My heart's at half-mast for dear Molly McGee
Who was drawn and quartered and buried at sea
They thought her a temptress, known only to me
Convicted of mischief and skulduggery
So, I dropped to my knees and prayed to the Lord
Tho, devout as I was, my prayers were ignored
I bowed to the Captain, I begged and implored
But watched my dear Molly, get dumped overboard
Then I shouted her name and jumped in the sea
And followed the body of Molly McGee
Two lovers united, where hearts can be free
Our souls are now mingled, my Molly and me
On a day in Autumn where path of memory leads,
and the heart grows heavy with loss.
Fancy a look up to the dance of the falling leaves
that once intertwined and mingled
among yours.
Though a cold has crept in and dampened the soul,
leaves that've grown tired turn the color of hearth and fire,
only to fall to earth.., yet with purpose and promise
from all that grows old.
One day Spring will return them to you
in forests of green,
tinged with all the colors of youth.
Winds blow cold through a barren landscape,
yet memory waits patiently for the return
of those we once knew.
Where leaves fall, look up!
to branches' wide reach
there perhaps you'll find the truth.
Spinning with outstretched arms parched and dried
a sigh in a downward climb..,
the fallen leaves
always remember their youth.
early morning dew
fresh linen mixed with cotton
mingled with nights sex
A song piqued my curiosity
I wonder what you are doing in Heaven today
Sometimes I feel you are so close
Other times you seem farther away
Farther away (I mean of the day you went away)
(I do also mean how far Heaven is away)
But mingled in each thought
Are the memories of which I fraught
In the places I pass remembering our walks and talks
Talks of everything under the sun
These thoughts come rushing in every time I go for a run
So, what are you doing in Heaven today?
Did you wake up late or did you get to sleep in?
Have you met and talked to anyone famous?
I have so many questions, where do I begin?
Are there flowers there, how about hours?
Are there colors and possibilities we’ve not seen?
Are the day-to-day happenings
Like the things we’ve seen on a movie screen?
Please know that I am doing okay
Even though Earthly life looks like a horror flick
I’ll keep trudging on in and with my reveries
Even so Lord Jesus come quick
Every time in Paltan Bazar,Guwahati
I see a mingled life :
From North Each hill states
And mainland’s far off strand.
Arunachal Pradesh,Manipur,Meghalaya
Mizoram,Nagaland-
All join the throng,
Along with Tripura and Assam
By train,bus and aeroplane.
People mainly from North East arrive there
Coming to Guwahati
Or to go to different parts of India.
They are of different castes,
tribes and creed,
With varied tongues and customs
Side by side
or one after another
Like different flowers
Each bringing a petal -
Fragrance,colour,grace.
And Paltan Bazar seems a living art
A market of hues
Mainly from North East
Beautiful and loving.
Reflecting
Lost to the world
I stand at the shores edge
As the crisp blue waves
with white laced edges
gently touch the sand
beneath my feet
and gently breath
first slowly in
then slowly out
bringing with them small gifts
valuables once lost
Now shaped by rhythms
of tumbling and churning
Reshaping according to time
Often now collected
as sea weathered fares - distressed
Just as sea glass twinkling
like new jewels
A treasure in the making
My thoughts come back
to the sounds and scents
of a nearby beach barbecue
Sausages bacon - smoked
Sizzling under the sun
Spitting with the heat
These mingled with a greasy aroma
of hot buttered onions
ready for hot dogs
or english breakfast maybe
Who knows
But the expectant crowd were happy
Each eagerly playing their part
in preparing the feast
Just like everyone else
Ready to place
One foot ahead of the next
And step into the day
Taking on each challenge it brings
One by one
Bringing in the new
Letting go of the old
Rhythm of life
Akin to the sea
When knowledge fades, the fables fill our halls:
So truth is mingled with a fancied bird
That candlelight outlines on homely walls.
What once was held as fact was slowly blurred,
And time and wit combined to mend its shred,
And stitch it clean to an embroidered past;
Each of our fathers took on him the thread,
To weave the raiment fair that it may last.
For naked truth is loathsome to the eye:
It needs the gaudy dye and glinting light,
Lest it be cast away as 'twere a lie.
Yet by such lies forgotten days grow bright,
For a clear sight of yesteryear is lost;
But glory ever came at shameful cost.
Silent Escape
A light breath of wind refreshes his skin,
and the sun slowly fades away.
His gaze wanders through a violet-pink sky,
where faded clouds drift along.
Offering himself to the slow magic of the day,
the shades glide in harmony.
Silence lays a veil upon the shapes of the world,
evaporating in soft rising vapour.
He whirls, lost among immaterial beauties,
given to the immensity of space.
He lets himself be carried, his thoughts diluted in the clouds,
breathing in the sweetness of escape.
Then he drifts, guided by the mingled light of colours,
feeling weightless in the absence of sound.
It is not a dream nor an illusion,
but the quiet force of the reader who forgets himself.
To escape for a few moments…
into mute abysses where the sky glows and remembers.
— Joël Charvillat
Nervously I wonder if
I’m better than what’s passed–
Surely thou must think so now,
At least while thou shalt last.
