Reddening Poems

Since You've Been Gone

You'd tilt cartons under your nose;
milk missed your mouth and cooled my toes.

Droplets have hardened when they've seeped
under the bed, the run now steeped

in stickiness since you've been gone.
If shadows sleep, mine has withdrawn

under the bed asleep like dust
when squeaks wake up the bedframe's rust.

Your absence forces me to yank
the mattress off to scour the rank

sourness and rough smattering
of crumbs, the stuck broom battering

lampshades reddening my eyes , beets
as if I am a ghost in sheets

circling a glass bowl's facedown rim
embedded in the dust grown dim.

free-verse of a childhood and sleep problems

There's a ghost,
since my child-hood,
seen them floating
in my bed-room
when I was seven....
They never scared me,
but they just floated
in repetition,
and they had this
look of horrendous
of torturous.....

I don't believe
as I can't ever feel,
when the seeds
never grew to boil,
and weeds take the toll
and neglect is a toil,
You tried hard and never,
gave up on how its severed,
my knife to my heart
my own dreams ripped apart

The photographs
break me like a
dam that is overflowing,
I imagine not, the sickness
of this second sight
of my imagination,
seeing only
humiliation
and a burden
spared as a child.....
Not cast into the wild,
but couldn't stray
after my mother's
brutal beatings
and like a loving pup,
I still unconditionally....

Hell streaks of a shower curtain
bleeding,
and the alcohol and drugs worsen
a feeding
to my veins already
reddening.

I love you,
on the best days
like my birthday.

Sizzle

My hair ripping as her fingernails entwine
pulling my head back
She slaps me harder than she should
Her smile slightly offset
My cheek reddening from the welt of her hand
Shifting herself forcing me deeper within her
The pleasure of her warmth
subdued the pain
My throb in unison with her undulating frame
Cast myself down in reverence
Genuflect to her genitalia
Praising with my grunts and groans
Come she barks her orders
Her hips thrusting with disjointed pressure
Empty now in a guttural groan
but she is not complete
Her knees shifted
Now either side of my face
Choking, gurgling her essence
Her musk a must
Her wetness engulfing
No protection from her want

The Sacrament

Bliss as words like wine pour over a pure slate,
staining it with their meaning
and reddening it with their tones.
Fervor takes over;
the scene unfolds like something already decided
as one letter follows another
like drops from a chalice,
dripping until it overflows.

My neck is craned from fatigue
and out of reverence
as ideas become flesh before my eyes.
Each word is holy—
each character is bread to the wine of emotion.
Sleep is a martyr,
dead on the altar of my craft.
My hands shake from the caffeine 
flooding my bloodstream
and the adrenaline joining it
as the ritual continues.

This story is my body.
These words are my blood.
I do this for remembrance—
the hope that I can become something more than
what I am.

CACOETHES

CACOETHES

The urge comes upon us all, in time
To step over the line, however bad
Yet some of us know, others do not
How deep into trouble one has got
For a few, it can be starting the rot
But in ignorance, still won’t be sad
And not recognise when it’s a crime

One may even surrender to the urge
When being naughty is all that it is
But not when it’s serious infatuation
Nor if resulting in severe perturbation
Breathe deep with a slow exhalation
Perhaps even welcome that rare fizz
And feel a little sizzle with the surge

Embrace control as smooth emulsion
Always know the way back to sanity
The word created by ancient Greeks
Heed the warning of which it speaks
Read those signs in reddening cheeks
And listening out for all the profanity
Yet be wary if it becomes compulsion

Reddening Trees

Leaves leaving reddening scarlet trees.
Sweaters weaving before the freeze.

Fire on the River

The boat sways under a reddening sunset.
Is it wrong to wish for a Viking funeral,
to ponder a last journey West
into the dying light?

Strangers have always been my companions,
they intuit
the liquid, and inflammable nature
of this thing we do

- this poetry that is the life of us.

I could rest here in a free-floating skiff
adrift on a long warm wave of evening,
let the wooded lands and sloping meadows,
the smoke-stacked barge brimming harbors.
the patched up, river towns,
let them all slip on by
under the furled sails of evening clouds.

