Unfluffed, unearthed and uncrated my eyes just will not sleep
beneath a dome of dark this heart is mulling over way too deep
Unfettered, unbolted and unrestrained I float to heaven's nook
to watch the stars shine brightly as a summer's bubbling brook
Surely sounded and surmised I suddenly close my eyes and pray
Like moon asleep by midnight hour I have nothing left to say
Sedentary, secluded and seated at the desk, I write a poem true
about the way I feel tonight, and Oh ! how much I'm missing you
Tried and tested I trod towards, ... knowing even gold can't stay
like stars of night after spreading light even them must go away
Feeling thankful for the times we had I know that love endures
Feeling floored at the font of loss I know there is no simple cure
for this....
It’s buried in your head
it’s buried in your mind
Someplace you can’t get to
someplace you can’t find
It’s buried in your words
you don’t show how much it hurts
Because it’s better to be silent
than not be accepted
Better to be brave
even if the mask is fake
Better to sit in the dark
with your eyes shut
Sit in the silence
with your ears plugged
slowing suffocating on nothing
while screaming IT’S ALL TOO MUCH.
Slowing mulling over everything
because nothing is never enough
Mist is deliberate veil
Just to notice
If the eyes risk
Entering to meet
To greet and embrace
The face wearing
A dotted lace
Mulling to reveal
Knotted thoughts
Those plots
Of dense stories
Ivories of memory
Glory of the sun
We used to build up
From the point of
The startup
Until the plates and cups
Would get satiated
And the golden dust
of the pulverized sun
Would turn into
The moon of contentment
I know my dear
That won't happen
Because you're hesitant
At the very entrance
Of the mystery
Ignoring the filigree beyond
Waiting to dawn
______________
12 September 2025
To ponder or not to ponder - that is the question.
Is it a waste of my precious seconds, minutes, hours
To dwell on the questions that plague my mind?
I spend my waking and waning hours mulling and considering,
Crashing waves of question marks and possibilities
Dance around in my mind's eye, quelling the beast of sleep.
A skeptical girl's dream is a paranoid's nightmare.
The mind wanders the winding path, ways blockaded by the
immaturity of age's eye. Paths extend,
arms outstretched, sclera comes into view. I enter the land
of darkness and trivial trifles, numbers rapidly rising.
To observe then look away - oh what a gift.
The fluttering, juvenile gaze upon life offers a plethora of privileges.
A jovial demeanor, an emaciated ego, a blithe smile -
charities that are given to the majority.
The plights that plague me are mere afterthoughts
in the meandering mind of the thoughtless. Idealizing,
reading, puzzling reserve themselves for the
fragmented, slightly distorted. And now I must
ponder, what the slightly distorted
save themselves from.
whereas I, by chance, talking to myself, finding myself
alone, enclosed by four walls and a door, knock
to see, in the invisibility, with x-ray ability, not held,
if you dear reader, sitting by your nightlight, might
switch it on and find a word to speak silently
or out loud; your choice. the ones you borrow
from a native tongue, feeling
their incomprehensible weight,
stopping mid-sentence, to ponder if you are moved
in the slightest bit; I’m biting my lip in anticipation,
though I’ve no inkling that you're mulling over
my thoughts, my doubts, my innards, my all.
now, I, think of you, sitting by a scintilla of light,
moonlight marvels at the roundness of your lips
as you nearly sing your “o’s;” sonnets seem
sensual alongside the bed, though always grieving.
love is a dog, a walk in the woods, a lark.
leave me be. let me remember you as I long to.
don’t say goodbye, but leave my sighs on the table,
where you first met me, and I almost met you,
and you, dear reader, take back up with me,
though now there’s a familiarity between us,
lost in the shadows, amidst the stars
and you can nearly hear me breathing.
The end is nigh.
As the sun goes down
on my life aboard a Titanic-like ship,
infinitesimal time
is being sucked into death's vacuum.
Amid all the frenzy
and anguished screams,
a fiddler still carries on
with devil-may-care nonchalance.
He has accepted his fate,
but I'm in a race against time.
How much is left?
How much time
to regurgitate
all the things I've long digested?
The suppressed words
deep within me
that has rotted in abeyance?
How much time is left
to vomit all these unexpressed words
upon family and friends?
Will I finish in time
saying my final goodbyes
and expressing
how I truly feel to all and sundry?
Making apologies
for all slights I've ever caused?
Do I even bother visiting
regrets of unfinished dreams
or mulling over life not fully lived?
After all, these are slowly drowning with me.
All hope is gone,
but I do know one thing,
I shall make peace with the Lord,
praying that he has mercy
on my soul.
Sinking butterflies drip from the cocoon of consciousness
which no bee nor horse fly could understand for a blink,
and which even humans wish could retreat to the fallen:
Of a body, of a vein, of a spot across a field.
In what daisy does that petal float
where it found it's fateful bee that resists its wings.
Threats from the concrete river keep it mulling,
always waiting for the stem reincarnate.
Why caterpillar nor sunflower betroth it gift
is a bee's greatest myth.
