Long Gestates Poems

Before there was a world or a word 
there was unfathomable loneliness
in the gaseous expanse of pin pricked night
an infinite course of vibrations, sound
nascent, coalescing,  gestating,
until planets ripening birthed with souls.

There was only the...

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In the womb of night, we contemplate
the dawn of the day when we shall all be free
of the mind games played to put the liberty
of countless generations of us on hold:-

The chrysalis moments of the...

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Introspection 

suspends in dark blue amnion
as rainwater blooms a reflection pool
an oasis of energy for contemplative embryo;
in stillness I grow.. my pulse a flowing stream of raindrops 
my body  the rhythm maker  ...

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I think on Sunday when it rains 
And the print stains on my fingers, 
Profiled whorls of black and pink 
Whilst the dishes fill the kitchen sink 
And the scent of burning lingers. 

An avalanche...

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In the interlude between breaths,
silence hangs like a ripe fruit,
heavy with unspoken histories.

Here, in this moment's hush,
the world writes itself anew —
each atom a calligrapher's brush.

Silence: not absence, but presence
distilled to its purest form,
a language...

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After: Harlequin’s Carnival by Joan Miro, 1925.PD 
After: Bing Crosby - Swinging On A Star (1944)

I try to apply colors like words that shape poems, 
like notes that shape music.  - Joan Miro

Listen to...

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Imagine walking cross a sunset,
with the wind beneath your feet
In see thru satin laced in corsets
as I kiss and lick your sweets
Like water gently I surround you
wetting you from head to toe
Seducing all your thoughts...

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Love can be a kindling or cool water for war,
it can douse a tinder, or fuel an uproar;
freedom to express is such that one’s voice
ennobles or offends, there’s always a choice.

War gestates in a greedy...

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IT IS WHAT IT IS an Ekphrasis
Without narrative, isolated as is
moments of figuration..
sunlight on the side of a wall..
frozen in time..conversations of
unheard voices.
Within, stillness and a paradox..
a welcome to the world to come 
inside.. to...

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METAPHORS OF SILENCE a hopper ekphrasis
it is 
    what it is
without narrative
isolated
    moments
       of figuration
sunlight 
       ...

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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...

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The Showing—2015 
(Apropos an Exhibition of the Times)

The hand of time paints
Upon the canvas of fleeing life;
Each stroke, a unique highway traveled.
Choices of both happiness and strife,
Chasing unanswered complaints:
Leaving weary twisted minds raveled. 
Faith hangs...

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it is 
    what it is
without narrative
isolated
    moments
       of figuration
sunlight 
        on a wall
frozen 
 ...

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it is 
    what it is
without narrative
isolated
    moments
       of figuration
sunlight 
        on a wall
frozen 
 ...

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She is the liquid night
The fluid obsidian chalice
She engulfs me

Her breath is frangipani
It is the air I breathe
She permeates me 

In her starlit vision
In her saltiness
She inspires me

She is in lahara
The gifts she bares
She subdues...

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Day now past, duties done as best I may,
the rest to be left for another day.
With TV off all is quiet. No one rings.
So with all closed down this precious time brings
thoughts and ideas emerging...

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Who defends us, hollow husks?
Whose body shields our start?
Whose open womb gestates heart?
Are Mother’s, Natures tarts?

What mortal faith denies our grace,
Our tenacity, our verve?
What mortal or immortal Man? defines us?
What progeny has SUCH nerve?

When did...

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