i was woken up by an onscreen scream
or it might have been the last trumpet
after the movie i go to the bank and the
clerk doesn't know what i'm talking about
high time hoodang and deposited cash
on the radio that morning the new prime minister
is applauded and cheered into number 10
he wants to shake hands with everybody in the country
there are no birds in our garden
I said I liked your girlfriend
She was rude, mean and hateful
I pretended I liked her outfit
it was garish, gaudy and gruesome
I pretended I liked your pumpkin pie
You are the worst baker in the world
I could barely choke it down
I wanted to spit it into the garbage
I was overly complimentary
It was all a lie, it was a huge fabrication
There was nothing I liked
I even pretended to like you
You are my boss
I have to pretend
Because you are a blow-hard bigot
You are filled with ugliness, you are a brute and a bully
I will never tell you the truth
Because I need this job
But the next time you have a party
I will think up a better lie to try and get out of coming
gallant gangsters glorified Germanic gargoyles
graceful gentlemen garnishing gossiping gazelles
glimpsing garbled, gaudy, garish glistening gracefulness
goblin’s Gothic genealogy generating gauzy galactic giants
Giggling galloping godmother germinating gingerbread gags
Gaunt, gooey galoots guiding gabby geese to Graceland’s gates
Noble nature sights harbour in my heart!
Most momentous, treasured maritime trip.
Glorious gaudy glow still stands apart -
Sunset from deluxe domain of our ship!
Souvenirs
nostalgic
heirloom
memorabilia
archived
muniments
prospectus
paraphernalia
posters
sequestered
Benefaction blight
twinkling trinket
tinged trophy
hoisted
himalayan style
melancholy monument
meteoric miniscule
flyby
verdant vestiges
viral vanish
Mayfly
transient
miscellany
evanescent
detritus
fugacious
snippets
antiquarian
bricolage
hodgepodge
Testament atrophied
gossamer gaudy
gazumping
languid lodger’s
meretricious milestone
culminated
artefact assemblage
bowdlerised bijou
moribund reticule
abecedarian
Marcescent abstract
mileage mocker
synthetic switch
unplugging
nomadic nonpareil
reminiscence’s
ineffable
ephemeron
aphoristic
aleatory
Politicians the world over
Love a greasy combover
Tell copious lies
And wear gaudy ties.
Politicians the world over
Hope scandals will blow over
Have scrotum necks
And never have extramarital sex.
Politicians the world over
Perform even while hungover
Love to show piety
Especially the Christian variety.
They feather their own nest
The common people they detest
Each other they will talk-over
That’s politicians the world over.
ghastly ghostlike hobgoblins and greenish ghouls
glowing and glistening per October’s anti rules
gold bricking amid god’s acre of granite gravestones
this is the way gremlins and gargoyles enjoy autumn poems
gruesome giggles and guffaws could tear an ethereal entity’s face
realms of those ghastly ghostlike goblin-like ghouls without grace
gauche gaudy gamins galloped around the gravestones, diving in
need I mention that after Halloween night, they were not seen again?
The scars are warm and fresh,
The blood flows red.
I have minutes to spend,
A little love to mend.
To whom?
I still don’t know.
The past is perfect;
I see it from a safe spot.
Its scent lingered,
From an oud-rosy cot.
I have a future to share,
A vision...to come.
I still wait for it,
I don't know for how long!
Three tenses
in one body.
Blurry whispers,
I heard in the lobby.
In the blackest nights,
I wore a dress so gaudy.
To remind myself,
even when the scars are fresh,
when the past fades,
Like a childhood friend,
and when the future is
a treacherous chess,
I still have a little love...
To mend.
The gift lay where it dropped, unopened still.
Once flaring gaudy wrap, now faded dusk,
not sent with love, but in embittered ill;
it long yet weeps her all-pervading musk.
The gift, and he, tenant a darkened room;
now talisman 'gainst others who may try
to wear him of his overbearing gloom.
A somber place where love has come to die.
And yet, it was not always ever so,
once, Spring's youthful fire seared between the two
and tempting gifts surrendered to and fro
as lovers' earthly touch did both pursue.
The gift it gathers dust as still he mourns;
the unknown content, yet a box of thorns.
I
San Clemente is always a nice place and tonight, she was something
different.
wound up by a Creator’s hands to such beauty around how could one be
indifferent?
I vividly remember how beautiful the full moon was, while a slight breeze
was blowing,
serenity in the form of waves crashing; the pier empty as the moon was
glowing.
on that cloudy night, into the black backdrop, battering breezes sent
chills up my body
put on my coat, and in my ponderance, setting like J Gatsby at the dock
less gaudy, caught the moonlight reflecting off the waves.
it formed a line that seemed to go on forever, even though the dense
coastal haze.
the night looked like the cover of Ride’s Nowhere I suppose, and
I wrote this poem so that this moment in time shall never decompose
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
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