The band forms via destiny sprinkled with chance.
Traveling backroads, they bond in blood and struggle.
Moreover, there's love, camaraderie, perseverance.
Destined to lick the tangy mist atop their peak.
The journey, deeply rooted in soul-seasoned sweat.
Ego arrives bearing a rash of tiny leaks.
Slowly sinking, they jump ship and disband.
Going solo, seeking and kneading their own clan.
Sometimes they try to reunite to recapture the past.
But it just isn't quite right; the magic has jumped the vinyl groove.
Green feet have no desire to step back into worn shoes.
the congregation of ghosts showed up again last night
I had a strong feeling I might decipher a face
But alas, they remain mysterious
Ancestors? My friends who have gone on before?
My cousin who was murdered?
Would I finally figure out who took her life?
I was thrilled at how close I came to almost recognizing one of them
But the entity pulled back at the last second and I woke up.
I closed my eyes again, trying to recapture the dream
Not merely elusive; it had disappeared entirely.
I have to think I will someday solve this puzzle.
I wonder if I have to join that world first?
My dear, if we could meet again,
I’d want so much to recapture
the thrill you filled me with back then.
Oh, could we relive that dulcet rapture?
First, I’d gaze into your warm, brown eyes.
You could touch your eyelashes to mine.
I’d whisper: Trace me with your sighs.
Your breath upon my face, dear, I find divine.
Trail your fingers down the nape of my neck.
Butterfly your kisses with your susurration.
Let soft kisses linger, my darling from Quebec.
I want to tingle with anticipation.
Yes, trace me with your sighs, sweet explorer,
and with your caresses, murmur your delight.
Be for me my romance restorer.
Adore me as before, dear dreamy knight.
Nobody told me ‘the world was my oyster’
I never knew they were the best years of my life
Years of freedom, driving around, without a wife
There I was, feeling pressured and pressed
To want what others had, nice house, social standing
Goals that only compounded the stress
Why couldn’t I play ball anymore, eat junk food
What made me want to grow up
When I wasn’t sure I could…
And now here I am in old age
Vainly trying to recapture a life
Where I hop in the car and go
~ free from the grip of a controlling wife
formidable
absolute
sieved
&
aloof
a
literati
structure
framed
in
a
teeming
luxuriant
reminiscent
backdrops
exuberance
in
a recapture
glowing
coagulation
once
splintered
& withered
Ah, the innocence of youth
to recapture it, forsooth
Pursue new kinds of pleasures
~ ditch the gin with vermouth
I open the oven door
to a blast of heat
and hot bread bulging
out of a high tin, brown, crusty
and ready to be taken out.
That smell wafts across
seventy years to when I can
remember bread being delivered
in a horse and cart.
Carrying a big
wicker basket full of hot bread,
the baker would run
house to house whilst his horse
ambled along at a pace
in perfect sync with the bakers
progress along the street.
Weekday mornings
I would wait out front
and rush the hot bread
inside for my mother to make me
sandwiches for lunch.
Mum always complained
that the bread was too hot
for cutting. I had a steaming
slice smothered in butter
before I left for school.
Big, thick, uneven slices
of bread holding metwurst
or cheese or peanut butter
greeted me when I opened
my lunchbox at school.
Bread was never better.
Nearing eighty, I keep
baking bread, writing poems,
as if trying to recapture
those pleasures still steaming
in the past before they go.
Coming back to recapture and constitute whys,
To understand our train of thought, the path we seek with our eyes,
The external influence that suggests and surrounds,
Take it all away and what have you found,
Lay your heart bare and what do you see,
Under all the layers of your reasoning,
What you grip onto so tightly in order to let go,
Take it all away for a moment and reevaluate your soul,
What pain pushed you and prodded you to run into your ways,
What traumas made you run away from your pain,
Take away your fix it mentality because control is not in your hands,
Lay it down at the alter and give it away again,
Give and love freely without control and confined,
Stop trying to conform yourself to free your own eyes,
Love the freedom to love...love the freedom to give,
Stop putting rules on your freedom to live,
I am flowered in the shade of bird wings
neath patch of deep sadness absent of clouds
beholden to loosen memories mist filtered
cell charged energies their liberal release
bars that separate the spirited guardians
of fortitude held till dawn gilded rays shone
on the levy's shoreline thrashing waves
tethering the oceanic breezes crowning the
curling tops of surf swirling foams that
champion a sandy blackened shorelines
surging and receding in merciful coiling
of rejuvenating wetness where beached
life shoots to recapture folds of a fragile
domain as the briny seawater air loops
loosely stretch o'er the isles beckoning
the suds of waves and coconut thuds fall.
