Mingles Poems

LULLABY

LULLABY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
lulled by languid lullabies
leaves lay light, lost in dreams
morning mist mingles muted
whispers of warmth woven in web of the soul

A Bullet With Yesterday's Date

In sepia tones, the echoes twist and sway,
When shadows stalk the moments lost to time,
A spectral dance where ghosts of youth hold sway,
Their laughter mingles softly with my rhyme.

Each birthday brings the weight of fleeting light,
As innocence drifts gently into night;
The storms of change laugh cruelly from afar,
While memory rides the mist—a faded star.

Oh, how I miss the cradle songs once sung,
Now haunting whispers cling to heart and bone,
In dreams I walk through halls where laughter sprung,
Yet find a stranger gazing back—alone.

In chasing shadows, I must reckon fate:
Can love transcend? Or must we carry weight?

Next, Next, Stop

Standing on a rusted platform,
I look towards the looming, tarnished steel clock,
Ticking away my final moments of existence.
Oceanic eyes swell with liquid salinity
As a hollowing whistle booms in the close distance.
The scent of petrol mingles with midnight paranoia.
Placing a shaking hand upon my vibrating chest,
I can detect the trembling of a trepidatious heart,
Whilst the monstrous whistle is getting louder now—
Signaling the next, next stop: ruination.

Pulling up, two ghastly doors creak open,
Heralding me towards finality.
Stepping inside, all that surrounds is a blazing fog,
Like some surrealistic, dreamy haze
Engulfing my every gasping breath.
Choking on the ashes of all the sins
I have branded onto loved ones’ flesh,
I slam to the floor as the tempo of the train accelerates,
Jolting over a swinging bridge,
Taking my corrupted spirit
Over a modern-day River Styx.

Confess, Corn Flakes!

You know her
You feel she mingles in your reason in rhythm
Not with your possible pain of angina in arrhythmia 
She is a calm serenity prayer
that knows your tear and that needs to run down on your smile lines
she is a kitchen cookie baking sheet
tracing paper cyan heed
never a plotter, never a san Juan never a San Francisco

But she is there too, with things on the verge of unsayable , she is there, too!
not to announce i am possible
but to possibly remind
even an ounce meant!

Rockefeller center and Rockford too
hit hard rock bottom with your pain
with all her pensive boon!

the 'MOTHER'S DAY' Poetry Contest entry

Crooked Crossroads

Standing at a dusty crossroads,  
The sun brutally beats down  
Upon flesh left for dead.  
High noon mingles with midnight;  
Diminishing reality becomes increasingly threadbare.  

Brittle tumbleweeds drift tragically away.  
Beady-eyed vultures swoop, circling.  
Gravity's pull feels increasingly heavy  
Against unrelenting waves of sorrow—  
Karma's come to collect its dues.  

Squinting in due south’s direction,  
A dilapidated shack instantaneously appears.  
An invisible pull propels me;  
Fate’s hand opens the door.  
Forward I march toward uncertainty.

Reflections of the past, visions of the future

At the most serene place where peace is sown,
Our laughter mingles with the scent of meals,
We unite, based on stories we have known,
The telling of these fables still appeals.

Many days we slept with tinctures of fear,
Though with scars, our lives scaled through many storms,
Somehow, our bond always wiped dry our tears,
Made cozy our beds, kept us safe and warm.

Many waters have passed under our bridge,
Yet all storms we weathered with love and grace,
And never once did we slip from the ridge,
No troubles could erase hope from our face.

Now our future shines bright and crystal clear,
A stroke of luck, and sorrow takes its flight,
Now filled with hope, we welcome with a cheer,
On a path that is clean, clear, right, and bright.

Life is sometimes hard

Living in a crowd felt as a canoe rowing 
In waters of either ripples or waves surging 
Numerous things alter them calm or roar 
Giving frights or delights to the rower

Making one tired of the uncertainties 
With which struggling to decide helplessly
Both surrendering and holding mingles in mind 
A situation sinks one's delights inside sand

Life at these times makes one feel arduous 
Even worse than being sick or being poor
None of them bully one's peaceful soul and mind 
But the unsettling relationships compel maniacal

december

The taste of iron clings to my tongue,
sharp and thick,
like something pilled from the earth's deepest wound,
cold as the air that cuts through my lungs
freezing each breath before it can leave my chest,

Winter has a way of making everything feel like glass
	Brittle, sharp, waiting to shatter.

My lips are cracked, numb
And I can feel the weight of the cold in every step
a blanket of frost on my shoulders,
the world silent but for the creek of old bones
and stinging of frozen skin.

Every inhale burns, leaving a metallic taste
A reminder of something forgotten.
Something old and bitter.

The sky hangs low, heavy with gray
as though it too is choking on the cold,
unable to swallow the weight of the passing days. 