While men worry of time not spent changing
black and yellow armies collapse with no wars raging.
Ripple through, wave goodbye, droplets leave for the sky.
A bee must drown,
a caterpillar will scatter,
only for the butterfly, with wings agape, to show its beauty in death that waits.
Sticks and stones will kill on sight
anything which proposes light.
Black and white stripes guide only us at night,
how funny that stripes are walked upon without a fight.
MERRY CHRISTMAS ANEW
Kisses mulling by an open fire,
Or snowflakes falling on our nose,
Gifts of love ...is what we all desire,
On Christmases now and long ago
Everybody knows that ginger spice in apple pie,
A dash or two now don’t be slight,
Children excited pacing to and fro,
Hope to have a slice tonight,
They know that Christmas, just hours away
There’ll be presents, treats, and goodies that whole day,
And on that very night won’t close their eyes,
Til Mama softly sings them, Silent Night,
And so, for those who are a child at heart,
A Holiday of old or Christmas anew,
Whatever the way, may it be always said, Merry Christmas, to you
Cascading torrents of angst
Once more, I wallow in depression
Sitting in the dark
Mulling over these things
Once more I stare my inadequacies in face
Nothing has changed, he is the same
Damn
To think, that I thought I had changed
Fool\
Drenched in melancholic tones
Why am I here
Constantly losing myself
What is the purpose of this
I could blame all of creation
For producing a flawed being
But I know that if I was perfect
I would still be a problem
Sorry
Its not you, its me.
Do I ruin everything I touch
Why does the world seem to crumble in my hands
Is this my curse
And there he goes again
Blaming omens and gods
The problem is me
Forgive me
Sorry, No
Leave me in torment
Alone, I amble through the garden dying
Mulling over the ending of another summer,
Realizing that all things have their season
Comes a sadness with the drooping stems
Petals lying on the ground like soft pebbles
Tenaciously hugging their fast-fading colors.
Do they remember being lovingly touched
Fondled upon the briary stem in passing,
Or is their life over, tossed aside in autumn
When their bloom has faded and cast off
Like we humans come to in our end times
Lying beneath the earth to rot unnoticed.
Seems a subject worthy of consideration
As I amble, alone, through this metaphor
Of life and its inevitable passing with time
To make way for other flowering youth,
Who will experience a casual adoration
Then fall away to be trampled underfoot.
Written September 9, 2022
Still shallow waters,
Fish unseen, hugging the brackish bed,
Salt grass and saltwort give ample shade
And shelter from hungry predators
That fly around the insurmountable
Pinnacles of the surrounding hills.
The lad sits quietly on a small wooden pier,
Mulling on thoughts that elevate his soul.
No vale of darkness shall invade his being,
At least not while he rests before the stretch of water.
For there alone he feels at peace.
Indeed the quiescent waters refresh him.
Even the flapping of some solitary sea duck
Will not ruffle his meditative mind.
Suddenly he hears voices and a boat arrives
To end his peaceful stay on the water way.
Back on Baker Street -
pulling on a calabash pipe.
Paganini and Bach stream through
a cracked third-story window.
The Merseybeat’s…
the disaffected Pink Floyd years,
Mary Jane brain, mulling over
puffing magic dragons;
reading Sherlock Holmes
secretly.
Today, downloading
a picture of myself back then,
no pipe just a youthful smirk
as I strut down that busy road.
Sometimes I wish I still smoked.
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
7/3/22
Still mulling
Soon to be culling
Something always pulling
The same can be said for lulling
As well as constant gulling
With little if any way of nulling
From neglect sharpened objects began dulling
In a cage, behind a fence or unleashed
Still a bunch of sheep
One creep sunk teeth
Now the victim's family must weep
Rarely getting much sleep
It's been years not just some week
Does little good to just cheat
The answers run deep
But they do not come cheap
What was once bleak
Turned into treasure instead of a junk heap
Truth be told, it takes a lot of upkeep
Wow man
It's really gotten out of hand
Nearly everything is now a scam
Done through a screen and with a mousepad
How sad
Many in power still corrupted walking around like a proud man
For a long time, I was down bad
Took a tougher stance
Then I discovered that
It's a continual puppet dance
All these s get rich off other's backs
Slip up you'll go under fast
Not getting another chance
As they attempt to cover tracks
In comes a younger cat
Occasionally got to where need be by way of hovercraft
BEYOND BRAINS
Oh! my poor soul! Worn out of what I am?
A loop of having evil after wicked!
My mood riding the rollercoaster,
Fearless and being gearless.
Who wants to take up the responsibility?
Science or spiritual, sigh is never.
Pushed to a cliff of crocodiles.
Abashed with what have done in.
On the mossed rock I sit, legs crossed,
Waiting for an answer from above
Who wants to unleash the evil,
and bring in the spring of joy?
I sensed a cold hand on my shoulder
Brought warmth to my hilarious heat.
“It’s just the Monthly One!” shook me up,
Realized the ridicule, shutting my eyes,
Feeling daft of mulling over.
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