Distance
The illusion of change
Warmth willingly withheld
Prayers echoing
In a frozen valley
Blown awry
By vagrant winds
The silent serenade
Of unheard snowflakes
A bedeviled sun
Haunts the hoary horizon
As shivering shadows
Dance hazily
In the illusion
Of distance
The tremolo of mourning jays vibrates
In bittersweet tracks when nightfall scans
An almost dim backdrop, gripped
By low warbles from birds' paean
Indistinct as dusty tunes--a whip, wallop
A whistle of drones becomes
dangerous and still;
Throaty on a lane of funeral's last rites:
The hazily drawn view turns ambient...
it is another blasted evening
Moistening wail of eyes with monotone lull
that I hide my face
from past autumnal romps
reminding me of chimes, soft cuddles
pressed in heavenly light...I whisper
to a young silhouette now cradled
By the starkest of blue stars...
Tunes stale,
while jays moan on the horizon, until...
first night—
the soul’s fringe still shining hazily
the last night—
as though knowing time has come
morning comes—
a firefly spends all its light
Happy Days
Each is given breath,
above soil, toil and glory,
mouths expel a tirade,
behind a masquerade.
Each born pure in heart,
soon shattered; broken
jagged pieces maybe scattered.
Each feels the beats hidden deep inside.
It struggles to love, but rages!
against tears cried, each supplied
with both organs, and need,
exhausted moment, emitting seed.
Each with eyes, unable to detect lies,
a tongue its whip sting, able to chastise,
each is not supplied in rubies and gold,
a fool realises, in late life now is to olde.
Each foot step trudge,
to the hole in soil;
hazily remembers the glory,
not the toil. Happy days indeed !
Happy Days
Each is given breath, above soil, toil and glory;
mouths expel a tirade,behind a masquerade.
Each born pure in heart, soon shattered;
broken jagged pieces maybe scattered.
Each feels the beats hidden deep inside;
It struggles to love, but rages! against tears cried.
Each supplied with both organs, and need;
at the exhausted moment, emitting seed.
Each with eyes, unable to detect lies;
a tongue its whip sting, able to chastise.
Each is not supplied in rubies and gold;
a fool realises, in late life now is to olde.
Each foot step trudge, to the hole in soil;
hazily remembers the glory, not the toil.
Happy days indeed !
It’s a searing, wordless pain to be unsure of my own identity
Lost in the day to day, shackled by the ins and outs of my stoic life
Mirrors look back at me, a hazily dreampt structure of a face without a name
Leeching naivety distorts common sense, never revealing a world of cloaked wicked intentions
I study myself until my eyes crack, in search of a semblance of recognition
Though it seems I am just and idea crafted by a bleeding heart
Pens, and pen knives,
minor gadgets and gizmos,
chopsticks
old zippo lighters,
motheaten books
that crumble an old-fashioned wisdom
into the mush of a quaint twaddle,
words to muddle over
on a day locked into a raincloud.
He collected all sorts -
mostly useless things,
mostly the unimportant, the worthless,
gathering together
all the small curiosities of the bygone,
things often broken and long discarded.
His poetry is a collection also,
a jumble of oddments and offbeat widgets,
stuff he finds hazily dreaming
beside unpaved roads.
Crawling on my floor.
I stare hazily at the intricacies of the wood grain and realize slowly all the messes in my way.
Curl up, holding myself, prepare yourself darling life is a beautiful maze.
I feel the cold on my skin, I feel choked from the waters that I swim.
I dream each night nightmares it's hard to fall asleep. Everything inside of me flows and starts to creep.
I hold my breath with panic. Feeling isolated and lost on this planet.
Anxiety surrounds my body. My stomach feels all knotty.
Can I ground myself. I go from counting 1 all the way to twelfth.
My eyes become blotchy and the haze rolls away like the fog.
I release the pressure in my body like a drain with a clog.
My world starts to pull together. My breathing starts to slow.
Hopefully in a few minutes I'll be better.
My strength will surely grow.
