Old debris still stands alone on the shore,
shivering on the sand motionless,
the roar of the waves lifts it,
its mouth open without a message.
The night wind touches it with its hand,
bringing out stains on it,
while calling out the signal of death,
in the dunes everything comes to an end.
The feathers of shot seagulls are still neatly stored,
bottles still roll silently over their bodies,
fish are found beginning to swell,
waiting their turn to disappear.
Hour after hour,
day after day,
the muddy ground slides away,
the stunted trees slumber under the seduction of sinful hands.
The heart of the intelligent being still acts like a factory chimney,
whose right it is to gaze upon all creation,
even he himself does not know,
the hustle and bustle of his footsteps is but an emptiness.
Atambua-NTT, Indonesia, December 2, 2025
The internet’s down;
the world is on hold.
Since starting to row,
I’ve never missed gold.
Can’t upload my stats;
my streak’s going cold.
State-wide, it’s out
Or so I’ve been told.
But there’s still some time;
Not ready to fold.
In the silence of night,
They roam around in full flight.
Whispers of memories,
Dancing in dream ceremonies.
Slipping away from my grasp,
Like sand grains in hourglass.
They fade like moon at night,
Leaving behind a trace of Silverlight.
I Chase them through the long corridors,
But they are evanescent, leaving the doors.
I try to grab them, a very faint smell,
And those faints landed on this page.
I find my memories, to be
a collection of convoluted excursions
from every moment lived out of place and time
like the handprint of Paleolithic Art
that says... I was there
Could that my memories be manufactured
and not lived, how different they would be
With the changing shadows of age
I claim nothing more or less
then the recorded minutes
that reveal the arrogance
in black and white pictures
glued together by mold and mildew
saved in my junkyard of yesterday's rusty relics
as though they were jewels
stored for whatever reason
I remind myself...one day
I must get rid of them
10/4/19
contest My Favorite Junkyard
Sins and merits are accounted then and there on very shoulder desks by two angels.Soon after a sin go for a merit,God Pardoned all felt and regret the sins by heart!
haiku
*********
a fledgeling starling
came to the pond to quench thirst
a koi carp jumped
-
no butterflies
a white tailed bumblebee queen
mint moths abundant
-
hen blackbird
feeding newly hatched chicks
wasps succumbed to rain
-
flower fly hovers
over greater speedwell
forget-me-not blooms
-
midges chance their luck
my white lilac turned to seed
bird cherries ripen
-
on my garden bench
recording observations
shirt off sunbathing
-
moss once roof attached
lay scattered on the footpath
spring storm has its way
-
a little cracker
a joy... birds shelling peanuts
the squirrels' hoard them
***********
senryu
******
Trump feeds the birds
then shoots or traps them... frugal
no a wicked man
At times when I'd go crazy, I would write about things. I would carefully and bluntly describe the world through my mad eyes. Then when the craze subsides, when my mind's at a normal pace I read those words again and again and again. When you've read it enough times, it stops making sense. Then, maybe I can forget hate and see myself through the lines.
Let it be recorded
my wish to live
where I can sleep
in good weather or bad
on a beach festooned
in the bric-a-brac
of the ages.
Perhaps a vanishing glow
far to the south
all that is left
of that common pestilence
known intimately
as a lifetime
of earthly dues
Now I am leaning with shoulders leeward
still eyeing the reef submerged
a ship's pilot
steering his vessel
beyond the shoals
victorious
to the open sea
From breath to breath
I exhale the plague
once tyrannical
against every stemming cell
once dominant
over every
pulsing heartbeat.
The sea now
lives inside my cells
where time itself
tunnels the sun
through woven matrixes
a surface below
tethered skin
I can only hope
as I fall into sleep
that I soon be awakened
to sea birds squawking
at something of interest
in the tumbling
surf
About a half mile from home, a friend of my father said to me,
"Your father just passed; he's gone". Filled with bewilderment and mystery,
I, a boy of 13, ran fast to my home because my weak daddy was gone.
The first time death came to our home. We were many; a family of 12 children
but I felt like a lone stone on an island
frozen in time and very much alone.
04202017PS
To whom are you praying nobody's
there
Haven't you noticed it's just thin air
There's billions of life forms crawling,
flying, walking around
Why should words of yours be heard
above this motley crowd
And then we've got stars with planets
galore
And this Sky Guy is heard saying no no
not more
So this Who you're praying to he's
covering his ears
And the noise is almost bringing him
to tears
There's people who claim to have voices
in their head
Although this Hearer of Prayers has voices
following him even to bed
BUT
The secret's not out and that's a sure bet
Out of all the prayers comin' today he ain't
heard a one yet
Because when his hearing aid's off Sky Guy
is deaf as a stone
And that's when the voices are finally gone
When his ear device is off he turns the
prayers over to that Angel who Fell
And the advice that guy gives to the Prayerful
could only come from Hell
Who's gonna get through the eye of a needle
when the trumpet blows ?
It ain't gonna be many of those noisy Parkers,
that's for sure God knows!
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