Sad memories to past belong,
as sunlight slides behind the hill
she thinks of what has come and gone,
how love once lived so very strong
but ended young by war’s sharp prong~
she longs for her lost lover still
and hears the call of their heart song
as sunlight slides behind the hill!
Nostalgic memory
nerve nodules ache for blissed breathy musical beats
reverie
I hear music
for dances of slow life longing
cubic
Birdsong
in garden heats
prong
Nostalgic memory
for dances of slow life longing
prong
Ache in soul, O prophet?
The world is horrid hell.
Tracheotomy Tophet!
Suffering a-swell!
Gale, crash with titanic force!
Roil the ocean bad.
Ship that I'm in, blow off course...
That will lurk, O lad...
Horror, thou art with us.
Volcano, just explode.
Mayhem, madness, ornery cuss.
Bitterness, fate, ode...
Cry of a dying warrior?
He must have got hit square.
Poisonous and on the pour!
Blessings, be thou bare.
Grim and grateful, hoary, high.
Machine on the move.
Doom and Death, deliver! I?
What have I to prove?
Clash of giant armies?
O warlocks, bombs away!
Never mind the charm! Cheese?
Just dessicate and flay...
Pray, O poets, not too long.
Come on not too strong.
Best to stay where you belong.
Potentate, thy prong.
Song of banshee, sirens, wail.
Never end, O tale.
Hollow, are you, garbage pail?
Blizzards contain hail...
use a tuning fork
when facing a dilemma
for the two prong shape
provides two preset options
for keeping progress in tune
Stolen from story book disbelief
Leather cape swoop, hooks my veins
Fork prong fangs drink, blood drains
Bubble in ruby bead eyed thief
Gurgle as furry gargoyle fills
Helicopter hurricane flurry vanishes
Clutching my haemorrhage damages
Explosive throat, dizzying thrills
Attack on this dreaded day, theorise
Opened as old time, musty pages
Terror in an unexpected text message
Dirty diseased creature in disguise
Heroic helper - no - unobscured horror
Giving me a role in rancid plot
Grave digging past reveals rot
Historic vampiric bombastic bother
Haunted Taunted
Spooks Peek
Last of October
Golden dewdrop spread on gray window sill,
warm rays from the summer sunburst at will,
sprightly cheep from high flier mourning bird,
pulsating heart aroused by what I
heard
Gorgeous is an adjective for viewing,
colors on an august sketch pad brewing,
vivid blooms awash in swaying basket,
visual trinkets stored in made up casket
Brown leafs strewn that capture noonday wonder,
elevate a world from going under,
pathway to a peak or slope’s dream patch,
eternal beauty words can never match
Heaven at my doorstep every second,
fantastic bliss around me now beckoned,
mountains, valleys, trickling streams, verges,
a burgeoning green world city surges
Rainbow fountain mesmerizing stunned throng,
eye catcher sprinkled hue a bright mist prong,
gorgeous is that gift wrapped term used above,
blue skyline veil from brushstroke that I wove
Late in the afternoon,
long shadows drive in-roads,
between paths of sunlight.
Got my Nikon on.
Locked and loaded.
The white tail just came too close,
got him!
Man did he fly when he heard,
the whir and click of a live camera!
Shot him startled and looking,
shot him leaping.
Took him down
as he disappeared
back into the deep woods.
Man,
I think I will hang
his big old beautiful head
on a wall,
somewhere at the back of my brain
forever.
'Ping-Pong' is wrong
'Peng' confided
If 'Ping' is lopsided
then 'Pong' is misguided
'Prong' decided
Deposited, held in Amazon's Adonis arms
Hidden inhospitably stashed, kite shadow
Curled furtive, stairway stupefied windshield
Hallucinations lag languished in amusement
Monkeys freeze, screech scamper scratch
Egg smooth roof unscathed cubby abode
Jagged gaps hang fur curtain climbing mates
Swung carefree in cramped homecamp humid
Aghast lopped log rest exhales raggedly
Snapped propeller askew salutes defeat
Wing bent lungs transform fortitude into fuel
Crushed accordion bodied anaconda swivels
Lock jaw latch tight to jungle gym frame
Liquid flow flanks scale, giant slug glued
Fork tongue tastes rain drip following day hope
Fangs prong Coconas sour tomato gold codicil
Cluster juice burst berries, bittersweet bulbs
Knobs of Contreu twisted tangerine vitamin
Fibre feeds faith indispensible, thin torsos entwined
Fight against forbode of abandonment, exhausted
Anonymous Minor Survivors
Middle of Jungle June
I wanted to be her
So that everyone will like me
I decided to hold my guts together
So I can be the bird set free
I tried and tried and tried
But no one appreciated
My own soul became my other side
I forgot why I was created
Then one day she was proved wrong
And maybe so was I
Maybe I scraped my own self with the fork prong
And filled her in hope of something high
I forgot no matter what
I am good and will be good
I don't need to be someone I not
As long as I stood
I totally forgot I will be I
And she will be she
From now on when I look at the sky
I will wish for the six year old me
psyches of all bards and writers
synchronized crowd swimming in waters
yuppies and brave souls unheard by all
chanting audience in an imaginary stall
hearts we hide as words unfold
on paper and scrolls, always young never old
lasting ink or cellphone battery so strong
of thinkers and scribblers of prong
genetics of poetry or honed skill
your poetry in a song that inspires and fill
only the strong survives and remain
filaments of musing, project and pertain
poetic justice is justice for all
or no balance like a bouncing ball
ever and never will an artist to surrender or fall
triumphant in all writings, big or small
remnants of your undying soul
yours is the scepter and crown and tiara
like winner takes all
Marbles of different colors
Wobble on a board
Striped or solid colors
Numbers all aboard
Carpals, long or short
With a stick, prong or jolt
Balls babble on the spot
Squabble on each dreamed slot
Sides or corners on target
Minds at play don't forget
Which side and in what tune would you like to play for...
Table or tailored floor?
Lush are the river banks,
plush the mellow yellow reeds.
Cattails prong the sky
in stiff array.
A day for leisurely walks
by a rippling creek
or boating in the broad stream
of slow musing thoughts.
My love is a mermaid
I made from pink champagne
and daydreams.
She recalls these words,
whispers to me
of green wood’s long drowned,
of snow white swans
as large as manta rays.
If she had a hand to hold
it would be mine,
I would take it and bless it
just as a roaming river
has blessed my winding path
this way
and that.
In our family;
Like bunch of a key;
Where we said,
Tradition is must;
Debates went about,
Cutting down a palm tree;
Whose fruits fell,
On our tiled-roofs;
Left them leaking,
Through many monsoons;
Elders said no for long,
All, in leakages, did prong;
It's, then, the youngsters stood together,
Cut it down and saved the houses dear...!
He moves down the row
driving a spike into their heads.
Tap tap - double taps
one tap would have done.
I think he enjoys it.
maybe his wife henpecks him.
I stare at the frog allotted to me;
small, green,
wide grinning mouth.
It looks like a cartoon drawing
as it sits motionless between folded legs.
I think it likes me.
I half expect it to make a sardonic quip
about the nerdy lab tech
and his thin silver death-prong.
Tap - Tap
Later, my frog is reduced to
just one limb attached to an oscillating current.
The leg dances on.
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