And still, I move through it -
through the biting wind,
through the haze of something I cannot name.
Leaving behind tracks in the snow,
each one swallowed by the cold,
erased before it can matter.

The taste of blood - salt and iron
mingles with the frost on my lips
and I wonder
does anyone else feel it?
The way the world is paused,
frozen between breaths,
waiting for something to break.

cutting edge of the pencil

plans incised on plain paper
careful calligraphy of a plane
sailing high above the clouds

shrouded in anticipation
veiled in smudges and tears
slowly running out of ink 

resolute fears fuel the fire
earthquakes resurface nebulous horizons
and I have not the foggiest idea

uncertainty shapes a landscape
full of thunder and lightening
a sinkhole for rainbows

handing over completely
to what to whom to when
a seeming distraction

at the foot of the rainbow
gold mingles with cold
and heaven freezes over

Moments in Passing

1. Whisper of Tides

Soft tides brush the shore,
stars tumble through endless dark,
feet sink in cool sand.

2. Spring's Awakening

New buds lean skyward,
first light glows on their faces—
spring stirs from her sleep.

3. Echoes at Dusk

Empty room at dusk,
footsteps echo, fading slow—
a chill settles in.

4. The Question

Stepping on dry leaves,
I turn to see my child’s face—
a quiet question.

5. Morning’s Breath

Footsteps in cold grass,
breath mingles with morning’s chill,
frost melts underfoot.

6. Autumn’s Embrace

Orange leaves tumble,
settling close like warm embers —
autumn’s gentle fall.

all you need is love

when your tender lips caress my soul
our minds and bodies merge in sacred union

transcendental spirit of tender devotion
passion enlightened with all chakras extended

such moments of bliss when one leads to another
afterglow mingles with foreplay and tingles within

Three Sides To Every Story

"Parents forget relationship problems affect children involved, as they see and hear it through their own eyes." Quote by Poet 

Nesting in the kitchen table,
Moving my nervous feet around.
I am picking at my food, on the plate
Unstable, unable to eat.

While concealing the audible
waft through waving shadows.
My parents argue,"WE CANNOT AFFORD
And LIVING PAYCHECK TO PAYCHECK."

Voices quake, susurrating deep
In my mind and kernel frame
Making ripples spread
As hushed cries yield.

At the end they kiss and make up …
A blaze of pure warmth
Whilst it mingles off its
Charm, glowing, being in love.

My journey

In the quiet corners of coffee shops,  
where the aroma of roasted beans mingles  
with the weight of unspoken words,  
I search a place to breathe.  
But shadows linger, reminders of past struggles,  
each sip a cautious step,  
navigating the source of memories,  
where laughter once echoed, now replaced  
by whispers of unease.  

I carry my story like a shield,  
learning to communicate through the haze,  
to bridge gaps of misunderstanding  
with honest words.  
In the chaos of conflict, I seek clarity,  
a way to mend the frayed edges,  
to transform tension into understanding,  
finding strength in vulnerability.  

As I wander through new spaces,  
I long for acceptance,  
a community that sees beyond the surface,  
where my journey is honored,  
and my struggles are met with compassion.  
to find beauty in the mess,  
and to rise, stronger each day,  
with hope lighting the path ahead.

Come in to the Coil

     On spewing wave, our departing ride
     Crazed currents crack, an azure slide
     Freedom mingles in sea foam seethe
     Cobra throat coast gulps river relieve
     Estuary entry rests, rushing ruthless 
     Canoe oar dip downtempo soothe us


     Convulsing closing, seen from stern
     To mayhem mouth we shan’t return 
     Silver silt filters salt, lake lap littoral
     Ranges ahead etch graduating blues
     Drift beside reeds, bird pews hymnal 


     Harp strum seraphim strike chords
     Nacreous nematodes writhe towards 
     Tiny sun centre lace tutus feverfew 
     Pirouette pirogue wet on dawn dew 


     Papery apron snapdragon bonnets 
     Bloom ten a stem syllable sonnets
     Cut log capsule covets its heritage

     Forested foothills fix ship wreckage
     Fir hands welcome hung hammock 

     Cosy ocean recoil, mountains titanic 

    

 
         Sixth of November 
            - upstream -

In the south

In the South, where the magnolias bloom,
And the sweet tea flows in the afternoon,
Where the cicadas sing their evening tune,
And the fireflies dance beneath the moon.

The air is thick with summer's heat,
Yet the shade of oaks provides retreat,
Front porches creak with stories old,
Of love and loss, of hearts so bold.

The fields of cotton, white as snow,
Stretch far and wide, row after row,
The scent of jasmine fills the air,
A Southern charm beyond compare.

The honeysuckle's fragrance sweet,
Mingles with the summer heat,
Underneath the starry sky,
Where constellations catch the eye.

Hospitality is a way of life,
Neighbors greet with warmth, not strife,
A slower pace, a gentle grace,
In the South, we find our place.

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