As we were climbing the hills
Babbling brook caught our eyes
Crispy sounds of rhythmic clashes
Dancing feet gesturing to us
Ears of paddy swaying in the breeze
Field of grass in a dense green smile
Grains ripening with monsoon rain
Hints of good crop delighting people
I keep gazing at your charming eyes
Joyous always and never judgemental
Kindness casting shadows on the lens
Lovely moments rippling on the pond
Meanwhile, clouds were building up above
Nest of birds are extremely apprehensive
these are the sweetest sweaters I ever found in the trash
we all ran over to see them and my cousin rooster Rash
Rooster was always finding the very best stuff in weird places
I will buy one from you, said our auntie Goosie McGraces
Rash laughed at her silliness and said choose one, Mom
she chose one with reindeer; it was truly the bomb.
Uncle Pete snagged his own sweater, a lovely knit.
I don’t need one said my cousin Mighty Mitt
You all need one, Rash told his sister, come over.
He had a darling one with dogs that looked like Rover.
You can have one too, he told me, gesturing me in.
I felt guilty taking the last one in the bin.
But what about you? I asked my cousin Rash.
No worries, he said, I have a bit of cash.
I will go to the thrift store and outfit me too.
He came back wearing a sweater with a rainbow hue.
That kind of spring energy, kind of jolting glass, kind of jumping jack, jumping bean…
Then the bursts.
Ears on my thoughts.
And kinds of irises in my eyes, sprouting.
Just jolts out like a new pack of socks.
Torn with energy and sparkling water.
Tie dye in my brain.
Gesturing to the kitchen fence.
And nothing I left over there got left over there, there…
That kind of spring energy doesn’t hurt like the winter counting.
It just withered like old toes.
Old spring, oh what did you do to me?
Give a high five or a million sparks you see.
That kind of spring energy?
Gives you tree roots for free.
Undoing all the winter grit.
Did winter even have a spirit?
That kind of spring energy, kind of,
Kind.
The real risk is fire.
Flames.
It’s not butterflies.
Or caught up in trance.
It’s about gesturing to an exit.
And quiet before the vapor.
The tv got ash all over it.
The real risk is fire when you live in a kerosene dream.
Flames.
Curtains.
Kerosene dreams.
Quit on me.
The real risk is fire.
They never told me not to use the elevator.
Maybe they did.
It didn’t turn me into a butterfly.
The firefighter told me while dusting off a bone.
The real risk is already over.
Coughing is leftover.
Phlegm turned to dust.
The wind arrives first.
The vane follows—
both pivoting on each other's breath,
each feigning command of the other.
Always angling,
always gesturing towards fate,
we mistake the wind for destiny
and proclaim its turning, as choice.
The pressure to change gathers early—
before any thoughts take root
before any words dare surface—
caught in vain, in breaths withheld.
Mouths set their vanes in advance,
jaws brace against what's unsaid,
both poised in futile readiness.
Trying to predict the swerve and swirl
the vane will inevitably take.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nibbles clutched the acorn like a tiny criminal mastermind,
whiskers trembling under the porch light's harsh interrogation.
"But officer, I am not a porch bandit," he squeaked,
gesturing wildly at the pile of stolen walnuts behind him—
"Those? Those were... uh... gifts! From a very generous tree!"
The flashlight beam did not look convinced.
In the wind, He breathes
Echoing rhythms of light
Notes written by the leaves
Drifting colors, wistful flight
Flight of grace, broken tears
Healing scents of autumn’s still
Voice of kindness, weeping dew
Remembering joy who’ll fulfill
Fulfill the spirit with hope
Gesturing hands, praising
Seeking the One who writes
Stories of love so amazing
Amazing songs bleeding joy
Through the night’s rest
Steering the stars to sprinkle
Their wonder, so I am blessed
Blessed by the still voice
Of One who gives me life
In this world and eternally
Healing all worry and strife
Wounded by the weeping north wind, with the moon in my hands I'd bandage my longing,
Only now does love begin, a paradox that becomes my flight.
In your absence, I find you again, my beloved vanished from the world,
And the wounds will always sing, welcoming you in silent memory.
The waters of the world have swallowed you, and I, wounded, remain lost in the cold,
Gesturing toward the negative infinity, a love grown in silence.
We resisted, the sun and the moon, in a dance of celestial shadows,
And only now does love begin when I feel you'll forever be missing from me.
Our words, frozen, are foreign tongues that no longer unite,
At the border between yes and no, a silent witness whispers that I love you.
When everything happens naturally, and paradox becomes our law,
Only now does love begin, when you, my love, are the blue star.
