pt 3 of quaternion
Autumn's
long evenings
long hours
after sunset
in the play of moonlight
a celebration
a small feast
a gesture
of sharing prevails
a time to refresh&
relax
in humble
leisure
free
from anxiety
with one who is loved
a trusted confidant
indulged
serene&irreproachable
old&retired
acutely aware
of the ups&owns of
life
the vain entanglements
worldly trivialities
once dedicated
now weary
regrets
at time passing
nostalgic
once memories
unveiled
with gestures
of kindness
interleaved
in expectation
prodigious wit
in unlikely stories
of hilarity unfolded
refreshing
to savour
once again
the only noise
the voice of the past
in
uncertain transience
vain yearnings
the profusion
of contrasted
in the
multitudinous
colour-filled
world
of
yesterday
mosaic
of prose
&poems
interleaved
intense
obtuse
oblique:
an epic
satire
in words
of a place:
beauty
&poverty
its elemental
character,
a reality
of restraint
&impotentcy
expressed
in
a language
of
variable feet,
a shift
of style
in
fragments
of
three:
a winter
of
death
before death..
a
polluted
river...
stagnates
and yet...
....see
a green
branch buds
from an
old tree
with vitality:
a
change
in mood
rather
than measure...
...love and
...imagination...
the essence
of life
Two trees side by side
Leaves danced together once, interleaved
In the music of the spring air,
All dry and fallen now, uncared.
Branches reached out once, entangled,
Tenderly caressed the blooming flowers,
All broken and bent now, unembraced.
In the twilight gleam
The cracked trunks still glow,
The enmeshed roots not yet dry
Hold each other close, unseen,
Brace the face of storm, they turn into mural wood.
Two figures stand, you and me,
In the falling light of the setting sun,
Become the dust of the golden days,
Covered by decades of togetherness
Don’t blow now in the winter breeze.
The embracing arms once warm and agile
Now petrified by time, unsaught.
Love in the twilight colors still glitters
In the crevasses of our wrinkled faces,
The entwined hearts not yet old
Pulsate to the music of youth, undisrupted,
In life's symphony, we turn into violin.
May 2, 2018
It's all in the mind to be remembered,
Layers in time to be rediscovered.
Memories are vivid colours, either
Good or bad, like shiny specks spread through time,
Permeating and embossing a life.
Pause and consider, it's all in the mind.
Hidden deep and quiet, you can fall
Through a hole in your own reality,
Seeking to rescue tenuous treasures
From the deep pockets of experience.
These live on in the darkness, though pockets
Age into holes, but it's all in the mind.
The mind is a dark, untidy cupboard
To be sorted out on a rainy day,
Just very gently. Its recesses hold
The memories of a lifetime in trust,
Carefully interleaved with the days
From the beginning. It's all in the mind.