Pages of a diary scatter the floor
Litter of secret hopes of heretofore.
Like frosted glass is this night.
Daylight’s clouds - restless like my love -
and scattered wildly heretofore -
somehow made a pact
to nimbly rearrange themselves.
Congealing in this chilling autumn eve -
translucent -
the clouds have blended in with dusk,
obliterating stars. . . and even shadows.
Luna, sad like me,
cannot transmit her moonlight
to cheer me.
Oh, to be again - enraptured!
To see your unique come-hither smile;
to hear the sound of honey in your voice;
to feel that splendid tingle within me
as you shine your gorgeous eyes -
radiant upon me!
Where are you now, my love -
my sweet, alluring boy?
And where are the stars
that blazed for me within your eyes?
Where is the crystal nightfall
of my fondest dream?
Oh, to feel again. . . enraptured!
But not even the smallest gleam
of you remains.
And not even Goddess Moon
can penetrate
this deep abiding gloom.
I don’t think I’ll ever bleed
a thing so silly as poetry
For life is far too short for me
to dabble in tomfoolery
Why, first I must prepare to make a living
about that I have no misgivings
And raise a family with my wife
to leave a legacy behind in life
Yet maybe, just perhaps, If I weren’t so busy
I’d write about the time I fought a grizzly
Even on subjects heretofore taboo... and
Possibly, like A.E. Milne, one on Winnie-the-Pooh
Hmm. It seems that I’ve been mistaken all along
I think I shall bleed poetry ~ every night and all day long
He served as a catalyst
for my poetic mood
and experimental dimensions
in silent rendering,
with an itch for art forms
be it the appetite
the nectar of a poet
My endeavor to articulate excels
far beyond my perceived horizons
alas jump-starting my muses
heretofore dormant a bit,
stirring me to excavate
a font of ideas
and accelerate with eagerness
to burst forth
from mind onto page
unfurling with words
hidden beneath my tongue
that once alluded me,
I stitch the unsaid into form
before our intuitive tryst,
a better mentor I could not
have hoped for;
British, artist, wordsmith, & troubadour
of empirical and
nostalgic emphasis
With pleasure I dive deep
into linguistic lure,
definitions and display
composing in a harmonious dance
lyrics into wordplay
I breathe life into symbols
older than memory
If ever there was a lauded semantic
who rises like a sentient sign
in a moments demand
stark sensationalist,
quiet, yet quite quizzical
It’s Brian Strand
Pushing my eighties
I find life’s not as before,
Robbed of balmy breeze.
I change my look heretofore--
As dry fruits are valued more.
Life's like old age love--
Mature much more, pristine pure,
And firm in its groove.
And reciprocal no more,
An open book, ajar door.
_______________________
Renga/Rengay | 01.10. 2025 | love, old age, fruits
Note: Renga in Japan, Rengay in America is set as a dialogue of an old couple. The husband starts by saying his old age is no more a pleasant breeze. His wife, also old, replies bravely: remember, dried ripe fruits are always more valued. She then poses with a haiku of her own to which her husband responds positively, more than agreeing with her.
Alone with my thoughts
I discover who I am
exploring heretofore hidden
chambers of a neglected soul
Alone traversing the ocean’s shore
I debate the shifting tides of life
Vicissitudes too subtle to detect, trapped
in the traumas of family life
Alone at holiday time
grateful for a reprieve
from endless sniping sessions
I take the pulse of the season, and find myself!!
Alone, preparing to die
Miserable wretch, I
(Spanish people find September to be very sad:
they call it "the little summer of the quince".)
Somehow, the silver birches simply know.
This splendid heaven, pure refulgent blue
can not abide. The grass fronds, stiff as glue,
like swifts and grillos, uninclined to go,
are troubled by the carking of the crow.
It’s autumn, and the rains are overdue.
A corpse whose hair improvidently grew,
September is deceptive afterglow.
