Pontificating
words
of insignificance
and drought
Writing about
those things
no one
ever cares about
Eulogizing
abandoned
corners
where the lettered never go
A prisoner
of redundance
in a wasteland
— ill disposed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Last Chance
In between the shadows
of forgotten yesterdays
Light’s glimmer calling out to me
on bended knee I pray
— Two angels appear before me —
their arms are open wide
A glimpse of all eternity
— alive within their eyes —
Last chance to heed the Caller
last memory to ordain
Last chance to heed the Caller
— my destiny proclaimed
***
Your Servant
If I was granted one star
from the heavens
To illumine the very blackest
of days
In debt to the universe
but free of the dark
A servant I’d kneel
— celestial to pray
***
Lettered In Sound
Creating new music
inside of each word
Harmonic inscription
— to read and be heard
***
What Imagery Proffers
The deception of reality
lost in plain sight
What the eye often swears to
a mirage will requite
Sentience teases
with each sound and each smell
What imagery proffers
— and vision compels
(The New Room: May, 2026)
Curtsied respects
Nod's politeness
With the dressiness and dapper hat
That served them well
As ripped apart
As flung aside
Of lettered pride
Heart's own formal
Hailing displays.
Words, behind, hid. Themselves tender wrapped
In a pansy's
Ached ' think of me'
Urged sentiment.
Lost to time's scent!
TO MY WILLED EBONY WORD FLOWERS
Tolling bells are ringing,
And mission purpose
Grows to its physical end:
Spiritual nourishment willed:-
Those who sow
Wisdom’s navigation
Will pass on and die,
But their Epistles
Will remain sermonic lessons
To be learned and actualized:-
While their white,
Lettered paper, may yellow,
The inking will remain black;
Teaching those holy lessons:
Washing needed feet, surpasses
Bloody hand washings:-
Though death is inevitable,
Likewise, is the suppressed word
And the revelation of its enlightenment:
And though it may flow slowly,
It flows to the mind's deepest depth,
And its ascension of mind is limitless:-
May the coming tears for me,
Forever hydrate the word flowers
Who seeds I’ve sown and left behind:
That they and my spirit may bear fruits
With energizing juices, nourishing liberation.
Those Few
Everyone
is born unique
But many die
as clones
Lost of promise
Grace endowed
With joy bereft
a drone
Everyone
His image shared
Till falling
from the Light
Beatific
Vision lost
Alone
— to face the night
(The First Book Of Prayers: February, 2026)
From The Maelstrom
We are
separate
We are
distant
We are
many
— we are one
From the
cities
From the
country
From the
maelstrom
— we become
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
So Close And Yet ...
Feasting on the
lettered law
Abandoning
its spirit
Crippled by
the sanctioned rules
Afar
— when we’re so near it
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
In The Offing
Poetry
is the weight training
of writers
Building new couplets
each musing
reweighted
Lactic
endowment
new pain in old phrasings
Success
in the offing
— as writing expands
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
She and I were in the gym
We wanted to practice
Sunset flips.
We talked about the
Usage of chemical to ensure
A protective shield in the
structure of automation.
We said sumthangs bout salt
and started talking about using a solar. Generator for her canada-project. She said her
Uncle was a hip guy in New Foundland
A hand at farm or sumthangs. She likes hiphop.
I told her "you kay/ you cay" was center in four lettered words. We laughed. Her butler and maid heard us. At me house the guitars are guitars. The songs always needs strangs, those marvolous thangs keeps us-ah-going. But at her house, she's Madam Thang, her need for money keeps her ah-whoring!
What is a decent kind pussy wanting fella to do?
shadows reek of turpentine
scarlet-lettered trespass sign
fences dangle off the hinge
matted cobwebs festive fringe
spiders dance on abused toys
murderous crows' ghastly noise
unseen faces give you pause
rebel souls without a cause
unfriendly lot, wise be warned
you now living, the unmourned
leave us ghosts to haunt in peace
that your mind retains its lease
I broke rules from the time I cut my hair,
leaning in to not fitting in their box.
