Four years old and short of breath,
in a tented bed at the end of the ward,
the terror of separation in check only
because Mother had told me she would be
there in the morning, first thing.
But she wasn't, and at last I just wailed
across the receding rows of sick children
and they, like sympathetic strings,
howled back in atonal harmonics.
The bulging matron shouted: "SHUT UP!",
and grumbled loudly about “that brat”.
Later, when Mother arrived,
the matron handed me a toy
with a smile,
that did not reach her eyes.
summers receding
the dry heat has been stifling
with wildfires and drought~
i welcome cool temps of fall
with displays of reds and golds
Shadows, how they fall
In distances, from the walls
And the citadels, that they had built for all of us.
And from our ancestors to our ash
None of this will to will, will last
As we again do cast, shadows to the north of I, and shadows to the south, of some lost and lonely self,
Lost in straw; and imagining,
At what made shadows and what will Gods, and what the demons that will wait to pounce upon the fools, at the gate.
And loss to lost, and the record of our loss will fall to shadows
Distant and receding
To shores undreamt and conceding
To the dreamers of the dream, (in) dreaming.
And now by the light of some other dawn, come the shadows standing tall,
Like watcher's watching all of us,
From some n'other wall that towers over and above some other huddled, muddled mass
All lost in straw, with fevered dreams and muttered prayers;
Lost to time and lost to cares
Then forgot, and gotten caught in shadows grasp.
And shadow grasps at straw;
And shadow grasps,
Without no bones to gnaw upon
No bones to pray what for
Nor make much more
Than what it was we had to made before, remembering
The divide in us.
Gurgling stream invisible,
drawn to its blithe bosom,
by edge of dawn kismet,
whose loiter and lurk in,
my peep of day ear satin,
taunts drowsy pallette vein,
with velvet sonic swerves,
unique, unseen, unfolding,
conjures a deep sensory,
whiff of innuendo imaged,
blurred eye phase paused,
red sun sears sleep crust,
salt gust imp tickles twitchy,
nose, my loyal guide dog,
whilst morning slumber,
thaws in trancelike mien,
to shed blind spot tramp,
a faint backwash swoosh,
now flags receding eddy,
near rapids hazy vision,
one can intuit in a blink,
but not quite glimpse!
The joy of fervent freedom suffuses my sky,
enraptured heart’s allured songbird soars high,
glides in the spring-rippled amorous air,
carries your fleeting jasmine flair.
No one sings the song of lonesome yearning,
for the thunder storm of strife surges in
from the illusive horizon receding to obscurity,
the wrench of desertion crushes my ecstasy.
The crippled bird folds the wings curled,
like the withered flower painfully unfurled.
Mangled mind endures the pangs of isolation
in the ruined nest made of twigs of emotion.
The wilted petals dislodge from the floral fold
as the snow storm blows winds of desertion cold.
The devout flower finds the dreams in debris,
in the rustle of leaves its sigh subsides weary.
Radiance of the spent sun sets with a lonely creep,
an impaled bird loses its course in blue deep
of the far away sky not yet flown.
The pain of broken heart feels like black cat moan.
(Inspired by Glenn Hudges' song Black Cat Moan)
Time stopped for them on the serene sea shore,
pairs of parallel footprints engraved in eternity
on the serenading sands that listened patiently
the rolling waves’ moist whisper of marine love,
as her eyes sparkled in the beam of the lighthouse,
when the ebony night draped the charcoal sea.
The light of her eyes went out one dark night,
the wrecked mariner sailed out to the high sea,
riding the swells of tear on a voyage of solace
in search of the new sun in the receding horizon.
The surging winds carried the echo of her lost voice,
the craving call of the silent shore she deserted.
The beacon flickered like a candle in the wind,
the fleeting glint of her eyes when they closed,
but the lingering rays of the guiding light travelled
through the turbulent wake of the floating memory.
The anguished mariner returned to the lonely shore,
traced her faded footprints to the lighthouse.
The final rush of water slows
its pace
To trace a lace of white upon
the sand,
A gentle, slow, and soft-
unfolding grace
That gently pulls the edges
of the land.
The wave returns to where it
first began,
To heal the wounds of where
the currents tore,
To wash away the heavy
steps of man
And smooth the wrinkled
apron of the shore.
It is sacred rhythm, dark
and old,
A constant breath that never
seeks to rest,
A story told and then again
retold,
Upon the ocean's wide and
changing breast.
The wave is gone, but still the
water rise,
To match the turning of the
midnight skies.
In the mist there are two gray shapes receding.
In the mist two gray ships become one.
In mist there is water.
In the water there are two gray ships receding.
In water receding, there is more sand.
In sand there are two gray shapes protruding.
In sand there are two mush-gray shapes.
In water there is too much ape s**t.
In the sand there are two chips.
In the distance there are cruise ships.
[Inspired by an article over ten years ago stating that cruise
ships were dumping raw sewage into the ocean behind them.]
The cart of time carries me along the ordained path
from the listless life rooted in the threshold of present
to the desolate wilderness where I was once.
