Imperceptibly Poems

Depression Again

The phone rang. 
Saying “Hello,” more quietly. 
Saying nothing.
And the nothingness worsens over time. 
Times of hopelessness don’t exist.
It’s just hopelessness. 
Not any particular time. 
Not any particular tear, or frown. 
I’m just some perfect circle, who is shaking imperceptibly. 
Nothing really happens.
I am dead in a sparkly way. 
Now I am. 
Saying things about hurt, but I don’t think that exists. 
If someone asked my favorite memory?
It would be me telling everyone about how sad I am. 
They would just stand there. 
You can’t know what they say. 
Just murmuring, maybe. 
People abuzz, whispering, making me happy with rumors that are real. 
I’m depressed and now they know. 
That never really happened. 
I still live, anyway.
I won.

FORBIDDEN

Inspired by "Part Time Lover" - Stevie Wonder

I know I’m spending too much time with you
And really ought to turn and walk away.
I came today when in my heart I knew
Just what a dangerous game it is we play
No words of love have passed between us yet.
We’ve both been careful not to cross the line.
But when you’re near it’s easy to forget
That you have yours at home and I have mine
For something in the way you smile at me
And how, when fingers accidentally meet,
They linger almost imperceptibly,
Makes time stand still and my heart skip a beat
      And so, although this thing is wrong I know,
      I’ll stay with you until you bid me go

The Longest Night

The darkest of mornings,
Light creeping slowly, very slowly,
Round the edges of my world,
As the day begins.

All day a half light struggles to make an impact 
But loses the battle
And dusk takes over far too soon,
And this shortest of days 
Descends into darkness.

This day has been a study in greys and black,
Skies dark, moods black, thoughts gloomy
How much longer?

And then in the evening,
A careful judgement of when to draw the curtains 
And lower the blinds
A longing to shut out the dark
But a reluctance to admit the light has finally gone.

And so I turn to those pretenders,
Low lights and candlelight 
Which mimic the sun
And bring some comfort and relief.

I am glad I know the light will come back,
That the light will always comes back,
Imperceptibly, longed for and waited for,
And so I close the curtains later every day 
And hope - no I believe.

Playing Pinball

Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.

My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.

The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.

But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.


Japan, 1968


Previous version published in Outposts, England

End Of August

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.
The odd uneven time—Sylvia Plath




End Of August
             
The end of August is oh so near                                                                                                     
Yet, another day of golden sun scorches 
Another day with ruby rays that sear
Wild brush burns like fiery torches
No not an exaggeration, a flambeau
Blistering heat blankets my tawny skin
Sweltering August, I bid you adieu
Foliage dry and brittle; sunken in     
Squinting eyes, blinded bright
Awaiting shadows that stretch and deepen                                                             
Sun flowers once vivid, lost in a haze of light
Autumn creeps in imperceptibly subtle, sublimely                                            
Ablaze are the arid western skies
The evening west's sun takes its time, rashly, untimely
Yellow aglow, settling sights of fires belies                  
Lingering sun setting its rouge rage lust 
Harbinger of the season to come 
Equinox heralds a sign,
in the end of August

Sand

Grains shed imperceptibly.
From my sand sculptures.
So they are always coming apart, slowly.
I like to build turtles.
And cats too.
I use sand first.
Then water.
Just enough water.
But water is fickle.
I must work fast, before the ocean calls the sand back into the water.
The sand becomes my art gallery.
My creations draw crowds for photos.
A cat, a turtle.
Flip flops, a car.
Whatever my mind decided on.
But the sea has decided something different.
It wants its sand back.
Like a person who left their keys on the counter.
The water will always come back.
For the sand that gives the ocean depth.

New Eyes

How did I not see this before?
The green of the trees
 with their cornucopia of shades
Layered and punctuated periodically
 with a unique dapple of light
Amid the litany of man's failing 
 concrete towers
The leafy giants stride imperceptibly 
 towards notoriety 
Saving the planet
 one gramme at a time
As the humans race past.
The leisurely somnambulants
 biding, stretching, organically
  rooted in their dancing
   to the alternate tune
    of Nature's longevity

Dusk

Lightly, almost imperceptibly,
dusk quiets and stills the day.

The brightness and youth
of morning vibrates with
exciting expectations
of unknown adventures
waiting to be discovered,
a reaching-out for the new,
the yet-to-be understood, 
surpassing the mind’s compass,
the boundaries and limits
of comprehension and imposition.