Smart but the nerdy music was wrong,
I was rebellious in a preppy kind of way.
Lettered in theatre got my star singing,
but never contemplated buying a jacket.
Free spirited hung out with the wild kids,
but I wouldn’t be caught dead smoking.
Never accepted by the popular cliques,
I found the stage and then a community.
Dove into performing with my hair on fire,
it set me free and became my security.
The choir girl, a rebel, the writer, a nerd.
Take a slice of each, all of them were me.
The blank field is a whitewashed wall
between
eyes and incipient thought.
A neatly printed line
emerges out of nothing,
fingers sleep
as they plant words in inky rows.
Meaning searches for meaning,
each symbol is a cracked seed
shed from a blacked-out window -
brain particles blindly seeking.
There is meaning here,
but it is as yet formless,
what is seen is slough and spillage,
mind-molt
struggling into an appearance
of notion and idea.
Now the word is flesh, a glossolalia,
a mute speaking in tongues, yet
breathless of any spirit.
At once the painted parody of self
is free to wriggle forth,
to sew and bind together
discernable images,
it must surface above the silent page,
lift up the emblematic
as the hammer-arm
of the insubstantial, until deciphered
by other necromancers
who then speak
for the dead-voiced word.
This then is the tipping point:
the space between sight and seen,
a place to speak into existence
the once immaterial
or surrender all coherence
to the un-lettered reticence of God.
Remind me, Lord, how blessed I am!
I have no disease, from which to fear.
Nor, do I live to be a winning poet!
I am just average, and I do know it.
A family outstanding, fills my heart with joy.
A grandchild, off with honors, to University!
A Varsity-lettered, humbled, grown boy!
Remind me, Lord, how blessed I am!
I outlived a most dreaded, deadly, disease..
Let me live each day, full of gratitude!
Spare me the sin of writing, lazy platitudes.
Above all, like you, teach me how to forgive.
And with compassion, with joy, everyday to fully live!
Not to take, but with a joyous heart, to fully give!
She lives her love day by day
with all that is feminine
a touch,kiss or knowing look
concern,red-lettered in her book
Particular to detail
self-sacrifice a routine
as she walks the extra mile
ever ready with a smile
The days news eager to hear
her wise counsel,stills a fear
open arms brings her love near
her warmth dries a child's tear
Patience to give herself,time and again
soft and beautiful and feminine.
| Year Posted 2010
You live your love day by day
with all that is feminine,
a touch,kiss or knowing look,
concern,red-lettered in your book;
Particular to detail
self-sacrifice a routine,
as you walk the extra mile,
ever ready with a smile;
The days news eager to hear,
your wise counsel,stills a fear
open arms your love brings near,
your warmth dries the childish tear.
Patience to give of yourself,time and again
so soft so beautiful your hearts's refrain
Can a girl be so in love?
All thoughts revolve around what lies beneath those brown curls
Listening close for any mention of his name
Every chance she gets, she’ll speak of him
Be it his deep brown eyes or the way he makes her feel
Carefully she studies each detail, each crease of his skin
Any thought in his mind or feeling in his heart
Lovely is the word she would use
“Everything about him is just so lovely”
Beyond infinity is how vastly she cares for him
C - the first letter of his name
A name so fond in her heart
Like a bird to her nest
Emily calls him her home
Because no one has ever made her feel so safe
C
A
L
E
B
The first person to write of his love to her in letters.
Writing the words
imprisoning the words
Lettered confinement
—frozen in time
(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)
Came along when six-lettered spring,
Four-lettered koel came to sing—
Song of octaves’s haunting Fifth Note
That set musical piece afloat,
One single note, full melody,
Summer no more a tragedy.
Peacock when came regaled the scene,
The monsoon making earth lush green.
The seven letters of hot June
Boosted up tonic’s subtle tune,
On earth spread four letters of love,
Its echo reached the space above,
The lower half over the earth,
In space the upper finding berth.
The rains when thawed hot agony,
What a melodious euphony!
_______________________________________
Musings |03.01.2023| monsoon, music
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