Rain drums softly
on the little apartment roof,
thunder walks across the sky
like an ancient village festival drum.
Lightning blooms for a second,
silvering the lonely room.
Far from family,
far from familiar streets,
a young man sits by the window
with a cup of hot tea in his hand
and for the first time,
his loneliness does not feel empty.
It feels like life
quietly teaching him
how to become his own home.
What a lovely lamp,
not contemporary style,
from the good old days,
early Dachau I am told
it's very old, menschlich skin.
Poetry has flowed in my veins since writing in school
and I wanted to share my love like a bath in the pool
I would pen on paper to express the love from my heart
by creating a beautiful rhyme to give to my sweetheart
I would think so deep inside to present the words I used
singing those lovely praises of beauty and not abused
by writing alone gave to me so much enjoyment and peace
encouraged to follow wisdom by my father who is now deceased
even though he is not alive within my soul I silently share the pain
I continue to express my deep emotions of life to seek my gain
I learned that in moments of turmoil I must look for the light
to fight with all challenges and stand for what is right
Today with the world of poets at my side chasing after my dream
I can create a new poem like a bubble flowing in the stream.
The lava blobs have no fixed form,
Each rising, glowing in a surging storm.
They gather, swell, then they drift apart,
Ascending from a soft, warm, molten heart.
Each shining bloom appears by chance,
Like new romance in a fleeting dance.
No shape is promised, none can stay!
Yet every bloom brightens someone's day!
Lava lingers, oozes, slow and wise,
It never asks, nor wonders, reasons why.
It climbs with hope, then sinks with disgrace,
Leaving warmth well behind without a trace.
Its flow is mesmerizing to see,
Each pulse returns, yet differently.
Like waves that break upon a shore,
Or clouds that churn, billow, and soar.
Love, too, will swell, gently yield,
Reshaping all that lies below concealed.
It folds and melds, to find more space,
Surging in moments of brief borrowed grace.
No form can hold what hearts pursue,
Yet every change reveals something new.
Billowing, beyond what hands have caught,
Until the longing, finds the shape it sought.
Moth wings come by ...
Batting at the window screen,
To get in, they try and try
Where the light is seen
Afraid of the dark, are you?
Still, I cannot let you near,
No matter what you do
It is things like you I fear
Not that you can hurt me
Like a hornet when she stings,
I just do not want to be ...
Batted by soft, moth wings.
A cracked lamp
In the corner
of the room
How did it get there
Or was it already there
Was it you
that
knocked it
over
The other night
after your
tequila party,
We may never know
But the crack does
And will take this secret
To the garbage bin!!!
I am an old lonely bench,
waiting for you to come and sit.
I sit here waiting for you,
but you never show up.
The lamps brighten my nights,
as the dew sits in.
Soon it will be morning,
then I can watch the kids play.
and the Lord formed man
of the slime of the earth
and breathed into his face
the breath of life
and man became
a living soul
wonderfully made
with faculties to know
wrong from right
truth from lies
and freedom
to choose which side
until slime
returns to slime
and breath like dew
to the throne
of light
to give an account
how the coin of life
was invested in time
if sheep were gathered
in love
or scattered with fear
and slaughter
There is no wolves
in Paradise
Tormentingly on ahead
Teasingly in, out
Forest, vague forest, clear for
Life's guiding purpose.
Reflecting, whose good, bad trait
Hobgoblin's throughout.
Stick-hung, let's sway behind whom
But as one doth pose!
By moon and star and gondola lamp
High ranked Love energized.
Street-spotted, but for shame dim apprized
That whirled of sot and vamp.
Let my Lord help you pass the hopelessness
and wage battle against the demon
that forces blade to wrist.
Let Him lay you gently down
upon still waters and place softly
to your troubling mind, a kiss.
Let my Lord rise you from the mat you lay
that forces needle to vein.
Let Him heal what poison race through
your body to bring you close,
to where He reigns.
Do not thrash! Be quiet. Be still.
In the silence behold, the Lamp on a hill.
Let my Lord temper your evil thoughts against neighbors
who build rage and hate forcing
hand to gun.
Let Him gather forgiveness in abundance
which opens your fists and lessons the weight,
bringing understanding to why he hung.
Let my Lord place His hand over your troubled ears
that hears words from false prophets, demons and men
Let Him be your fortitude that calms your seas.
Start a prayer with Heavenly Father and finishes Amen.
Do not thrash! Be quiet. Be still
In the silence behold, the Lamp on a hill.
Like a lamp that never wane low,
She burns brightly where weary hearts find refuge;
Her flame gild the tears that overflow,
And turn to gold what pain would infuse.
Her laughter as light as summer rain,
Awakening spirits where shadows have long lain;
Her kindness like the first dawn ray,
Pursue the night and embrace the day.
Oh the gentle light, and blazing flame,
In thee, the warmth of Heaven’s heart is found;
Thy glow proclaims your glorious name,
A lamp of love where grace abounds.
In thee, God’s whisper finds place,
A still small song the angels hear;
Thou walk in love's eternal grace,
And spread joy afar and near.
Dedicated to my loving cousin, Alabi Sarah Shade
The day was turning to evening,
Dusk primed to play a short inning,
Worried, the sun was wondering…
Darkness shall ere long shroud the Earth,
Fains should this be my empty mirth,
Who’d ferry forth my duty’s worth?
Cautious, a clay lamp comes forward,
This may sound big mouth, vain a word
To light up all of the vast world,
But I feel sure, do my small worth
And perk up a patch upon Earth--
What I’ve done ever since my birth.
….
And watching all this I felt small:
My light within-- as oft I call,
What have I done with, if at all?
I love light but scarce keen to burn
And give light, gratefulness to earn,
Keen, away from duty to run.
______________________
Musings | 24.10.2025 | lamp, light, tercet
Note: The festival of light is being celebrated in India. But the traditional clay lamps of oil are increasingly getting forgotten and gaudily flashing eye-irritating electric lights take their place, and my thoughts reach out to clay lamps which have been doing a great job ever since early civilization.
vessel captivates
warm waxing finesse waning
more color less stress
glowing going with flowing
lugubrious globular!
vibrant pink guava
incandescent liquid groove~
pahoehoe lava
Lala land by the street lamp -
The lemon and lime raindrops
Land, one by one, on my tongue.
The flavors mix with the storm
And sugar cone; tangy cold
On my lips. Warmer with melt -
The sour savor of colors
And sip of rainwater muse.
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