If you were to ask me
Be the one to catch me, before i take the fall
You'd be the only one waiting, afterall
For whence i open my mouth and
Spill a sea of pills tinged with reddened liquor
I think you'd listen, then
If i took advice from any voice, it'd say 'give up'
But then again the only advice i ever took was the gurgles from down below
Onwards, outwards, suck inwards and hollow
If i gouged the gurgles, they'd say 'continue'
They'd count on me as i count every zero
They'd hold onto my head while i clutch the bottle
But, you'd catch me.
Incase i couldn't catch me
You'd advise me to give up
But i'd have fallen from your grasp
Onwards, downwards, i'd ignore the numbers from the liquor
For they'd spill from my mouth ever quicker
I'd have lost count, either way.
Hey, what did you want to say?
People-life-thrown-wolves-run-saved-kiss-sigh-lone-tough-settle-ride-train-hope-love-look-back-wonder-decide-walk-join-group-core-mates-trust-projects-human-drive-build-strong-right-beautiful-reality-labor-mind-body-new-style-smart-direction-flexible-upright-standing-support-success-grateful-positive-player-family-friends-skills-truth-divine-holy-path-way-ahead-desire-dreams-secure-relax-memories-good-byes-so-long.
Though we are fallen,
we can still find beauty.
And gentle spirits,
clothed in living flesh.
The world of woe,
will still have its graces.
There flows a current,
upon the dark river.
That holds truth in life,
following the hard path.
Reaching for the stars,
we survive the crush.
Yet we cannot hold,
the weight forever more.
when spirit crosses,
and light fills the darkness.
Maybe then we'll find,
the love that was promised,
a long time ago!
Summer's parade
Is on its way.
Cirrus pennons
At the forefront
As high skied, and of their shape
Foreshow who celebrate
With kites that day.
Best procession!
Fun's; unrestrained!
Life, the benign
Which radiates
In sync with bouncy posture
And a ball-rolling gesture
Our part. - you're gained!
His participation won't be needed
But he has this fact not heeded:
To their church his father's lands ceded
And church-building time had them weeded.
It is in real mystery shrouded;
When the issue was raised halls crowded.
"Here men have ascended God's Heaven,
One with six plots he soon made seven
Joel with ten he dragged to eleven,
And this buffoon prefers their cession,
"Happy he's heading church procession."
For "Chief" James had hoped participation,
His picking an anticipation
Building towards preoccupation...
April's scratchy rain
drives daffodils ornate glow
garden temple bliss
spiked blooms of proud gold
sweet charm of composed spires
in sunlight leisure
drift to awareness
canopy of yellow buds
that come up for air
Composed: April 20, 2021
The funeral procession
Moved in silence
Through the empty lane;
Otherwise,
A busier street of,
Puddles during rain,
And those buzzing horns off,
On all by-lanes,
Gave no goosebumps,
As always.
The sumptuous ride,
of the fabulous virus,
Created fear amongst the masses.
The funeral of my friend too
Laid off in silence.
Only a handful loved ones
Could attend her last rites.
I remembered,
Those golden school days,
A few decades back,
Then we shared our tiffin
And gossips together.
Knows not when we lost
The contacts of each other.
Meanwhile, life got busier
With the challenges as ever.
Today,
Her freshness smiles in a frame
Where the breeze couldn’t caress
Her pepper white hairs even in vain.
When I looked back, I realized;
The worth of one’s presence in our precious lives!
All Rights Reserved!
Geetha Jayakumar
May her soul rest in peace.
Life is a procession of days,
They fly past us,
With acute precision,
They keep us with a vision,
Times are floating by,
We live in days,
At times happy,
At times sorrowful,
And at times dull,
Yet our count on earth,
Continues to evaporate,
The doctor comes,
The priest comes,
Our lives and our times vanish.
(a saeta is a brief, improvised
gypsy song, associated with
the high emotion of the
Holy Week processions)
Once a year
O Santiago
we gather here
for this farrago.
Our sandals wear
the same old track -
once round the square,
then shuffle back.
With sinners' cones
on every head
we gaze on bones
of saints long dead
we hum and strum
and ring and sing
but don't accomplish
anything.
This stop and go,
it's all in vain -
the static flow,
the Dance of Spain.
There goes a lonely soul in a coffin
carried by pallbearers which step forward with slow-pace
a funeral leader goes with black umbrella up
the brass band follows:
the trumpet vomits blood from its shredded heart,
one step forwards leaning to left
the trombone steps backward heaving a heavy sigh,
two steps leaning to right;
when the saxophone scatters wandering spirits in the air
the spirits twist their bodies with the sax yearning for lost paradise;
the tuba, on the verge of tears, struggles to advance out of breath,
keeps swaying its bulky body trying not to fallout from the line.
The enchanting melodies of Dixieland,
appeal not only to the mourners but
curious bystanders ears as well.
Stately,slender trees-
Procession towards heaven
From the woods uphill
The Funeral Procession
By Elton Camp
The town’s richest old miser finally died
So only a few cars went on the final ride
Out to the cemetery to see him put away
Where he would stay until judgment day
A man on the sidewalk removed his hat
It was nice to see such respect as that
What I saw next looked so much worse
Laughing in the car behind the hearse
The five in the car were in a good mood
It made me ask who could be that crude
My companion explained the lack of cares
“That car is the one carrying all his heirs.”
fog's fingertips creep
moon silently cackles, grins...
soft glow on blackness
twisted trees moan, creak
pumpkins' wrinkles choke, dig deep...
lit up distortions
shuffling, shifting steps
spirited procession, screams...
smiles flash, trick or treat!
*** Sept. 9 2010
for Linda-Marie's Halloween haiku contest :)
All in a dream
A procession
A walking past
A feeling of their acceptance
All ages seen but mainly a happy old
Another strange dream best left untold
Some faces I recognise there
Seen with a smile a wave old Granddad
So my lovely Grandma the paternal side
There look are the kind Mr and Mrs Lozelle
There between them in their holding hands
There pretty little Jacquie
Overcome with emotion
Even in dreams
Let me see no more
Dedicated to Mr & Mrs Lozelle and Jacquie from my dream, killed in a tragic car accident
in 1971
See the pollens and spores
from flowers and weeds
and all manner of life
sparkle on a stray breeze
in the late afternoon
sunlight.
Know that the dust in your house
is mostly you and your spouse
and what ever children are
still hanging around,
and that thousands of creatures
call that dust
home.
Hear that scientists are concerned
with the melt of polar ice
that releases ancient viruses
and a zillion bacterium
into our daily
lives.
Read that life and more life
travels through space
on a billion meteorites
and we must wonder where
we march in the procession of
life.
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