1
Sometimes the mind becomes a dragonfly,
brushing against the petals of a water lily,
while a heron stands on one leg, lost in meditation.
2
Over the fence of the jasmine garden,
night-flowering jasmine falls into my courtyard,
softly, drop by drop.
3
A butterfly has slipped into the weaver's room,
and suddenly
the whole place flashes with colour.
4
A city morning. Along the asphalt road,
here and there,
water snails have crawled out of the drains.
5
Beside the cremation ground
where my father and mother were laid to rest,
a periwinkle stands laden with flowers.
6
Upon the face
of a gravestone
rests a red dragonfly.
7
On the fallen trunk
of an uprooted tree,
new leaves gather the morning sun.
8
In the middle of the fields, a shrine to Manasa;
beside the Brahmin priest,
a motorcycle.
9
A Poush night. The northerly wind cuts through.
People in distress light a fire with scraps of wood,
trying to chase away the cold.
10
In the month of Chaitra,
drumstick pods hang from the branches,
like the sticks of a dhak.
The autumn day is beautiful and sweet,
and the sounds of nature ring loud and sharp;
I stand listening to a lone bird song.
His tweets, chirps and twirls an echoing song,
I am in awe of his melody sweet;
and then, the wind answers in whispers sharp.
Somewhere, a tree branch breaks with a crack sharp,
disturbing tranquility of this song;
I love nature and the hidden sounds sweet.
Let this sweet, sharp, song ever drift and float.
autumn shakes threadbare
spent leaves loosen from brown stems
each clings to the bough
waiting for the tug of wind
to show buds in leaf axils
one leaf lies pressed flat
between pages seldom turned
kept from rain and light
its veins mirror buried roots
grounding what the leaf recalls
wine darkens the glass
one mouthful remains untouched
thirst catches its shine
sweetness ripens when restrained
the tongue leaves a taste behind
on dust-silver shelves
each book keeps its well-thumbed leaves
spines remember hands
binding what the years recall
in their dog-eared aftermath
names fade from old cards
ink gives way to the humdrum
old contacts grow pale
what I leave for others' eyes
means nothing to their kind ghosts
leaf settles on leaf
each layer hides another
last in, first recalled
gathered from one's only life
their weight growing underneath
neither dusk nor dawn
can deceive me about leaves
I shed, keep, forgo
forget, give away, hold back—
each leaves something of a life
two bluejays
claim the bench~
cobalt sentinels
perched
on quiet wood
they tilt
their bright crowns
toward the mist-warm sky,
listening
as leaves
l o o s e n
their last
amber sigh
the park
feels paused,
held
in the bluebirds’
calm regard~
as if autumn
waits
for their small
approval
before
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
further
Floating across the ridges, gentle leaf
Soaring to new heights, despite the grief
Still, soft joy providing soul’s relief
Music in all its grace, autumn’s relief
Song as bright as sunshine in each leaf
This is the moment, pouring out its grief
Across the ridges, soundless edge of grief
Quiet prayers, in His presence is relief
Trees and hills, bound by each vibrant leaf
Every leaf, despite its grief, finds relief in Fall
As the Seasons Change
Winter comes with signs as the trees grow bare
God's creatures huddle under a blanket of gold
Yet the pines stand well dressed without a care
Autumn comes with her breath so cold
And winter follows suit, it's true
The summer green fades to gold in these days
As nature waits for spring to blossom anew
While the passing of the seasons change our ways
Written: September 13, 2026, for a contest Sponsored by: Joseph May
Verified by HMS.COM: 8 - 10 - 7 - 9 - 6 - 8 - 8/ Syllables Count
************
Beneath bruised blue, yet my soul soars —
While weary winds waning, I prance past pain —
Bees buzz bring dazzling delight—
Dreams dance; at daybreak dewy descend —
Sly stars shine, in bold breeze
Souls spew sadness; bleeding buds bloom —
Flowered Fall finds halcyon hearts —
Nature
wills it so
that life
must always
adapt.
And evolve
when small
mutations
spark change.
Sentient
beings
seek out God,
for life
claims a soul;
to ascend.
fine clouds' amber blush
as day's final majesty
sinks below the sea
The dense film of depthless darkness spreads silently
as the fading spectrum of tranquil twilight descends
to disappear in the opaque cauldron of the onyx night.
Black satin stretches as the velvet swathe of night.
In halcyon horizon the last sunrays dissolve silently,
on the skyline silken shade of chalcedony descends.
The surge of astral ardor from the still sky descends
as the sprouting stars shine in the crystalline night,
adorning the sparkling sky with stellar crown silently.
Amorous moondust silently descends from sky at night.
Contest: Haven
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Written: 091226
Very often,
There was this place by the sea.
Although unhidden,
It was a perfect spot for me.
My great getaway,
A quiet place at the end of the day.
My hiding place.
It Sheilded me from the speedy race.
My sanctuary.
Secluded, causing a cease from hurry.
My haven.
There, the heart rests and preps for heaven.
My steal away.
It birthed a memory.
It declared war against worry.
My haven by the sea; My forever story.
Escaping from work loads and pressure
Gasping for some fresh air and beautiful melody
I listen to the gurgling of water
The whispering of wind
The rustling of leaves
The chirping of worms
And all these commotion and sound of nature
Are like the voice of God
Intimate and heartwarming, soothing and calming
Coming from heaven
Take me to the high desert where the Sierras touch the sky.
Beside my tent an ice cold creek hastily rushes by.
Above me a thousand stars mesmerize the eye.
The jagged mountains come alive as the sun rises in my eye,
Casting a reddish glow on the earth below a golden sky.
Out of nowhere a roadrunner comically passes by.
The Alabama Hills beckon from a dusty trail close by.
Two crows call noisily from a tree and look me in the eye.
After a lengthy conversation, they fly off in a cloudless sky.
I marvel at the sunset, below a crimson sky, captured by my camera's photographic eye.
“Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.” ~ The final sentence of The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.
A child was gone forever…
Was I, too, once a child?
Would it be that never,
I’d again run free and wild?
Would I simply pass away
like little Fodder-wing,
not to see another day
where I might fly or sing?
Lately, I’ve been thinking of
a brand-new hopeful dawn,
and the feel of earnest love -
of Jody and his fawn.
I saw a waterwheel, saw a rabbit,
took more than just a look.
Another’s soul, I’d inhabit
in the chapters of a book.
Lost forever to the ages,
a long, forgotten “when” -
four hundred thirty pages
gave me childhood again.
A most distant sun
Blesses light on our union
As we feint through life.
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