Bewares Home
Single fleet
How we can merge on a Continental Drift is up to me
She's comes apart
This is the only way backs in
Turbulence bests us otherwise
That
Pitch chase and drags in swirl pre disposed moments?
I'ma feeling of pause
Ifns a bluff
Scene one of myriad finance?
Eclipse glare meniscus orders down
I only got an in an out focus for table of me in line for hours of next meals getting chewed
Every acrobat on mind has winged in wars.
Old or sceptical
Generals an Admiral
My ability is return the crap that sent that
Illusive wonder they stay on land with tech
they sit him down, strap the arms,
not the old chair, not the rope—
this is cleaner, scientific,
no blood, no sparks,
just the mask.
the lungs beg first,
pulling at nothing,
a vacuum of sky
swallowing itself.
the heart beats like a busted drum,
then quieter,
the eyes go wet, then far—
a man drowning on land
without water, without storm.
the state calls it mercy.
but death is still death,
as the body visibly shows us.
I rise with sun,with hope to try
I think and set,whom would be I !
I swim in sky ,all-day I breathe
I glide with birds,and songs I sing.
I laugh with sun,and talk to stars
I feel the heat,and catch the light
I play with rain,rainbow I touch
I fetch the clouds from hills & peaks.
And when I see, twilight with me
I smile and lick the orange flakes
Skyscapes I hug, farewell I bid
Then set wth Sun,and fall on land
I lay on land,I see the stars
Celestial glow and wet eyes
I miss the clouds,in sky they blow
I love the day,when I'll rise!!
Colors descend enmeshed from glowing horizon,
the scarlet tinge of the sky paints the blushing land,
embroidering the tapestry of the unfurled dawn,
flushing the glorious day with vibrant hues grand.
Gleaming hours invoke joyous kaleidoscopic lilt,
birds scale the sky before they return to the nest,
sing to the mesmeric melody of the resonant colors
while the clouds design the fresco at its creative best.
Moony night orchestrates peacefully quiet rhapsody,
spreads on land silver dust through the mystique air.
On the sparkling adornment the stars shine bright,
the bejeweled sky glimmers with rare celestial flair.
Abysmal blackness consuming daylight envelopes fast
my identity as flash of twilight in your sapphire sky
where you will see me shine forever like a drifting star
when in the halcyon night I will grow wings to fly.
Restless Summer heat
It is odd how we forget we live on a restless planet
the talk of the melting ice cap is true enough; it melted
before when Greenland was a hot house for plants
In Spain and Portugal, the impression is of two lands
are burning tragedy we blame people for
but we overlook that there was a serious fire in 1823
so nothing is new on the planet
Flooding in Pakistan has happened for a long time
where people work on land, that is the path of
flooding and avalanches, not every inch of land
is suitable for mankind; we are on borrowed time
Earth will shake us off like a louse on a dog's fur
On a little country farm,
Beneath a Mighty Oak.
There, before Five Headstones,
An old Woman in a cloak.
Though dug so long ago,
The Graves were freshly kept.
With Bible in her hand,
On her knees, the Woman wept.
Five Sons fell in Battle,
Three on Land and Two at Sea.
Now every Year, to the Day,
Was there on bended knee.
This somber scene repeats,
Too many times to recall.
One Hundred Thousand Heartbreaks,
We never knew at all.
For the Mothers of the Fallen
torrents of tears flowed
when he saw a sea dragon
beached dehydrated
for he knows that it like him
could only shed tears on land
the tears were salty
welling from bag of sea brine
in the ocean's blood
he harbored in his body
as fluid to bathe his cells
he needed to cry
but till now tears would not spill
weeping on ebb tide
to wash moribund eyes clean
and inhale with a fresh breath
he fights the current
gripping on to refusals
yet the water wins
the dragon prowls in the foam
its searing breath flares fear
one tear another
fell soft on scalded shadow
fell on dragon's eyes
sending the sand grit flying
washing the stall clean of grime
fear sinks in the tide
form of the trial changes
relief opens gate
as ocean consumes his past
dragon wings have unfolded
tears were the pivot
to beat the challenge
breaking resistance
setting sails on favored wind
on the course past the dragon
Cartoon Character Clerihew
12.8.25
Popeye, the Sailor Man
a confidence trickster who always said, “I can !”
he could do any strenuous task when at sea
on land, he follicked with Queen Bea !
