The rustling of leaves interplays with the ocean breeze,
as traces of moonlight escape through blackout curtains hanging from steel rods.
Bolts of illumination highlight stacks of books caked in dust,
while a man, decrepit with age, sits on a worn auburn-coloured leather chair.
His balding hair is grey from years of turmoil.
Wrinkles lay heavy, nestled deep within his face,
exposing the fragility in his demeanor.
Placed before him: stark white paper and a singular obsidian pen.
Removing his wire-thin spectacles, he wipes them gingerly with his nightshirt
and returns them safely to perch on his sunken cheeks.
Ruminating words flood through his mind
as he picks up the pen with his slender fingers.
The grandfather clock approaches three in the morning to the left of him,
reminding him that time is not on his side.
Scribbling fragments of what he can remember on the paper,
his last will and testament begins to unfold—
final wishes interwoven with untold life stories.
Loneliness weighs heavy in his heart
as the wavering flames of his existence extinguish
with his concluding pen strokes.
musings
past & present
linger long
perspective
changes all
mellowness
of memory
gathering
dust
brooding
in
a contemplation
so
vulnerable
in thought
unsure in deed
fear interplays
with
unsaid concerns
slip
into the shallows
still-born
perpetually
reciprocates
inner yearning
grows
a seminal paraphrase
I saw
an image blue
a memory
fleeting yet true,
awaiting me
to portrait
I tried
to re-capture
this dream,
reality's
not how it seems,
it flows & ebbs
as morning mist
frustration
streams out
soundless sighs
forever lost
this unique insight
when suddenly
I start to write
Without narrative,
isolated as is moments
of figuration..
sunlight on the side of a wall
frozen in time
conversations
of unheard voices
stillness & paradox..
a welcome
to the world
come inside..
to reside.. to commune.
interplays
of imagination..
soundless tunes..
emblematic silences..
symbolism saturated
with suggestion.
Soft realism
where an inner life slowly cries..
gestates.
to lay forever on canvas..
the whole answer..there...
before our eyes
graceful anonymous
A panorama
on first sight
and yet..there but
perhaps
not! A perpetual
leaves
our imagination
to unfurl the knot
Awareness,articulated,emphasises inherent intimacy,communicated eye to eye.
everchanging yet underlying the movement here and there.Engraved forever,catalogued in human memory,available on recall.Translucent interplays of light,figuration in transition,precise palpitations of pure delight sound in the beholders ear.Testaments of th transparent,and the temporal,all too soon
evaporates before the eye.
Consciousness is the scintillating blaze
alive on a smoldering log,
a flame emergent from complex interplays
of biology and environment.
Consciousness is greater than the cumulative
elements from which it is produced,
a roving free-form swirling cloud,
a wandering storm over the latest landscape.
Consciousness is always emergent
like an undulating flock of birds.
like the windswept grains of sand dunes.
Consciousness is collectively aware,
a normative quest linked to community survival,
a reaching within for a larger knowing.
Our God may be a force outside time and space,
a consciousness of collective consciousnesses,
a vast power offering the ethics of our survival,
an emergent property of our collective minds.
Tinges of radiant images drift through my mind,
as the gas light blinks with the harlequin moon, squinting
around edges of fragile reveries when
such fascination of now begins to unfold:
And nightfall’s hours plead for replays
while I hover in limbo from a trance--
My entire being focused on this singular instance ,
pouring secrecy of thoughts, raw and fresh.
Long the gazes outlining a visual language --
these interplays between a rail of young stars
and cotton candy clouds on an eveningscape...
until my very essence savors a north wind
fondling my cheeks where an astral travel with breaths
discover mystical Orion-- perhaps galaxies
unknown by any name: Then at this moment,
every quiver, each rhythm, all free movements,
time's rare stillness honors an existence
grounded in present tense, on fire.
In Moment of Time
7/25/2018
Short weekends and long weekdays
School’s out then it’s onto résumés and workdays
Mondays dragging on through to Fridays
Long commutes on highways, subways and tramways
Toiling for okays, some praise and hopefully a raise
Soirees and negligees for Saturdays
Aspiring to bouquets so enchanting in a vase
Before you know it’s on for matinees on Sundays
Enjoying soufflés, sorbets, sundaes and parfaits
Eyeing the calendar for paydays
As well as birthdays, holidays and getaways
But nowadays, as retirees, we have our days
And often we just graze in haze almost a daze
Where Tuesdays look no different than Thursdays
To paraphrase it’s our final phase when interplays
In many ways the sweet nostalgia of yesterdays
AP: 3rd place 2020
Posted on March 13, 2018
AN ECLECTIC ENIGMA 5
Awareness,articulated,emphasises inherent
intimacy,communicated eye to eye.
Everchanging yet underlying the movement
,here and there.Engraved forever,catalogued
in human memory,available on recall.
Translucent interplays of lght,figuration in
transition,precise palpitations of pure delight
sound in the beholders ear.Testaments of
transparent,and the temporal,all too soon
evaporates before the eye.
Inspired by Jim Ede’s collection of artworks
Hear me recite this series on youtube under pen name ichthyschiro
PHRASIS STREAMS part 1
Brooding,a pensive contemplation
vulnerable in thought,unsure in deed,
fear interplays with unsaid concerns.
Crestfallen,tearfully blue,opportunity
slips into the shallows,a temperament
still-born,a memorial of stone,dated
&surreal.Unable to relate,this failure
impacts all around and perpetually
reciprocates as inner yearning grows.
This need to belong,a seminal paraphrase
a lesson,unlearning self-conceit.
from my Streams of Consciousness 2003
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro