Tomorrow Autumn becomes official
according to all tribunals judicial
May the season be entirely beneficial
with nothing at all artificial
I don’t refer, of course, to intelligence
but rather to tree leaves, flowers and plants
The essence of Autumn is beauty
not “AI” or its sterile conception of duty
The final threshold.
Death gives a sign,
uncertainty and unanswered questions.
A strong and sturdy bridge,
that many have walked across.
Listening in the emptiness,
a harp without strings.
Emotionally imperfect.
Words fail,
thoughts and feelings dominate the room.
~ without need for description
You have struggled for so long.
Accepting does not refer giving up.
The thing I never said
meant nothing,
Words cannot change the course of life.
A night without a facade,
reflecting your truth and sagacity.
You do not need to prepare.
Follow the light in soothing peace,
with unconditional acceptance.
That smiley exterior
Onwards from morn
Once you had worn
Now drabbly overlayed with
Its own sort. Lorn.
I refer to this manor.
Old; ghostly blown
Tempts none; be known!
Droopy, empty windowed. Of
Ravens outflown.
A grandson said to his grandfather,
"Grandpa, it is said that sometimes
'No' does not mean 'No'. It is said
That sometimes 'No' means, 'Don't
Give up on pursuing me, but come
After me more'.
And he also said, "Grandpa, one time
I saw a sign that read, ' Don't accept a
'No' until you have heard it twice'.
In reply to his grandson, the grandpa
Said, "Well, son, I don't know about
Such 'No's' as you refer. I only know
That I was taught, 'Yes' means 'Yes',
And 'No' means 'No". Anything beyond
That could lead to confusion".
The grandpa further stated, "That doesn't
Mean that I do not sometimes continue
Knocking on closed doors. But it does
Mean that principally speaking, for more
Than 60 years, I have known when to move on."
You’re walking now
in perfect paradise,
your vision restored
like never before.
You get to be with
all who have gone before.
No more pain.
No more suffering.
Your memory lives
in each of us,
in the stories you told
and the time spent together.
We cherish
each of the memories made,
missing you here on earth,
but we all know
you made it home
to live eternity
in perfect paradise
with the Lord by your side.
In the house of many mansions
We know you’re looking down on us
from heaven up above,
watching over your loved ones.
We know how proud you were
of all us kids
and your grandchildren too.
We love you, Daddy,
and we will miss you deeply
until the day we reunite
in perfect paradise.
Watch over Mommy
as she goes on
without the love of her life.
Send her little reminders
every now and then
to let her know
your love will never end.
Goodnight, John-Boy.
Rest in peace.
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms... I am going there to prepare a place for you." — John 14:1-2 :::
Written for my father who passed away June 7th 2026
used to refer to as we said goodnight.
It can last, twelve centuries,
It would be time to milk the cows,
To sit around a table,
To fly marvellous kites
Above Palestine,
Jerusalem, was long an Egyptian,
Then Canaanite, with Jesus Christ
At last the Israelites came,
Should we believe the Bible? Solomon?
Should we believe David? Where?
I refer to Wikipedia,
Nostradamus here took the throne,
Then the Greeks settled here.
18
The History of Jerusalem, my friend
Wasn’t made in a day,
The Romans are renovating the city,
Where the New Testament begins,
but the Jews are stubborn,
Hadrien erected temples
To make the city pagan,
She even lost her name,
The city becomes a Holy City again,
from the seventh century,
Then Arabs settled,
it can last twelve centuries,
It’s time to milk the cows.
One monsoon, lightning and thunder,
One rainless here I feel flustered.
One monsoon, you’re wet with water,
One here, I’m hot in midsummer.
One there, you’re all lush leafy green,
Here, I get autumn-like slimmer.
One there, you are a late comer,
Here, I wait as early comer.
One there, you in Alkapuri,
Here in Romadri I suffer.
____________________________
Ghazal | 12.07.2026 | autumn, love, monsoon, rain, summer
Note: The monsoon that this ghazal talks about does not quite refer to rainy season, rather to heart feeling dry without love. There is a dialogue between ‘you’ and ‘I’, one feeling wet, wet with monsoon rains, the other experiencing dry and hot season of summer. The last stanza refers to Meghdoot of Kalidas (3rd century CE), but talks about the twosome. In Alkapuri, the paradise where the love object of Yaksha resides, whilst he suffers pangs of separation at Ramadri where he is cursed to be, and from where he sends message of love through clouds, monsoon clouds playing the role of a Meghdoot. The ghazal is inspired by one of Karsandas Luhar, a Gujarati piece.
family.
could refer to a group of people connected by blood
one usually bonded by love
normally the ones you go for comfort, support, and solidarity
i couldn’t feel that way with much clarity
was it always meant to be?
what foolish hope i hung to ceased
unfortunately;
it was just how it ought to be.
if it were only as easy as
the words run and flee
constantly at flight or fight
leave
wasn’t a choice nor a option
anxious with caution
everything goes unmentioned
unspoken of, never again
what broken can’t be mend
it would occur
from time to time
when everything seems to be
just fine
chaos arrive
revival of the same lines
strip away our peace from behind
scared it can cause a demise
only i
could let out a wail
why
and cry
left deprived
shatter my bones to pieces
sow me
cut me down
let my blood bleed
all metaphorically
Blooming Artist first call him.
