I have other senses.
Flourishing hairs on the move.
Streaks of something other than sight.
Ground up unlike any scent.
Sneaky brush strokes.
Like cinnamon sparks it unfolds.
Like hearing except more of a jumping spider that I shadow.
Cryptic.
I have other senses.
The accident felt like globules.
I knew like a shoe knows the worm it crushed unintentionally.
The accident might have been almost, somewhat in my senses.
Disbelief.
I have other senses.
That attach to me like:
Burning hot sauce.
As sun beams barged in, I saw,
Tiny drops glistening on flowers like globules
But under sun's incinerating rays, they died.
Don't forget, impermanence is life's undeniable truth.
Grant me rest under your lissome stems
Let me hide from the raindrops — shiny globules
That drip with tropical hauteur,
Rain that harms the ribs with cold rebukes.
Welcome me within your greenish lair, from
Your cane roots to your starry leaves —I insist on visiting
In your prime, so fresh with dew and so green, like
The envy in the gritty eyes of singed composts,
When waving rays of the shifting sun
Bathe the narrow venues formed by adjoining stems
Up, up and up the stairs and dome of the jungle.
I pray to shoot up with you and befriend the skies.
Oh, such elevation!
Fill my gourd with green wine;
Make me drunk with the spewing colours of life.
My heart is open to receive light —from misty dawn to
Dusk crowned with your blessing.
Let it rain on, I pray.
My palms are spread out like your leaves — I borrow the
Innocence of your frondescence.
Carve me flutes from your nodes, and, from them
Raise the cadences for summons, to be accompanied by
Drums fashioned by hands greased by the gifts of
The forests. . . .
Raise the joy, the frenzy, the tone of the ceremony
Raise, raise . . . upheave them
To royal heights — such as yours.
On a fine spring morning
saw dew drops GLEAM
They shone like glass globules
Some rested COOL
on slender leaves of grass
Gems they did SEEM
But in time they vanished
pliant to RULE!
My mind is stripped of crippling inhibitions
It rummages, unfettered with mundane thoughts
delving along beveled edges of a distorted mirror
as though it sees inside my sutured heart
In its scarred reflection is a sanguine painting
An original piece of bloody abstract art
In translucent shadows
shades of red interlace, light and dark
revealing with candid strokes
the sad validities of stresses in life
Paint drips in globules from my brush
bleeding onto a canvas of fleshly white
Emotions revealed with intense veracity
as the aureate sun fades, lost at dusk
I turn away from the glow of moonlight
Emotions unmasked, I've taken a stance
that allows me to paint a somatic portrait
Visions discovered while I sat in a trance...
ochre and crimson oils, sorrow runs black
Bloodletting hues whether in a painting
or in poetic lines of a caged poem, I trusted
would always remain closed... but
the rusted door has been flung wide open
Released is this motley conveyance titled,
"Live, If I Must"
The cerulean sky suddenly turned grey.
Cumulonimbus clouds covered the sky.
The gentle wind turned into a noisy roar.
In the sweeping wind, the trees arched and bent.
At every gust, the dead leaves began to fall.
The blazing sun got veiled by dark clouds.
The day turned dusky as if the sun was about to set.
Lightning, like clashing spears cut through the sky.
Thunder was heard roaring in the distance.
Suddenly raindrops began falling in tandem.
It was such an exhilarating feel to watch water drops,
Hitting hard on rooftops and breaking into tiny droplets.
Its pitter patter, to me, was like a melodious refrain.
Curiously, I watched raindrops dotting the window panes,
And the water globules glistening in dim light.
Petrichor rose from earth's surface, wafted by the wind.
* * * * *
From then, it rains and it pours down nonstop.
In a week, our land has become a river bed
Now how we wish to see the clouds dissipate
And the rains stop and the sun takes over!
Lugubrious blue mood skies funereal and morose shed raindrops,
they unleash tableau vivant torrent’s wet tranche,
blessing, bane or boon from vault of heaven,
damp pearl blob bewitching moisture mellow morph form,
the stuff of less than benign grumpy weather grouch,
whose plight infuses yen for sun-drenched bliss,
haven of the ultra-violet swathe enthusiast,
for others raindrops are a liquid gem relish firmament bequeathed,
to whet voracious craving of nascent pastures,
whose gaunt green blade emaciating stillborn,
that aqueous honey to hue-blazed floral garden in situ bloomers,
who swallow cloudburst drizzle meed in muted slurps,
droplet streak and spiral bubble patten on top hung awning window,
empyrean tear beads that roof top tap dance ritual,
so tantalising to the awestruck spellbound eardrum,
or impromptu downward dribbles on romantic saunterers,
prompting boisterous laughter as they flaunt their dome transparent chromium truss umbrella,
those enraptured red-blooded refugees beneath tilting gust spun bumbershoot,
as mud splatter cherry cheek urchins shriek,
amid the spray and splash globules at agile finger tips
After an hour’s incessant rain,
On this cloudless evening,
With the face of the sky
Washed clean,
Globules of water
have speckled the oiled surface,
of leaves on arching trees.