In the silence between us, a song is born, an echo of longing and dreams,
I've loved you always, in the night sky, a promised beacon of love.
And in your absence, I find you again, like a light that dispels my shadows,
When I know I've lost you forever, the love within me deeply matures.
Ghosts
Garbed in ghostly attires
Glistening like a star
Grimacing like an ape
Gurgling like a black owl
Gathered on public square
Gesturing like actors
Giving a fearful show.
Concrete dust drifts like sand across a coastal path.
An old woman battered with facial features that hung on her face,
Disconnected and hanging.
She leans forward in her blumonge, waterproof, unwashed nylon flares from Matalan.
They ruffle in the wind as she looks out withdrawn onto the A350.
Her gaze is muffled by a sheen of intoxication,
She tries with the majority of her self to keep her lids from closing,
Mascara encrusted into the creases of her skin,
Almost soldering her lashes together in a gluelike fashion.
Leans hazardously towards the path of oncoming traffic,
Gesturing with open arms to the creatures of metal that push past her.
The only trace of their moment in time is a gust that pushes her body back to safety as it, Confused and unobservant,
Collapses onto the urban stream that claims her yet again.
I watch as she continues to stumble on,
Reaching out to every vehicle that steams on past,
She does not see me.
She is clogged by something greater and more sombre than I know.
She is a perfect reflection of the time and place,
She is what we all are feeling but continue not to show in fear of the outcome.
She is us.
“Come here”
You said, gesturing to the sunset.
I climbed up beside you, my legs dangling over the edge of the railing.
My breath sped up as you put your hand on my back
The thumping of my heart was felt all the way in my ears
I relaxed into your touch
just enough
for you to have complete control
I exhaled a sigh of relief,
for I had gotten what I’d always wanted
The sigh turned into a gentle breeze
And in that moment, I was falling
There were no butterflies
There were no sparks
Just your hand
On my back
Resting heavier and heavier
Until you gave me a push
And suddenly, I was falling
Not into your arms
But onto the
cold.
hard.
ground.
Colors, bold and laughing
Journey through Spring, then Summer
Reminiscing about Winter’s bitter
All the hostile, cold and gray
Ice crystals,
Faded into the silence
Beneath a freshly fallen snow
Blowing away the despair, the dark
From a twilight’s beckoning,
Song of light, softly playing
A gentle melody
Quaint, unfailing, life’s rhapsody
Soon autumn’s tears
Erase the whisper of Summer’s rhythm,
Gesturing to the moment
A prayer spoken,
Destiny trembling in the spirit,
Creativity edged
In mystery, a glimpse of light
Falling with the rain,
Dew drenched mornings,
Turning from the broken, the faded,
To the solemn expressions
Love so amazing…
My soul, assured, forever praiseful.
Seasons come and go,
The rain falls, the winds blow,
Echoing across the mountains
In beautiful stains of light,
Shadows and blessings
Never failing to excite…
The stars bloom with hope
And wishes are spoken
As hearts, sometimes broken,
Delight in the time, peppered
So fine, so very fine…
Seasons in rhyme
Gripped with freedom gear
Driving well, sans fear
Our son whirls in joyous spree
Quelling my heart’s shout
Smiting mother's doubt...
He champions victor’s glee!
In special wheelchair
There he zooms with flair
Gesturing triumphant sign…
Oh, we feel so blest
Since his spastic pest
Makes us gain God's grace* divine.
*2 Corinthians 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.
November 23, 2024
2nd place "Alouette Me" Rhyme Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 12/2/2024
water wells have wooden covers
a certain rocky mountain is dry
but it has a vertical well cover
as a door over a cave entrance
around which a castle is built
the cave is a dry vampire well
in which they sleep till people
travelling in bad weather need
shelter and knock at the door
and a pleasant old man with
a welcome smile says "Well..."
(gesturing his home as the
local well...for peoples life fluids)
"...come in...out of the rain...
eat, dry, rest...stay the night"
and they were brought into the flock
stan sand
In spring's sweet grip, when buds begin to bloom,
My spirit, in joy, like blooms, does unfurled,
The sun's fond touch dispels the winter's gloom,
Whispering secrets to the sunrise world.
In greenery, scented flowers swinging,
Serenity fills up my restless soul,
Breeze swings the fields, echoing, with singing,
Uplifting my visions, once still, now whole.
Oh, how the birdsongs fill the deep blue sky,
With melodies which stir the depths within,
The echoes of melodies softly fly,
Gesturing bye to winter's icy spin.
So let us revel in this moment bright,
Holding the Spring deep in our souls' delight.
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