Time passes, a transmutation 
occurs, barely noticed.
The heat of the mid-day sun
exposes newly-discovered
experiences and passions
that subsume all days
with the present, the now, 
nothing more, nothing less,
in a momentary phase,
narcissism, an island in the sun.

In time, the sun loses its heat.
We breathe air cooled with a stir
of late afternoon breeze that
tempers passions and desires
and leads to a calmness of mind
with faint birdsong, the music
of rustling leaves and grasses,
and a contentment born of
experience, age, and wisdom
and the beauty of the evening. 

In the end dusk slips over the day
lightly, almost imperceptibly.

pillars of creation

               pillars of creation 
          
            obscured by darkness 
             an evolution of mass
                stellar nurseries 
             hydrogen helium gas
         no need for slap on the ass


The pillars look like arches and spires rising out 
of a bleak landscape, but are filled with semi-
transparent gas and dust, and ever changing, 
albeit imperceptibly so. This is a region of our 
galaxy where young stars are forming or have 
barely burst forth from their dusty cocoons as 
they continue to switch on and become fully 
fledged stars, some will be just like our own sun.

SFUMISTA da vinci

SFUMISTA 
Evaporating
  mist clears
dark
  to light
imperceptibly
blended
  en relief
in
soft contouds
ephemereal
aswww
  smoke

VANITIES-TRANSFORMATION

VANITIES
a pageant
an
 interaction
in
thedesired
  direction
distinguished
dazzling. &  radiant
elusive
  & shifting
overwhelming
with
a
potential
 shimmering
cloud
streaming
with
serene
  light


TRANSFORMATION
peerless
&monumental
in
   magnitude
a kind
  of desire
ego
 on conquest
to
diffuse
  light
a visible
facade
raw & exposed
so
original
&
anonymous
but
still
 intimate
&vulnerable
aspiring
enthusing
the complicit
to
imperceptibly
embellish
&
complicate
the
   posture

Faded

FADED

I was visible once
but now one of the forgotten ones.
I faded away slowly
imperceptibly,
like the once vibrant colour of blue jeans.
My edges frayed 
as I walked along the road of fleeting popularity.
I felt my fabric thinning
until I became comfortable.
It made me kinda cool in a way.
I was paired with shirts and sweaters
until a time later other clothes seemed better.
My holes became too noticeable,
instead of somewhat perceptible.
The day came
when I was just a bit out of style.
So you washed and folded me
carefully put me on a shelf.
After all, I was a favourite.
No one wants to throw a favourite away.
Right there in the closet I stayed,
next to all the pretty new things.
I waited
craving  the day 
you might wear me again.
But somehow,
things just are what they are.
Faded old blue jeans
inexplicably disappear.
If you ever do find them
you smile and remember
how they made you feel.
Sadly though,
when you try them on,
they just don't fit anymore.

Thankful For Our Home

May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.

Today I’m thankful for our house….
How over the years it has inherited our genes and chromosomes…
How gradually…
imperceptibly 
it became part of our family
It became…
our home

November Sun Day

Filaments of white creep imperceptibly across an innocently blue sky, like hopeful mycelial tendrils feeling tentatively into their embracing surroundings. 
Petite tufts of lightly dirtied cotton wool float affably by, unnoticing. 
The movement of passing birds is seemingly transformed in this sun, from the previous days of grey.
Small flocks of good mood frolic on the wind as the sunlight briefly catches on their speckled iridescence. While more modest individuals flit their cheerful glow across the world in equal lustre. 
Song and chatter dance in the air like sweet butterflies of sound. 
And ripening autumn leaves whisper their delight in an occasional mild atmosphereal caress.

Perceived Miracles

I walk in the door,
my dog is there to greet me,
wagging his tail furiously
whilst sniffing around my shopping bags

He has that suspicious, perplexed
look on his face ,
one I’ve seen so many times before

I know what he’s thinking:
how the hell do I regularly come home
with a fully cooked chicken in a bag,
Yet he cannot find so much as a stale roadkill
when I bring him for a walk?

I look back at him, incredulous too…
do you really think chickens
just immolate themselves,
then jump cooked
nice and juicy into a bag
for me to pick up along the street?

He’s still anxious and perplexed
as I dole out his share
Imperceptibly, our curiosity
and suspicion of each other evaporate,
as we polish off this beautiful creature

Soon I’m licking my fingers,
and the real miracle happens
when I say,
“Hey Siri! Put the TV on channel 8,”
and on comes the sports news

The dog too is thoroughly engrossed,
licking his — erm — himself.



# precious little words always say more ~ just never in the way we think #

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