They glisten in the evening light,
reflecting kaleidoscopic colors.
Lying on my bed, curled up,
as I look on, they quiver,
dither, wobble and flutter.
In their effort to balance precariously,
each drop, rolling and spiraling
flops down one by one,
with a sad refrain-
Flip… plop, flip …plop
leaving ripples in the puddles below.
In the deep hush of Nature,
on this twilight evening,
their distinct tinkling,
falls as music to my ears!
Half flesh, half steel, sinews and twined wire,
Begotten in the heat of half-love, tempered
By hatred and the axe, fathered by one
Who killed her mother, the male chauvinist boar
Whose eye-teeth, razor-sharp, saw through the spine,
Joy-sword in sheath. Wrought iron, blood vessels,
Bone and cable, one part conceived, the other forged
On the hard anvil where gusts of blood are seed
Of all the axeman most does fear – cast iron woman
With stanchions for a trunk, iron breastplate,
A malleable black heart, a metallic chastity belt
No man may boast of stealing and still live,
Who beats men at their own battle games,
A dab hand with the axe herself, as salty tears
And globules of mercury exude from grey glands
In neat formations
rhododendrons guard
the half acre order
of our mountain block
and rush their unreal colour
into a landscape just emerging
from winter's cold.
They seem out of place
in the green - brown encirclements
of native bush where beneath
towering eucalypts
only an odd acacia accents
the understory shade
in tiny globules
of palest yellow.
Soon summer will bleach colour
from a drying world.
Borders will wilt
as the bush draws closer.
Here, coiled
in the shadows of long days,
life sinks
to a shallow pant.
An uneasy quiet
is menaced by siren wails
and heat.
After an hour’s incessant rain
On this cloudless evening
With the face of the sky
Washed clean
Globules of water
Have speckled the oiled surface
Of leaves on arching trees
They glisten in the evening light
Reflecting kaleidoscopic colors
As I look on, they quiver,
Dither, wobble and flutter
In their effort to balance precariously,
Each drop flops down one by one
With a sad refrain
Flip… plop, flip …plop
Leaving ripples in the puddles below
In the deep hush of Nature
On this twilight evening
Their distinct tinkling
Falls as music to my ears!
Placed First
For Strand’s (1063) Poetry Contest
Placed First
All night he climbs his spinal cord,
up and down he goes
a worker ant
gathering globules of memory.
The bony spine itself
offers handholds for his ghosts.
At each spinal notch
he enters the swim
of sub-osseous neural bundles.
Images are scooped up,
mixed into an alphabet soup
of alternative realities.
He climbs upward only to pause stymied
at the brains tightly packed folds
listens as an outsider
to the down-time humming
of a million closed circuitry heartbeats.
There is too much convoluted counting there,
too much to harvest in one night,
and so he travels back down the cord
to a low-clouded complexity
where shrouded stems burst open
their dark flowers
to engulf the embryonic mythologies
of sleeping giants.
In the morning
he hears himself thinking:
the thoughts are loud
they beat upon the top of his skull
like starving children
trying to escape.
A wave plays upon a liquid canvas,
in colors of brown, gold, aqua glass.
Globules mingle in 4/4 time
chiming songs, a crystal voice, sublime.
Somewhere in a distant keep,
are echoes of that briny deep.
Ingrained in oceans memory,
mammalian song is mimicry.
Dive down into the aqueous abyss,
you’ll enjoy a crystalline bliss.
Ride a dolphin into the sunlight,
they are personalities of delight.
An expedition to the coral reef,
gleans the beauty you may seek.
Aesthetic marvels, can be found,
among the corals, that abound.
RAINBOW
Raindrops sparkling amidst mild drizzling
Azure sky showing sun to peep through cumulus cloud
Intermittent showers reflecting, refracting shimmering sun rays
Nascent fluorescent afterglow.
Bright sun spectrum pasting on sky album.
On firmament seven colored arches of rainbow to design.
Wonderful dispersion of sun rays through rain globules.
06/16/20
' Non-Human' Poetry Contest by Chantelle Anne Cooke
I hear the rhythm of the rain
on my rooftop,
pit-pat,
tit-tat,
titter-tat-tat-tat.
Spilling from sky
silver globules leap
onto the thirsty land
and I am lulled into
a relaxing bliss.
Fresh scent of ozone
curling, unfurling
through my nostrils
while the trees
gulp their drinks.
Crystalline orbs
knock upon my windowpane
singing, “hello my friend,
come out and play!”
I recall the days when
I was a kid,
splashing about in the
summer showers to cool;
tasting refreshing rain drops
upon my tongue;
my dog rolling,
splashing about puddles
beside me.
I celebrate thirst quenching,
cloud nectar for all!
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