And beautifier.
Who in ruining his own work
'Autumn' so refer.
Windy-moody! Unstable.
A leaf-fall throughout.
Once met his kind; with ripped art
Strewn a loft about.
“Post Pep Comics”
In this time,
there are no children -
we refer to them as the 'undead'.
The young watch on
while their gods war on, it’s all televised,
committing abominable atrocities, war crimes.
Like ancient souls held in the palms
of the war machine they watch on
like zombies, vacant things
scrolling, weighing their relevance
against those dressed in designer ozempic scales, while worlds away
the third-class child attends their lessons in starvation,
surviving death and bullets
trafficked and war torn, raped and
psychologically taken,
click bait;
bleeding into the small tight margins
of Western comics where the Eagle always wins.
Archie and Jughead dispense their puerile rules,
rating us like commodities, stocks that rise and fall;
it’s all entertainment
after all.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
ODE TO YOU
To the success of my endeavors might Love
not illude me. Then might my toils be not
in vain. That even the holiest of me turmoil
is seen as wicked and such meddling
unwanted
.Ultimately from fides or fidare might
a faith ensue that trust then is established.
Only a promise that I may then refer to her
as mine.
Then all that tempest her shall be seen as
outsiders with intent to crumble our trust.,
or distort our togetherness.
The formal promise.
----------------------------------------------------
Staccato
Hera (goddess of marriage)
, Hymenaios (god of weddings)
, and Aphrodite (goddess of love)
shifting a relationship from something casual
to a long term relationship.
Words are thin and often crack under weight
They were never meant to be load bearing
A feeling rises…
Raw and electric
Too large for the venue of conversation
Joy bursts open like the sun you can’t look at
Yet we refer to it as happy
A word so pale it feels like an apology
Grief is worse
It floods the ribs and drowns breath
All everyday language offers us is the word sad
As if sadness were a puddle and not an ocean
Love
The word which betrays us the most
Forced into four letters unable to hold
Fire
Ache
And Impossible depth
We keep trying though
We stack syllables like shaky ladders
Climbing towards the truth
Knowing words will fall short
But we use words to reach anyway
Because sometimes the attempt is the closest thing to honesty we have
Mrs Peeck and husband Clem
provide refuge from my family home
No hugs but felt the love
had no children of their own
Afternoon tea of homemade bread
blackcurrant jam and scalded cream
Home grown fruits preserved in Fowlers jars
a meal at night, silver beet was cooked with steam
Unannounced I'd come to stay
overnight a comfy bed
Dream about old cars and bellows
found in Clems machinery shed
Next day home made lunch was packed
down the hill backto school through long blades of grass
Mrs Peeck we'd ask her age
a question that she'd always pass
Footnote: For those who are interested there is an on line recipe for scalded cream (clotted cream)
The cream I refer to was from a house cow milked by hand
Poetry can be ... soupy.
... silly or serious, seriously.
... senseless, sappy, or sad.
... personal or preposterous.
... religious or politically motivated.
... timeless, or simply synonymous with the spark within.
... in style, stylish like all rhymey or VOGAN or haiku.
... infamous to fame unless “Anonymous” is your name.
... immortalized by the likes of Dylan, Dickenson, Shakespeare and Poe.
... inspirational or humorous, sound like someone you know?
... an art form or an ageless masterpiece.
... incredibly imaginative or an impression expressing the soul.
... a scoop of pantastic* poets sharing a recipe of poems from around the globe
exposing secret skills from inside their poetical lobe.
... about anything, everything, or nothing at all.
...
* Pantastic: (adj) so fantastic, the whole world feels it. (Refer to "Pantastic Poets" written on 8/3/2025)
Where’s zero? Really. Where is it?
If there are, and I mean that if. If there are any positive “numbers.” Where are the negative “numbers?”
The quotes are for another day.
But numbers refer to “points” of an infinity. There are no numbers in infinity, not even a “one” or a “zero.”
What!?! How can we measure anything, including “time?” There I go again, with the quotes.
From what exemplars can anything be “measured,” gotcha.
Where would we be without water? There goes the metric system. Where would we be without ammonite fossils? There goes a stone weight.
Without dried barley grains, well, there goes the inch.
It has been said, and mathematically proven, that all is “one.”
What if there is no “one?”
Well,
Everything just is.
We just is.
Does that sound familiar to anyone?
"I am that I am." Exodus 3:14
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