Just drift myself into the dusky flames,
as kindling for a starry night,
until the flowing waters enter a darkening fall,

or should I hitch this small craft
to an uncertain tomorrow,
maybe land upon another stump of reality,
one where imagination
can still idly play with fire?

Symphony of the Sunrise

Aurora has arrived. The symphony shall start.
Andante is its sonata and golden.
Cast away is night’s dark cloak. Such lovely art
greets each day. To God I am beholden.

A reddening beauty becomes the sky
as the morning’s goddess is arising.
Indigo slides into vibrant blue on high.
Oftentimes her splendor is surprising.

A minuet plays. With a quickening pace,
the sun grows large; the cock crows; the birds sing
in long shadows’ glow. Let the finale bring
to all of us below dawn’s renewing grace.

The Cat's Ass

don't sip the stream the orange king roared
but his warning went largely ignored
the water was tainted with crocs 
the big ass died right on the spot
cat tail twitching from the reddening shore

I Can Survive

My feelings, on the crest of each wave,
a fresh beginning washes ashore,
then ebbs away
before becoming a “thing”.

A dream rides each falling leaf,
drops to die in the sun,
portraying the tree
as the murderer.

Dandelion fluff scatters seeds
of memories across the air
and ending – well, nowhere,
blaming the breathy gusts.

If only I could ride the reddening
rivulets to lakes frozen in time,
those that hold my dreams and hopes
before melting into nothingness.

Then, and only, should I learn
the life that beats to break the hold
is always bound with hope.
If only I can survive.

Great Outdoors

it's teeth
some jaw around 
my head, biting
baiting an air beast
wintering wind
anaconda squeeze
of miserly monsters
that I'm dragging
as I walk and wings
whose tips stipple 
cheeks, reddening
through slow-mo
torture but somehow
that winter stroll
hidden critters galore 
is a glorious break
beckoning staleness
from stolid afternoons

The Colosseum

I am weary of conflict,
arguments battling across
bloodied ground.
The dead 
always come back
as ghosts to haunt
the dark arena of sleep.
Life becomes defined
by armaments.

I shall find a place
in the lull of an evening 
where the wind quietens
into prayers whispered
along leafy avenues
and storms no longer claw 
at the stone walls and pillars 
of the temple
but become gentle rain
soothing the city
with its long fingers.

There, on the steps,
I shall leave a fragile
offering for you. 
If you come, come quickly
for the sky carries
a reddening glow 
and the hearts
of many are beginning 
to harden.

There Was a Time

There was a time
in days of yore
perhaps far back
before a cave had
a door – when faith
was everything

Before we thought
we knew, and dreams
and prayers more mattered

There was a primitive time
before science recognized
when all was myth and
ethereal drift....

till our fantasies and politicking
produced a world of real fire breathing
dragons, reddening many skies
and lands

There was a time

when man yet had

plenty of time....

From the Hidden Windows

From the infinity of the hidden windows the cuckoo cooing ushering the morning through the darkness

Feroz has just set fire to the oven, and his brief body cloth he stretches to cover his ears and face

There is still a chill in the wind. Baby leaves are yet to deck up the bare skin of Neem trees

The oven is lending heat to the two street children
The birds' chorus seems never-ending

Flames glisten in the elliptical eyes of the children
In the cotton trees, the flowers have just begun reddening

The glow of the flame tinges the sharp face of Feroz
In the two eyes sits the expanse of struggle

From a distance, wafts a smell of rose
Sounds of sips from the teacups in a circle

Suddenly there was a commotion a few houses away
Ambulance
The quiet of the morning has gone haywire

Profuse tears and loud screaming, a flea in the tea
Nadir or zenith, you are beside me
___________________________________________

24 February 2023

Moonrise

I
At about the same space, eastwards
About eight hours after noon
- yes, it was night - miracle for me
I saw a sun rising ... Exactly as at dawn
A peeking, reddening of sky, creeping up
An amazing moonrise. In my 63rd year

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