My svelte bushy tailed cat, Hamilton, whose praises I laud,
leapt onto my lap and purred in a jittery fashion because,
a whiff of marked shift in daily routine,
she did pick up from my nonverbal long body waves,
each earnest habit once set in stone an absent without trace,
my darling pet so alert would detect the slightest tweak,
and spell out how the goal post now astir smelt fishy,
Hamilton, a character so utterly oozes otherworld charm,
as is the wont of divine feline species beyond limit,
and with impishness a constant in the past this pet of mine,
would latch on to each prized item as if driven to whisk them away,
that guilt free shrewd smirk infernal innocent methinks,
why me no I wouldn’t bug, irk, upset one so precious as you,
or tear at your tender heart haphazardly in an inane quest,
for nose-rubbing notice, deep bond playful jest,
as I peer in awe at that dainty trot whilst on the prowl,
a misty eyed me recalled her fond cat laugh bag of tricks,
yet to hear a taxi outside beep is a less than warm reminder,
that I must depart though unwilling from Hamilton’s grasp,
bursting into a sob as she stared from the stair top
Comparable to this eve's
Autumnal dismay
To concede, and misty-eyed
As late, which life's hour
In blooms' last memory-slipped
Frail-fair vestiges
What fades of each warm received
Schoolgirl demeanour.
I used to get a little bit misty-eyed
watching an old person hobbling along
toting an overweight gray muzzled dog.
Thinking what a tragedy it's going to be
when one of them leaves the other behind.
Now, I'm that old man hobbling along
toting an aged greyhound dog called Time.
Thinking what a tragedy it's going to be
when Time dog leaves me far, far behind.
Ellington is sitting and tinkling the black and white keys
Coltrane standing and blowing like an autumn breeze
Mood__
Nostalgic, misty-eyed, and feelings of tenderness
Her sweet perfume lingers, her velvety voice echoes, and her sweet caress I cherish
Sentimental__
Relishing, missing, and longing for a distant but not forgotten yesterday
Today, I sit alone. Alone in a sentimental mood as my heart asks, "Why did she have to go away?"
Wind grieves, singing her song to the twilight
Breathing stories of a distant sun,
Pulsating poetry in rhythms of blue blessings,
Touching the night the way hope sighs
Erasing the silence and coloring the still
With a whisper, misty eyed and effervescent.
‘Faced with a fight I don’t back down’,
He, blowing last trumpet his own,
PM and Party Head,
Somewhat misty eyed, said
With heavy head on losing crown.
______________________
Happenings|08.01.2025|
Poet’s Note: Prime Minister for ten long years Justin Trudeau had to finally ‘back down’ despite all his bravado. But he himself was responsible for the loss of popularity with his immature behaviour and policies. Trump called him governor of 51st State of USA and he took it with a smug smile. Xi of China once gave him a one-to-one dressing down and he could muster little defence. His troubles with India are well known. And to top it all, he is disowned by his own party and people of Canada. No wonder, Justin Trudeau is just out-- a handsome yet vapid man who failed to do justice to his famous last name. It was in India, his first trip that proved a turning point in perception of his personality (more than his inviting a convicted terrorist to his entourage, it was his general buffoonery).
As I sat under moonlit sky,
playing GUITAR Grandpa gave me
taught me to play, I was knee-high
I feel him close strumming these strings.
Remembering his voice clearly
as I sat under moonlight sky.
His love filled me, I sang with glee,
he adored LILACS and peach pie.
ETCHING 'song' to my heart, I SIGH,
tears flow as I think of that time.
As I sat under moonlight sky,
CAJOLE memories in my prime.
I get MISTY-eyed about him,
He was WEARY, the end was nigh.
SLUMBER came quickly to rare gem,
as I sat under moonlit sky.
08/15/2024
Your death came as a surprise, it certainly wasn't foretold.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned 76 years old.
I learned that you were terminal shortly before you died.
When your life ended, people were sure to be misty-eyed.
If you were still alive, I'd be spending your birthday with you.
When I say that you had love and respect, it is certainly true.
If you hadn't died, today you would be eating your birthday cake.
When I found you dead, it was almost too much for me to take.
Your death was upsetting, painful and very hard for me to face.
Happy Birthday, Mom, you died and you went to a better place.
[Dedicated to Agnes M. Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
In honied tea
Sipped warm and sweet
Steeped misty-eyed and dreamy
In gentle light
Kissed soft and deep
In bliss lie waiting
11:30
Dark circles
Creepy eyes
Heavy breath
Weeping sigh
"Won't you miss me when I'm gone",
She cried.
He fondle her while he choked up
His misty - eyed;
Unaware that she'll be gone,
Suddenly his concious got him,
Realised that she'll leave soon
For her Paradise.
He fondle her,
She coughed harder amid
Her breath was heavier than her eyes
It was late night , hospital
'She' under his arms
"Smile when I'm gone.."
She said.,
"I'll have two place where I feel safe,
Up there,and right in your arms :)
I'll be watching after you,
I'll keep you safe ,just be jolly"
"I don't know how to .."
He sobbed.,
"I'll give you mine,as a gift,
Do wear it"
She smile, gazing at him:)
He smile back.
Damp bed in the sky,
mourning doves are weeping
for the half-awake are
fully sleeping.
Clouds sink,
misty-eyed they trace their own puddles.
A once barking dog
falls silent
forever.
The walker is a boogie-woogie man
his hips rattle like harpsichords'
and why should they not?
Question Marks are necessary
too often
he thought,
as he made his way out
of a thicket
of stale pajamas.
A sliver of October moon
sinks slow into the western night
and the life of a billion stars
begin to fade beyond my sight
The black curtain of night dissolves
as colors flare the eastern sky
The glorious hues of morning
proudly herald a new sunrise
Heaven's light spreads o'er the valley
telling all the world to arise
Bright autumn leaves upon the trees
mimic the grandeur of the sky
Sunflowers turn their golden heads
to the promise of what's to come
A melody from wings on high
sing a joyous praise to the sun
I get a little misty eyed
as other cowboy start to come
Can't help but feel a little sad
that this night-herders job is done
Mournful melancholy makes her miserable,
Murky moods move her to morosity,
She's miffed and morbid, her mind is mourning,
Moping about in mellow melancholia,
Marred in misery, misty-eyed, she's mortified,
Melting in maddening malaise of malcontentment,
Malfunctioning malignancy has made her mean,
Melodramatic memories magnify her misfortune,
This monotonous, mundane, mirthless morning,
She's a mangled mess of merciless moaning,
A mere mortal mutilated by melancholic musings.
9th May 2023
Contest: Anatomy of Melancholy
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
A
Drop
Trickles
Down her face
She looks misty-eyed
Soul-broken, pain token
All she can do now is cry
Flood of emotions
S p i l l over
9th Feb 2023
Sweet mists of morning, and rose red mystery,
So much color all around, nothing is left to see,
Orangey mists of twilight, a tangerine surprise,
I can't see pearl stars, for beauty's in my eyes.
Golden mists of afternoon, hazy clouds in grass,
Pretty as a silken flower, though it will not last!
Deep purple midnight mists, so airy and dreamy,
Wafting in my gardens, in the moonlight creamy.
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