Standing in front of a mirror
An unbiased jurist of me
Heavy wrinkles on the forehead
Typifying the crossed thresholds
Where did the soft textured hair go?
Turned brittle with the patchy beard
The skin lost glow and grew pallor
Represents the bygone decades
The eyes, still with vitality
Token of the contented life
Place: 3 rd
how many times have i seen this exact shadow pattern on the road?
how many times did i drive over speedbumps,
only to forget once the car settles?
drive over a pothole
hold it in your memory
don't stop thinking, don't stop thinking
what road were you just on?
what color was the patchy road under the hole?
you write it down to always remember
you read it back & have no recollection
you'll never be the tires,
you'll probably never even drive the car
but you can sit in the passenger seat
you can crack the window for a while
you still feel the road from underneath whats holding you up
you'd really rather walk
to have complete control
you could run away,
why are you still here?
are you waiting for the next pothole?
it grows at midnight—
a patchy mayday
through dry-cleaned silk suits
of murmuring bones
whose eerie gossip
circles the armoire.
Soft approach abide,
exceeds a mother's love,
then mighty fall.
With utter disbelief,
fallen flowers with scents
dry up unmatched.
What to do?
What to say?
Expect what?
Wails constantly
A man, can't deny
Equally push on,
Maybe, the option
Likely, only option
Which answer?
Souls barriers bar,
Contention count rarely,
A son, minding rectify
Were eulogy, owed loan
Patchy, see pattern
Worthy, seen pattern.
©MosCos Says
there is beauty in falling in love
like soft spring
the sun blazing in all its bright glory
but not too harshly
the clouds adrift - patchy enough to let the light seep through
the trees create a wonderful view
even the flowers bloom differently
and when the fall comes
the leaves leaving their branches
almost flowing through the wind
to end up on these pavements
there is also beauty in letting go
Words fail to match the beauty of the park
The magic stillness of the early autumn day
Leaves fall across your smile, completing your remark
Leaving me speechless in this colorful decay
The trees look tall in their patchy outfit
Lone robin sings somewhere in the height
So shall we go, before the dusk commits
Its usual crime, obscuring the daylight.
Words fail to match the beauty of the park
The magic stillness of the early autumn day
Leaves fall across your smile, completing your remark
Leaving me speechless in this colourful decay
The trees look tall in their patchy outfit
Lone robin sings somewhere in the height
So shall we go, before the dusk commits
Its usual crime, obscuring the daylight.
the tortoise-shaped cloud
as tall as a skyscraper
and a half as wide
floats slowly across blue sky
with no hare-shaped cloud to race
patchy cloudy sky
with shapely stories to tell
hare-brained ideas
and the tortoise will always
slowly and steadily win
Smiles and blooms have crawled away in haste;
Cool sweetness and incense of the prime
Have receded into the pothole of time
With the irritant summer and the rainy waste ;
Winter is an epitome of the silent knell --
Pale , pensive, plaintive, heavy and cold ;
Colours are all lost in the grey fold,
With the bright charm of the bygone spell ,
As she sits robed in ashen attire again ,
Streching herself with limbs wide across
The deceased crags and the patchy moss ,
Lining randomly along the sickly plain
Weary, withering, wany life and all. ..
Are thus sadly shrouded in the last fall..!
Desperado – beyond the lines of belief
What patchy rogue rejects the rule of blue,
This cosmic quilt of fragments casting shades,
Who shreds the fabric of the known and true,
And weaves a trail of riddles with furtive braids?
What patchwork seeker chases the fringe of light,
This maverick with a veil for a face,
Who scans the void for clues for a flight,
To realms beyond the grasp of time and space?
Oh! this patchy dreamer is a spark,
A glimpse of selves in altered skins,
And a call to kindle the new and the dark,
With hues that mirror our desires for sins.
Possibly the patchy pundit probes a line,
A stroke from the art to the eye,
To blur what we see and redefine,
The borders of the land with the soaring sky.
LITTERED LIFE
Does every life have a twist in the tail
One follows the trail wherever it leads
At higher speeds, life flashes by so fast
And at last, so little detail one can recall
The bitter gall mixed with pleasantness
But the rest has gone, into the void
Perhaps destroyed by the superficiality
Yet in actuality, it was the usual stuff
And good enough, but not for all time
A paradigm of sorts, a patchy history
A solved mystery, but there’s no prize
I’d surmise that most might not care
Never aware of what richness was lost
Nor count the cost of merely skimming
With the light dimming, it’s only the past
At last, a patchwork life one remembers
Like dying embers, preserving the glow
It's working in the laundry
It's working in the hall
But when I'm in the office
It doesn't work at all
It's terrific in the lounge
And good on the patio
But in my favourite chair
It just doesn't want to go
Sometimes it is sneaky
And it drops out quietly
So I annoyingly find
My data's used entirely
Sometimes it is patchy
But at others it is fine
My WiFi's temperamental
And I'm in the firing line!
She has spotty skin
Whereas he has warts on his
He has freckles
She has boils
One's too oily
One's too dry
He is too pasty
Her's is too dark
She is too yellow
One's is patchy
The others too red
Yet for all of these many differences
There is one thing they all have in common
Is we are 1 and all
Universally unhappy in our own
Skin , within and without
We heard a most scary gunshot:
A shooter shattering a pot,
In marksmanship what he has got,
Energy spent stupendous lot…
Nelson needed whips and whipping,
If it is true a script acting;
Down to his patchy brown waist stripped,
A shirt madness had apart ripped.
On clean record Nelson builds dots
With ink that clean paper blots;
Life could drop, if off his slugs slipped.
Nelson’s slugs soon a walker tripped!
“So, this about film shooting:
Asking death to start its hooting”
Fear had nice folks glued to a spot,
While watching not Nelson but Death’s Slot…
We’ve seen a lot of stuff together, Gumpa Bear and me
He’s been my cuddly confidante from one to seventy-three
He’s looking pretty tired now - his fur has lost its shine
His head is very wobbly, but I’m really glad he’s mine
He’s listened to my worries and comforted my tears
Shared a million secrets, banished all my fears
He’s guarded me through childhood, been there throughout my teens
Been steadfast in my adulthood - who knows what he has seen!
He’s kept a silent vigil and watched me as I sleep
Perhaps it’s just a blessing that he cannot speak
But he has a hidden voice you see that only I can hear
Special words of wisdom whispered in my ear
I’ve made him many outfits to make him look so smart
To cover up his patchy bod and warm his teddy heart
He’s looking rather dapper now in navy blue and white
He is my guardian angel each day and every night
He seems to understand me with his gentle brown-eyed stare
I love him more than words can say - my darling Gumpa Bear
I’ll never ever part with him as long as I may live
And then I hope that someone kind a home for him will give
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