That’s the fading past receding away fast,
waiting to get abandoned and obliterated.
Lying in the shadow’s edge of the furtive future,
creating the convivial flood of copious craving,
inundating the lavish landscape of my ornate life,
I dwell in the fancy desire domain of perpetuity
with the deathless dream of delusive longevity.
I perceive the pulsating memory undying
reside in the remote recess of the passionate past,
where the beguiled bird of my love for life
soars in the seamless sky of my sensual present,
wings of hope flutter to fly past the future horizon.
I drift to the certain end with the immortal soul,
floating entranced in the sublime sea of eternity
with winds of love blowing on impermanent sail.
I yearn to get from the divine time for my life
the treasured magnanimous gift of longevity.
Stared at the ashes of burned bridges
Blank and free, stripped of emotion
Densely piled through the ages
Obscured from memory, no recollection
The scorching fire came not from inside
Unaware even that a tether exists
A consciousness bound in receding tides
Resembles a sun to an evening mist
Wasted by life’s strange concoction
Dampened hopes, dimmed sight
In a cobweb of confused emotions
Wildly spun, tangled tight
Lost while traveling the selfless road
Regret revealed what truly matters
Reached the isle of pain—cold and broad
Relief, now, found behind closed shutters
Solitude, a consolation offered
To an existence where others once lived
A need for what remains to be spared
When value, in the absence, is perceived
Inwardly
searching
and seeking harmony
part of me
lives to dance
across the vast expanse
that crosses
all boundaries
finally an awakening
realizing im not alone
we're prone to grow valuable
in the light of whats shown
but still we're seeking value
in the eyes of a universe
that keeps us under the thumb
of its inescapable curse
I've learned
the world turns
dips and swerves
in a blur
solar flares
they burn
but have no fear
we still preserve
and push
through the night's
extended reach
while we keep
the knowledge
within each
is a key to eternity
certainly...
above the light
of a galaxy fading
we're ascending
and communing
among
a crowd
of interstellar
heavenly beings
and the clouds
are now receding
while the blind
are now seeing
revealing the currents
of fallen leaves
we glide upon
endlessly
while reshaping
the dust
from the rust
of all that has passed
and like
a script of Sanskrit
these words
will everlast
Used and discarded thought shadows lurk
at every sunrise as if each were renewed.
A touch from the fading past, in a moment
as i look at the wet pebbles, ever decreasing.
Welcoming the receding tide, a caressing breeze
on which floats, the busy two tone oyster catcher.
On that breeze voice’s travel, voice's calling out
over the relentless, out going, in coming waves.
Are we all but driftwood ? Leaving to return
when the gorse flower is yellow in rare sunlight.
Maybe rudderless, in a firm belief and trust,
of our hearts compass, and its choice is free.
Be elusive ! Leave no trace, be faceless in
milling throngs and crowds, not out of place.
Perhaps a living phantom, amongst many,
yet never careless in your constant carefree.
Blend into the background, be seamless.
I silent them all, in sweet confusion...
Without any form of agitation
That could promote tough sensitive violence,
Cum the targeted aim via annoyance.
I brief them all into falling failure,
That keeps degrading their young minds pleasure,
Without possible mastery of goodwill,
Cum troubling care dreaming to stand there, still.
I cut them all off in near distance hot form,
That seems weak to get back on... or transform
Another chance to hook up lovely plan
Without letting go ease, till peace be ban.
I keep up with writing to make hints; fresh...
Cum wandering war receding to refresh.
In the folds of night, as a wave, you came
Charioted in a filmy dream
All night you were with me
In love’s uncharted land, we roamed
You sang to me sweet rhymes of love
Echoing the lore of romantic lovers
Your voice choked and moist with passion
Overwhelming me with an ecstasy so rare
You fondled me with infinite tenderness
Opening in me all inlets of pleasure
Our hearts with divine furore filled
And we knew love’s sweet benediction
In the seclusion of that silvery night
Looking into the corners of your love lit eyes
I saw an ocean of rising and receding tides
And took a dip in the whirlpool of love
All night I inhaled your scent
Knew the warmth of your breath
Siphoned the sweetness of your lips
Alas! With dawn, you faded away like dew
does the dawn fall in love with
the receding night?
does the sun long to merge with
the silvery beams of the moon?
does the blue sky ever attempt to kiss
the earth in a tight embrace?
do the mountains strive to touch
the stars of the firmament?
is it not the red tint of the morn
that colours the cheeks of the dusk?
is it not the smile of the moon
that lessens the wrath of the sun?
is not the sky sharing the earth’s pain
as it sheds tear drops in sweltering heat?
aren’t the twinkling stars covering the darkness
lending a radiant sparkle to the black granite?
thus through mutual love, the world prospers.
love turns the world around,
enriching the donor and the receiver
it gives more than the soul can aspire
it lights up more than darkness can hide
it fills the void, makes us whole
a lighthouse to the sailors at sea
the greatest gift, a treasure of measureless worth
so love as never before, love till you die!
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