In the stillness of night
hides abeyance ...
Our souls no longer trapped
in the prison of their form
Where the moon sets us free
to escape from ourselves
And wander in its glow
along the beach until dawn
But like the hermit crab
recalled to its dungeon
We crawl back with the suns
mourning knell
To return to those cages
awaiting
Disappearing inside of
— our shells
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
I’m in retirement now
And so I try to do as little as possible
As such, my waking life
Has become a respite
Not so much from my past career
But from my nightly dream world
Where my life is a constant turmoil
Of new places, new people, new selves even
A constant whirlwind
I fortunately don’t remember most of
But what I do remember
Takes a full day of doing nothing
To recover from.
(6/16/26)
I bought a chair to rest my bones,
I call it “Sam”, my vibrating throne.
It hugs my back and holds my drink,
the perfect place to sit and think.
But once I drop onto that seat,
I lose the use of both my feet.
A strong magical embracing force,
locks me inside my lazy course.
I try to rise, I fight that spell,
But in this seat, is where I dwell.
I guess I’m stuck here for the day,
please send snacks rolling my way.
No dangerous lair
Dark with menace!
From out this tree shade, antique
More gently lit, edenic
This vision face.
Afar, but untouched
By it? Not me!
Soul, reclaimed! With each bounce, arc
Lamb-spurted, and sped of lark.
Joyous and free.
Escaping pain and turmoil from the world of men,
I walked away and disappeared
into a forest by a gurgling spring,
and there, I found the many shades of green
calmed me and soothed my wounded soul.
Where shafts of sunlight found the glittering water,
and beauty was a kind of psychic balm,
I wondered how this place could be so quiet,
when so much, in fact, was going on.
A breeze song whistled, causing reeds to sway,
as rock and stream danced a happy jig,
and, within, inch long minnows swam.
So much hatred in the world
Nary a banner humbly unfurled
From the leaders on down
Reason on lockdown…
War, blood and guts thrive
In every century well and alive
In death, can respite ever lie
when bullets and bombs darken the sky
the comforting silence
of the mountain cabin
welcomes her back…
away from it all
she lets down her hair
-------------------------
Candle glow at midnight,
The hatch is locked
A scrambling splutter
As I reach for the key of circles, bolts and lines.
But just as before. The circle ends 4 corners behind
And I'm scrambling again for another key
I plead the glow;
It flickers as I-
Well, I,
I cherish my existence once more
As another circle starts to grow...
My foot taps to the humming,
Blood rushing under my skin, I'm thrown to the couch–
It's way past midnight. Immobile, so I curb the corner.
Did I feel the end?
For better or worse, the hatch unlocks, no key.
My head tilts, and
I can't seem
To keep the colours uniform again.
I spiral to only splatters of *pink* and *green* caressing the wall
Overwhelmingly.
Please, don't, love.
But I do, do I? FOR WHAT PURPOSE?
I plead once more.
And become void, I hate. I hate. I hate.
But only pink could resonate.
wind groaning in pain
quite chilly winter gloaming ~
cozy near the hearth
melancholy days approach;
escape where? In naked woods?
where do winds wail around
the hilly slopes?
where ash, maple, and oak abound?
I see a dazzling blaze,
a kindling world,
as fires leap everywhere
all over the hemispheres,
where fatal booby traps are sprung,
where bombs fall without respite.
now, where can I escape?
Suddenly, night fell, and everything was quiet;
from somewhere, a bird sang.
I remembered Robert Browning’s words.
“God is in Heaven, all’s right with the world.”*
(from Pippa passes by Robert Browning)
Entering a rustic, glass-domed greenhouse,
I stepped into a timeless seclusion.
Silence muted the scuttle of a mouse,
living in this synthetic illusion.
Within a succulent juggle of green,
sweet scents emanate from every blossom.
One of the prettiest places I've been:
sensual, and visually awesome.
I explored that tropical paradise;
enthralled by the plants and exotic theme.
I knew a one-time visit wouldn't suffice:
my senses were swirling, like in a dream.
This green getaway from strife and trouble:
was a pleasant respite from life's regrets.
My fantasy garden in a bubble:
as far from reality as it gets.
Until Winter leaves, Spring can't show Her face:
of the permanence of Spring; there's no trace.
We will be in June before you know it:
Spring is teasing, not willing to commit.
Another miserable afternoon:
before you know it, we will be in June.
The sun is out, the sky is blue;
I’ve done the things I’ve needed to,
So I can sit and watch the flow
And how the river sparkles so.
I can’t stay long, but while I’m here,
Before I have to get in gear,
I’ll soak some rays, my mind serene,
As I enjoy this urban scene.
I’m rarely calm, so times like these,
With sunshine and a gentle breeze,
Provide a respite for my mind,
Where I can leave my stress behind.
Cities have weekends, us unable to function,
Once vibrant and lively, now yearning to function,
The hustle and bustle, now fades to a hush,
As urban dwellers seek solace and a safe place to rest.
Streets that once roared with life, now whisper low,
Echoes of laughter and footsteps, now come and go,
Weary souls seek respite, a temporary release,
From the chaos and demands that never here cease.
Skyscrapers stand tall, reaching for the sky,
While their inhabitants pause, heave a weary sigh,
Weekend warriors retreat, seeking solace and rest,
In parks and cafes, their worries divest.
The rhythm of the city slows down its pace,
As the clock hand moves backward with such gentle grace,
We reclaim our time, reconnect with our core,
In a world of instant gratification, we yearn for not less, wanting more.
Weekends revive our spirits, our senses alive,
As we seek refuge, to rejuvenate and thrive,
Cities may have changed us, but we adapt and grow,
Finding balance amidst the chaos, a weekend's tableau.
Thunder threatens to split open scared sky,
Lightning lightens up the moody madcap weather,
Delightful downpour plashing patters,
Sultry summer cools down, God's blessing bestowed,
Refreshing rain drenches driveways,
Shifty showers gush from dark-grey clad clouds,
Raindrops' respite from heat helps us wind down.
Syllable count: 10.12.9.11.8.10.10
('driveways' counted as 2 syllables, HMS wrongly counts it as 3)
1st May 2023
Contest: Alliterisen
Sponsor: Joseph May
Beneath every roses,
I searched for your petal...
That last leaf is my respite,
You are a beauty in my heart...
The soil that shed my tears,
Created that lost rose...
That last leaf is my respite,
You are a beauty in my heart...
Beneath every hearts,
I searched for my soul...
A last respite in my heart.
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