Shudder not, for it’s the language of Death.
Who’s next? —it asks
Going from house to house,
Both of marble and mud
It cares not
Nor fears man, rich or poor,
Warrior or coward,
Whose nest it visits,
His cold arms ready for embrace,
Ready to snatch
Life is just but one lugubrious journey
On sea or on land or on air,
Which must end with the sound of
A school bell signalling the end of a recess.
So rejoice not when one, friend or foe, drops from the line,
For you could be next
And your kinsman next after you.
One after the other,
We drop
Like one old, battered leaf after another, in the
Spell of autumn.
He drew maps for a living.
Not of roads, but of promises
Soft lines where her laughter once lived,
tiny arrows
where her eyes used to point
when she couldn’t say stay.
She was the sea
Ever folding into herself,
a hymn of salt and leaving.
No harbor could hold her,
no anchor dared ask.
He traced her tides in silence,
built cartographies of could-have-beens,
and marked in inkless ink:
here be ghosts.
She tried, once,
to live on land
to breathe stillness,
to fold her waves into windows.
But the sea is not a creature
meant for ceilings.
So she left.
And the world kept spinning
in the wrong direction.
In some other verse,
some bend of time,
she learns to stay.
He forgets to wait.
But the ending,
like gravity,
refuses to rewrite itself.
Every love story
has a map.
Theirs had no destination.
Only a compass
that spun
and spun
and spun.
--
April 2024
A JULY 4TH REFLECTION: 2025
It’s July fourth,
And the POTUS seeks
Elimination
Of immigration
In America,
Although his parents
Immigrated here:
Father coming from
Hilter’s Germany
Which id the womb
Of the fascistic type
Of politics of
The POTUS today,
In his bigoted
Power mongering
Issuing of laws
That are so unjust;
And forcing Congress
To pass likewise laws
To ensure making
This land great again,
In its mockery
Of independence
And justice for all,
In this so-called land
Of democracy,
Built on land severed
From indigenous
Free occupancy;
How strange this must be
Following Juneteenth
And for descendants
Of who this land was:
Hey, it’s July fourth,
Independence day
In America;
Have a blessful day
In celebrating
In divine wisdom
And its clear guidance
In making this land
Again, the land of
The free, with justice
And equality
For all who live here
In God’s onederful
Oneness of onement:-
His very bones smell of ocean
beard lashed with its salt
On land, rubber legs awkward
he gapes and he gawks
But rig him up a mast
billowy sails to go with it
Prow boldly juts forward ~
Thirty knots an hour, his ticket
It's always moving
it never stops
above, below, the earth
...it flows
its fresh or salt or atmospheric
it's energy changes,
at different phases
and still...
...it flows
its evaporation, its condensation
its sublimation too
it can dry or melt
from solid ice
destroyed by man, deforestation
....yet still , it flows
Its ecosystems Euphrates knew,
but l just see it's power.
But from up and down , l see on land
.. it grows ,it knows...it flows
l see a scene, so beautiful
a resting place of calm.
A breathe l take, its heart does ache
..but still... it flows, it flows..it flows
l'll stand and wait
my eyes to drink
the River's glory cries
and knowing how, its power grows
not man, but Word, of God
...it flows,
it flows,
it flows.
awin means River in Gaelic Manx launguage from Isle of Man..pronounced
'ow-win'
Just a girl and her dragon, nothing more to see
With auburn hair, she looked like her aunt Tee
Sitting among the mushrooms looking pretty
She was a green-eyed beauty, really witty
Her steed was as green as the young girl’s eyes
They were best friends forever, no big surprise.
You cannot get near her, as you may surmise
For her dragon is her guardian on land and in skies.
Millie, the mermaid was a reading machine.
It started with a shipwreck, among the marine.
A library for a king had gone down in the wreck.
I can teach myself to read, she said without genuflect.
She started with picture books, one word on a page
Those old Dick, Jane and Sally texts which tells my age.
Moved on to primers and dictionaries with pix.
Now she is reading novels, instead of watching flicks.
She has read almost every book in this library now.
Currently reading a textbook on how to raise a goat or cow.
If I had legs, I would get on land and grab more books she groused.
I’d read poet from Poe, Coleridge, Emerson, Browning and Foust.
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