O fall, let this lore of love be the last...
as your tight, chaotic grip holds me hostage.
Don't count against me my downfalls,
but the endeavors that have stitched the fabric of my days.
Still, this mask of anguish shapes its heavy cry,
wrapped tightly against the core of myself—
absent of mercy, mocking that pure moment in time
that allows us mortals to be human.
Yet, neither dusk nor dawn can delude me.
They try to imprison me, and hate may fill me with sorrow,
but the flame carried within shall never be dismissed—
a hunger not easily satisfied, refusing to die.
Discarded, a silent alchemy works in the dark.
I am the fire the shadows could not smother;
I turn the leaf, rewriting every page,
rising far above the ashes of my pain.
Last standing—strong,
amidst the dust and foliage of farewell!
Note: AI-image generated to visually reflect my poem's themes. Written for the "Leaves of Life" poetry contest sponsored by poet Hiya Sharma.
Neither dusk nor dawn can delude me,
says the leaves that fall in the autumn.
Everywhere they are feeling the earth and the soil.
All these days, from a height, they have seen it.
It’s now the time to touch,
feel,
and be part of the earth
with their skin upon it.
The leaves of the trees
happy to be with the soil,
but a longing and a miss—
its mother-like tree
and its caring branches.
But nearing its roots
is like strength gained.
Though dried its colour,
the coarse nature of texture,
and the experience of being green all round,
and now the season of autumn—
the evening in their life.
And these leaves
always add life to our lives.
As humans,
we enjoy watching the leaves change colour,
turn different from the way they sprouted—
still they serve us humans.
And neither dusk nor dawn can delude them.
They are from nature
and always remain as one—
though autumn or spring.
Between neither here nor there
an entire life holds its breath.
as I straddle the inevitable,
marking time between life's lines.
Caught in transition,
Almost here, yet almost there,
living in the footnotes
of an ending hard to bear.
My shadow crosses the line;
the rest of me hesitates.
Time gathers its coat,
weary of waiting at the gate.
Almost this and almost that,
in-between here and there,
the parallel lines at last converge;
there becomes here; then becomes now.
When all horizons disappear
and distance dissolves,
every elsewhere becomes an arrival.
Here and there intertwine at last,
and every therewith discovers
it's been a herewith all along.
Close the door on yesterday
Make a new start today
Don’t fret about tomorrow
It's neither lent nor borrowed
A return to yesterday, painstakingly,
empties creativity
Anticipating tomorrow’s result
Today does insult
What if I write you an 8 page sonnet
And when I see you
We talk about the weather
The burdens of bureaucracy, and the colors of fall
You love the orange and I love that the piles of leaves are pillows of the living dead that I plow into
And puddles are piles of recycled tears that I cry into
But I’ll say I love orange
Because neither boys nor teachers like running sentences
a door creaks inward,
the sky folds in, saying not leave
nor enter
not lost, not quite returned
my hands forget their kedge,
stillness 'neath the murmur
somewhere between blur and flame
a yes dissolves into never,
I mistake the hush for an answer
Tesla 3-6-9
In the light I see the dark.
As blank as the silence is in my heart
Moving on I feel nothing but a lot
I know inside I am neither fresh nor rot.
Days I spend thinking about my own life
Whose wish is a happy dad and his living wife
A lively home and a peaceful room
Where I write every while.
Surrounded by immortal elders at the at the door to heaven
I hear a voice of silence whispering in a solemnly tone.
That we have been blinded by the aesthetic fallacy
Planted hemlock leading to eternal mortal as a price
A warning from moses' will be witnessed before it's time to rise
I'm traumatic and terrified, I close my eyes
I see babbling persons in white beyond the blue skies
The weak are made strong and magnified
I see pride and vicious man crying
In a fountain of lava together with a morning star
For a millennium enduring pain without getting any scar
I open my eyes and hear a lucid voice
Eternal dearth is your choice
The hour to reconcile is now not later
The holy son is returning feckly now not later
They don't like me,
But neither do I,
I shield my face from them,
Because I am carefully curated,
Cured like resin,
But soft as snow,
I know what I’m doing,
But inside these walls I don’t feel as home,
I am a child that no one likes,
But the other fact is,
Neither do I,
Neither am I the person they see,
When someone says to envision me,
All I ask is why,
Though I know the answer,
Because neither do I,
And neither will you.
We can’t make
all the bad things
good
Just knowing
all that didn’t
should
We can’t wish
what stays real
away
Or lie
to keep the truth
at bay
Yesterday
today
tomorrow yield
The leavened
‘Word’
forever sealed
Ad infinitum
minus
one
Salvation’s
path
— is zero sum
(Sister Marcella: 8th Grade Religion Class, 1962)
Neither Dumb Belle nor dumbell: The Search for Personal Identity.
Made in His image Divine, one and one equals two
The differences plain and simple in design
Does not "Woman" mean "Female Man,"
From First Man her origins taken?
Together strong and flexible
In time they find each in and as the other
Indispensible to humankind's survival
A perfect pair in God's blueprint for life
God's portrait as a dyptich,
Masterful, expressionistic, abstract and figurative
A little lower than angels, yet crowned in his glory
Strength and Kindness gifted to each one...
Yes in deed, God in plain sight of angels
made the two of them become as one-
Holy, wholly separate, inseparable, in mind, heart-
The children of His Love for Life
A vision for all to see-together his image on earth.
Together, one and one equals three
Aqua Marine. Just Musing on a Personal Journey of My Own.
30 March 2025
(First of a series on personal identity. :) )
Neither one waiting at the bend
Nor stationed upon the hill
Was present to make offense
Or entertain some evil will.
A breeze came, another went -
Rattling the bursages
As a creeping serpent
Going into hiding does.
If I died right here -
How many lonesome clouds -
How many foraging birds
Would pass by before I was found?
Would the beloved sun
Care to kiss me good-bye?
Would the angels of the canyon
Guide me on my flight?
my telephone pal and I speak at each other daily
neither of us listens
but we know when to pause
and pretend
I speak of my garden
tomatoes, radishes, carrots, lettuce
she speaks of her granddaughter Gigi
pretty, perfect, smart, wise, wonderful Gigi
I will send you a photo she says
I get a photo of Gigi
She gets a photo of my garden
she yaps, I yap
Pausing at the right places
pretending we are listening.
both of us talking
no one listening
Discriminating palates
garnish salads with shallots
But when eating croquettes
avoid mallets
In the ancient world, it is spoken of beings that are neither among men nor in a dream,
Blessed with an isolated destiny, with an unknown hope.
Their deeds seem to precede the first accusation of time and the indifference of the firmament,
No one thinks to engage them, for the future melts like wax under their gaze.
Some beings were forced into that destiny without a word of their own,
Now they are almost invisible and uncounted by society, as if they do not exist.
They are those who would never sell their souls, the noblest and the most troubling.
They are the quiet travelers of time, immersed in the mystery of an unclear destiny,
Carving their own ascent in a realm with neither hands nor hearts towards them.
Each step they take is a hidden note in the silent symphony of the universe,
Taking their undisturbed place in the waiting room of eternity.
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