The old clock ticks
In the silence
Of an empty room
A laborious
Tick…tick….tick
An almost unheard
Meshing of its gears
It loses
A few minutes a week
I reset it
Wishing
That I could regain
Those
….lost
……minutes
Everyone knows
how the story goes
when down in the meadow
without his horse-drawn dray
the wheat farmer and his dog
had quite the fun-filled field day
altho' no longer spanking-new
but with all gears meshing
he had his combine harvester
give the crop a damn good threshing
Sundial numerals illuminate
Knowing noon narrow shadow arrow strikes
Flicks ‘round corners of maze elaborate
Heraldic daffodil, dormant out psychs
Lion, amber assured stride resolute
Teams beside mine, admires canter cloud bounce
Trembled meshing manes make brushstrokes astute
Abstract turns apparent, rewound amounts
Labyrinth lane secures our fears slumbering
Canary chortle performs audacious
Honey wine celebrates when Summer brings
Walls torched in lofty laughing blazes
Flung flaxen, fertile wheat fields’ wispy waltz
Scorched xanthe seeds multiply dream results
24th July
Yellow Leo
Have you ever paused to skim a stone,
Seeing the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven to a place unknown,
Meshing technology, wanderlust and law?
Have you ever danced with your own,
Moved by rhythm, play and gladness?
Has ever a moment’s passion shown
You your part in the infinite pool of being?
What string of happenstance brought you, alone
To here, this spot, reading this?
Whatever your answers, whatever their tone,
They matter not a jot!
What matters is that you have grown,
Feeling joy as part of the infinite intricacy;
Delight that the universal tapestry has been thus sewn.
Have you ever paused to skim a stone
And considered the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven a car to an new place in an unknown country
And been awed by the meshing of technology, wanderlust and law that made it doable?
Have you ever seen a dance with partners intertwined to music
And pondered on the reasons why?
Have you ever had a moment of passion that lead to your own addition to the global gene pool
And marvelled at that coincidence of impulses?
Have you ever contemplated the string of happenstance that led you, to be here,
In this very spot, reading this?
Whatever your conclusions, they matter not a jot.
What matters is your wonder
And feeling of joy in being just a tiny part of this infinite intricacy;
Delight in this universal tapestry of unending motion.
A polished metal skeleton
gleams under a porch light.
He slides a silver tube
beneath skinny legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
meshing gears rattle,
knees unlock.
He rides by night.
A dynamo flickers
as head bent,
he powers up hill and down.
He will not stop
until he gets to her parents’ home.
He arrives panting,
one window is still lit,
he imagines it’s her window.
He feels the gut hollowing sorrow
of young unrequited love.
At school
she barely acknowledges him.
When he has caught his breath
he turns the bike around
and rides back into the dim
lamplit streets.
The night rider cycles on.
He will ride again
until his bike is stolen.
Inside the season
behind a warehouse
the wind got away
The cause was dark
beyond those trees
I rode away
I saw the moon block out the sky
Facing eastern winds
I sought the harvesters
meshing an epiphany for St George
both in our separate worlds
and when fall fell upon us
destinies coming together
our hearts collided
our lives meshing as one
AP: 3rd place 2022
Morey Mouse made merry,
Mollifying Mallory’s Mama,
Maybe mixing mammoth metaphors
Marvelously mystical, Marmaduke mimed
mingling, meshing, ‘mogrifying magical mites,
Measuring muskrats minding miniature minnows
Meddlesome merrymakers, Mr. Mumbsly mentioned, miffed.
Mesmerized minions made millions, merely making mincemeat.
Mediocre maybe, magnificent Mrs. Mumps meticulously mentioned.
Whirr! Clank! Buzz! Clunk!
The gears of my brain seize up,
No longer meshing.
No inspirations, no images appear.
No lofty thoughts, ideas
Tumbling over each other waiting
To be brought to life.
No stream of poetic impulses flourishes,
No silver verbs or round nouns
Slipping into space and place.
Just rusty fits and starts
That produce only empty noise.
Where in my mind is the slipped cog,
That word, the missing tooth,
The slippery oil of sibilant syllables
To lubricate the machinery?
Perhaps here, by diligence
I can search and find the missing part.
I’ll sit and write and write and write
Whatever comes to mind.
Words, words, words, words
That might break free the rusty wheels
And release syllabic oil to restore
That free-wheeling flow
Of passion, wonderment, and awe.
That play of script
That once poured forth so strong
From easy mesh of imagination
With its sister, reality.
So gears, set to your work.
Turn together in perfect sync
To change my dusty prose to poetry.
how she longs to escape
carefree pack a bag
leaving all behind
hop on a train and run
straight into the arms
that hopefully long for her
as if she really dares
be transported by visions
of flambéed passion
not really knowing if
she too fills his daydreams
with lustful longings
does she haunt his nights
so he too fights desires that rattle
and deprive his sleep
does he secretly long to possess her
feverishly amorously
the way a lover should
she didn’t go looking for him
they somehow found each other
their lives meshing intertwining
her heart seeming ripe
for a train ride to adventure
and long distance romance
AP: 2nd place, Honorable Mention 2021
my love, i feel you with me more than ever
interlocked in a meshing of the souls
we're 'we' and together carry on as one
through what remains of this journey
with a mission to live every moment
to pursue passion and love each bite
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
the me gets lost
in the vastness of the you
a drop in the ocean
meshing in harmony
symbiotic the stillness
at the heart of my storm
I give in and feel the power
in unity with our universe
silence flows through me
with the galaxies’ secrets
lifetimes cycling and recycling
orchestrated breaking and merging
the crests of waves as one
in continuous motion of life and death
one day we will wake from this dream
and reunite on the other side
illusion is time on a continuum
I let go and I am
I let you go and there I find you
closer to me than ever
AP: 1st place 2021
Submitted on June 22, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (JUN 23) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
I step outside and enter into morning
just before the sun,
the first petals of new blossoms are forming,
sunrise has begun.
A quiet, furtive breeze bends flower stems
a rustles fragile leaves,
soon several rays of sunlight descend
through frigid, dew-soaked trees.
Sun continues rising and darkness retreats
to surface shadows,
sleepy flower faces and droopy limbs reach
for warmth to swallow.
I sigh, and tepid air pours
into my lungs, it is refreshing,
the smell of maple and pine
among this fragrant meshing!
When light fades into night, one becomes the night,
conversing in silent language, one feigns no fright,
one hums gentle hymns to bring the dark to heaven,
assumes a child’s innocence like bread with leaven.
How alive illusions are when one feels no pain,
leaves rustling in the wind let dreams go down the drain.
But reality pierces memory, forgets
not the face loved in innocence without regrets.
To close one’s eyes from viewing sunsets, reduces
innocence and wonder that nature seduces -
landscapes meshing green on gold when sunlight sparkles-
beauty strengthens the heart to bear hurts it hurdles.
One asks of fate if all these were just mere charade
like crescent puffs of dust blown off in life’s parade -
dancing to the flow of waters in gurgling streams,
mocking facade of innocence, betrayed it seems.
@jjote 011021
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