At dusk, a silence falls across the close:
the trees stand tall and motionless, morose:
now unobtrusive, heretofore verbose:
tart evergreens like laurel, tamarind,
immortal olives, silver in the wind,
sing “adios verano, adios!”
Silence pierced through the thick blanket
Of his thoughts, heretofore plagued
By a quaff of exhaled tobacco,
Spiralling and somersaulting in the air,
Like a fierce missile
Sent on a sinister mission,
Before mercilessly, ricocheting
Against the backdrop of his unassuming ceiling
There he stood
Imagining the gigantic impact
Of a tiny veil of vapor
As it burst forth from his nostrils
In a single file, before spreading it's renegade black wings,
Intimidatingly traversing every corner of the room;
He googled as the vapor ascended in a frenzy,
Like a gush of morning Dew,
Swaddling the orbit,
Before being subdued by a battalion of torrential rain,
Descending from the sky defiantly;
To proclaim the Cacophony and preponderance
Of the generic nature of life.
The space between stars is not empty.
The plane of existence is not a desolate void,
and not a place that is devoid
of substance that was long ago destroyed.
The space between stars is not just filled with dark energy
that we never see stretching and pulling a galaxy
across time and space with cosmic lethargy,
taking light years and light centuries in extraterrestrial reverie.
The space between stars is not merely gas and dust
in clouds of galactic cirrus
accelerating in a universe
cold, dark, dank and averse.
The space between stars is filled with thoughts
and dreams of all those who came before,
all sentient beings from heretofore
and the memories of all whom we adore.
-------------
There is a certain quiet in watching you
sleep
That’s not unlike the flow
Of observing a river's movement,
As it slowly bends its way down
Past morass and ferns on the coast
To somewhere new and heretofore
unknown--
The current, steady rhytmn of your
breath
Circles through an unconscious world,
Bringing you respite from any troubled
ridge
And hoisting you higher to a route of
dreams
Where I like to feel you,
Clear as a rippling water
Gushing ever gently into me--
And how your eyes quiver , still
Your heave bidding me closer
Like the river beckoning the thirsty to drink :
Would that I could drink your calmness
So you really did glide through me
Quench me --
And bestowing on me your innate joy.
Our strength
is our
distance
Where fortune
cascades
To flow
on the
borders
Where miles
assuage
Our strength
is our
distance
Arm’s length
by the score
An
echo
connecting
The dots
— heretofore
(Dreamsleep: July, 2024)
Perched in a leafy tree
sipping on poetry
eyes trained on rolling hills
toggling ‘tween windowsills
points of vantage as yet unimagined
heretofore ne’er examined
Dare one say ‘the thrill is gone’
~ leave him listless lie on languid liquid lawns
Exploring regions unexplored heretofore
my body springs to attention like a rusty door…
O, that I had listened to Doctor Gore
I wouldn't be near this sore ...
For ‘There’s no known remedy
~ for the early middle-seventies’
What else one could aspire for
More than a world without war?
We’ve seen many wars before…
And lost countless lives heretofore.
Against wars if you want to fight for,
With open hearts come to the fore.
If you want them to happen no more,
Reasons for their cause you explore.
Altogether, your differences you ignore;
Foster not enmity among you anymore.
Jealousy and envy you fully deplore;
Love and affection you finally restore.
There the weapons of destruction galore;
Them each one of us has to abhor.
For ‘Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam’ if you implore,
The world minus war for you will be in store!
--------------------------------------------------
A World Without War Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
2nd Place
Within my depths ancient murmurs arise.
As had Phoenix, I had burned to ashes.
Yet I rise to strew the day with surprise
as I flourish in brilliantine flashes.
I am boisterous and blatantly loud
in voice and also in buff appearance.
Gregarious and bold, merging from cloud,
I fold my wings in show of forbearance.
My wings beat chill that draws color to fore,
irrefutably majestic and grand.
My winds blow promise not seen heretofore
as I spread my majesty o'er the land.
I am applauded as glorious Fall
but I shall not - I shall rise above all!
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