And though my standards be quite high,
(Considering my art not vast),
The tests I’ve conjured–fast and strict–
Save but one–you’ve passed.
With strangers whom thou mingled be,
Doth thou reminisce?
And when thou art holding me,
Yet are they still missed?
Couldst thou be a honey bee,
Which passes with one sting,
Or rather likened shouldst thou be
To resilient wasps on wing?
And even if thou be’st that wasp,
As kindly as thou seem,
Thou sting’st as a naughty knave,
And made those two girls scream.
Passed around you sadly seem
To this girl who’s firm and chaste;
But if thou can prove’st to me
You’re wiser now–steadfast–
I’d look past your transgressions
And look not to the past.
Ebullient emotion, the designer of dreams,
searched for the sense of the futile feeling.
As it mingled enthralled
with the aura of my twilight zone,
my mind merged with the notion of obscurity,
emotion searched enthralled for aura of mind.
‘Inspired by’ : A Poem For You, posted at PS on May 10, 2024.
Living in the concrete jungle of the city’s thermal island
My five senses were stifled to almost lifeless and bland.
To perceive if all of them are still lively and working or not
I went from the city to the luring lap of nature I nearly forgot.
I trekked in the high Himalaya along the Tista river valley
Floating fragrance of spring flowers I smelled enthralled me.
The murmur of cascading streams on rolling boulders I heard
Pristine nature’s sound of music mingled with the song of bird.
The clumps of cloud curled up the valley soaking the green
My body mellowed at their soft touch seeping through skin.
Up above tree canopy the clouds melted in cool crystal rain
The drops were like elixir of heaven my taste buds still retain.
The crimson sun painted gold on Kanchajangha peak at morn
Beguiled and awed, I saw the Himalayan splendor being born.
I was then hovering in the gorgeous feeling of grand ecstasy
And realized content my five senses still survived within me.
On the edge of something
language hadn’t been invented yet
to describe what I was seeing,
the horizon whispered secrets,
color drenched in honey and twilight,
where shadows danced like old friends,
smiles and sighs mingled
in the liquid air.
The sky was a canvas,
not of stars, but of ideas,
shapes that bent and folded
like dreams never quite dreamed,
a tapestry woven with possibility.
I reached out, fingertips grazing
the pulse of something new,
unfurling,
tender like a first breath,
heavy with silence,
swelling with wonder.
Time stretched in soft arcs,
each moment a petal unfurling,
the world a chorus of visions,
where mountains cradled the sun,
and rivers carried laughter
in their swift embrace.
I stood, suspended,
on the cusp of discovery,
heart racing in rhythm
with the melody of the unseen,
the unsaid.
In that space, I was lost
and found,
a witness to the unspoken,
to the edge of language,
waiting to be born.
I stopped and stared as saw him from a far
As he was getting out of his fancy sports car
My heart skipped and felt my body tingle
I knew I must try to meet him and mingle
I followed him into a vintage antique store
A store full of eclectic treasures and more
I was right behind him as he held the door
I smiled as he winked, not sure what’s instore
I decided to try and search for my collections
Old cookie, jars, antique prints with no imperfections
I found an old Currier & Ives cat print that is rare
Brought it to the front desk, set in an old armchair
I heard a man behind me ask if I collect many antiques
It was him, from the car, as I turned with flushed cheeks
I told him I do love to shop at antique shops and mingle
He is so handsome, friendly and hopefully very single
He asked if I would like to join him at the coffee shop
It was a fun day as we shopped and mingled nonstop
That was our first date before I became the love of his life
Today we’re back, celebrating twenty years of being his wife
“Like the river that mingles with the sea, we move quietly towards the ultimate source when our restless journey comes to a halt to commence a new life of peace and ease” ~ By Poet
With a mighty roar
and blasting winds,
the rains ravaged the earth
in feverish frenzy
gushing forth in torrents.
Soaked to bones
the trees stood trembling.
The rain water
began flowing in clear streams.
It flowed down,
mingling with the river.
The river carried it
with a lilting lullaby.
holding the rain water in her bosom.
Winding down through
valleys all along,
the river mingled with the ocean
waiting with open arms.
No need to roam again
as its journey is over
and it has finally found its home!
Isn’t our life like a river?
Through struggles and sorrows,
we rush alone, restless
looking for a resting place
until we mingle and merge with our source
never lost, but swimming into new life
as the night mingles with the day!
"Fishin' for a good time starts with throwin' in your line" ~ Tom Waits
Why is it that I'm still single?
Is it because I don't like to mingle?
Or, maybe I just don't know how.
And, so it is that now,
after all these eons, at this ancient age,
I'm alone on life's fickle stage.
Mingling has advantages - it's true.
That's what musical instruments do.
A guitar, alone, will sadly strum
until it's joined by a lively drum.
And peanut butter makes a good mix
when it pairs with celery sticks.
So, if, by some surprising chance,
you see me at a party or a dance,
as I stumble here, and stammer, there,
I'll ask you to join me to get some air,
and say, "I think you're cute and stuff.
Have we mingled here enough?"
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