Hard to stand up for what’s right
when POTUS gives up on the fight
Right away he abandoned Afghanistan
forsaking our own soldiers to the Taliban
For two years he’s supplied arms to Ukraine
but never sent what would recapture terrain
And now he’s all-in for a Gazan permanent cease-fire
fueling Hamas’ ‘thousands of October 7 massacres’ desire ...
Just part of POTUS ‘ironclad Israel support’ ~ the bald-faced liar
My heart,
Betrays me,
At the shape of your name,Delhi.
It never felt like some cosmic relation,
Like when I was kid ,I never cared of your existence,
All I've ever dreamt for is to be somewhere new,
I didn't care where or with whom.
So why do I feel this hurt,
At the sound of your name,Delhi.
Maybe because I had you for a while,
Now I have nothing at all.
Maybe because you were the home,
I was looking for so long.
It never felt like a cosmic relation,
But I'm grieving for my desertion of you.
What we had feels like a dream,
I'd recapture it,replay it,rehearse it,
The love once was,is now just a memory,
I'd forget,but I'll never forgive you,Delhi.
Trailing clouds of glory do we come
Until by the end we are left dull and glum.
How it all came to this
We are responsible
For being so remiss
The magic of our early moments
Emblazoned in our minds
Fades and disperses with every pressure
Our world brings to bear upon our pleasure
Exams, bills, targets, workday worries
blunt our perceptions
And drive them undergound
Occasionally to spark alive in a dream state
Eluding our grasp
once we come to our senses
Wide awake and once more blind
How to recapture
And to resurrect
That rich inner spirit
Which came with our birth
That should be our aim
Too many earthly concerns
Within our clay
Must take the blame
For that loss of courage
To break free from the constricting frame
Forcing us
To forget the beauties of the day
To play the stultifying economic game
The stifling straitjacket of life
Keeps us playing
Prisoner Of Time
Miracle Man
4/21/2024
At birth, each became,
a prisoner of time.
Our sentence diminished,
with each clock chime.
Hopefully, the time we served,
wrung from us our best.
That we showed gratitude,
for being highly blessed.
As for day’s that have passed,
we can’t recapture or reshape.
And we realize that death,
becomes life’s only escape.
That the sentence each served,
was all that each savored.
And we left life feeling,
blessed and highly favored.
The balmy breeze wafted over the prairie,
Where yellow cowslips huddled in patches.
And here and there I heard a whisper echoing:
Love her, love her, love her.
But she seemed deaf and preferred the wounded wind.
How easy it was to forget and never recapture
All my wistful whisper, I would always love you.
Those sweet nothings of past affections.
We no longer trudged the path made up for two.
Forgotten were those bygone days
When we believed that thistledown tufts
Were really friendly fairies in disguise.
Thus she escaped my clutches
And like a unicorn disappearing in an eclipse,
I headed for a dull and empty living
Blaming her uselessly for I still loved her.
Weren't we the product of our time?
We slammed the doors of love in our own faces,
Building woeful walls around us
Painting it with a tinge of misunderstanding,
When we could lead such a colorful life,
Giving our hearts a chance,
Laughing at ourselves.....
And sending a whisper,
a woeful whisper to the moon above.
Placed First
When I was small
The skies were a deeper blue and magical
Food tasted different and wonderful
Everything was new and fanciful
And I was innocent
Where's that entombed?
Can I recapture freshness
uniqueness and amazement…
anew?
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