The Sex Obsession
He was in his middle years, a retired seafarer living far
from the oceans of his youth and dreams had drowned
in swells of a restless, life.
He lived a slow life, walking his dog in the forest when
not driving his bike, visiting forgotten villages, trying
to find a childhood hazily remembered; but what he drew
had been a happy one in a time of war.
One day he met a woman (not a beauty)
he was drawn into her sphere of sexuality; he was in love.
Intense, longing for her love, lost his life in her arms
in the swirling dance of pleasures, he had long forsaken.
There were times when out walking the dog, he paused
and asked, was there a prize to pay one day?
She came to his house, looking serious she was pregnant
He was jubilant; there was nothing more in the world he
wanted to be a father to complete his dreams.
No, she wanted money for an abortion. Killing His Child!
His world crashed, the truth, as they had nothing but sex
He walked in the woods when returning, she had gone.
Echoes through the hallway
Of this dilapidated ruin
A stone house made with devoted hands
Ladened once with the life and love of humans
Soft whispers can be heard
An occasional silhouette hazily drifts by
The humans that once lived here
Continue to reside ….
AN IMPOSSIBLE FIX
I journey through the woodland
Hazily I gaze at the shadows of an-
intangible reality
There I love roses and hate thorns
Its a Journey to my yesterday
In a region called mind.
There I chose silence and hate noise
I choose hard work and hate sleep
I choose humility above pride
I leave no soul hurt
I leave no bone fractured
Carefully I make a great fix
I journey through the woodland
A journey from my yesterday
Like an eagle on my today to perch
Alas! No yesterday was fixed
Not even a choice was redone
For it was just a fruit of imagination
Conceived in the womb of regret
Inside the belly of vain contemplation
So when you receive a day
From the hand of Him who never err
Forget not every moment to pray
Remember good choices to make
For even today will be yesterday-
and you can never fix yesterdays.
At the shoreline
the sea meets the sand
in transparent kiss
then draws back to itself
in divine cycle
the endless push/pull
of ocean rhythm
Out to sea
the vast expanse breathes
in deepening blue tones
that ripen like fruit
blueberry
plum
blackberry
On the horizon
midnight sea cuts palest blue sky
Taranga Island
floats hazily
suspended
in the wild blue yonder
natures cathedral
28th August 2022
Free Verse Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor Joseph May
Clouds in the sky drift lazily
Sparkling patches of blue linger,
Mind daydreaming so hazily
Songbirds chirping a moodswinger,
Summer is here
A time for cheer.
Evening sounding so jazzily,
Recording of a scat singer
Distant stars twinkle snazzily,
I am an accomplished swinger
Have no complaints,
And few restraints.
[syllables checked by HMS;
rhymes checked with Rhyme Zone]
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written May 31, 2022
Submitted to “Posie” Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
A Pensioner
An octogenarian - he moved to the retirement home
which promised all-year sun, blue sky, and sedate sea.
A grey, balding, and stooped figure,
his gait is far from firm as he walks.
Panoramic vistas, crushed-cardboard like hills,
frame the backdrop to his daily meanderings.
His dim and distorted memories mimic
the surrounding mountain range, hazily silhouetted against
the sparse, cloud-strewn sky.
A startled hare darts across the gravelly lane,
to join a squad of exuberant fellows, charging headlong
into the shrub, tails held high – quick flashes of white.
Transfixed, he stops to admire the moor-hen crossing his path,
her brood of chicks faithfully following in line.
The pomegranate grove sheds overripe fruit,
sighs with relief, longing for hibernation.
Artichokes, green and bright, proudly claim eagerness to be picked
to make room for a different crop.
Rebirth and renewal, the pattern of seasons,
calibrate the remaining years, (months and days), for this old man.
pull the plug
the water goes down the drain
and the lights flicker, hazily groping the smoke's shoulder in vain.
armor is iron chain, to strangle ally.
golden mistress breaks the spine
boasting in your head before your time.
if my body wastes away
and my heart breaks like a plate
i'll lodge the sharpest fragment i can find in your brain.
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