As interlude of turmoil swerves
on my mind
leading me to reach for waning hours ,
there is a lull of evening's heave
grating within the ledge of isolation,
until gazing long enough
into darkness, I blink to recall
the revelries trapped in dried blossoms
of ardor now enmeshed ,entangled:
These haunting screams jut out
from a frame of hardened boughs
buried deep among frigid weeds-- and I wail,
stripping night's foliage of farewell
with knots of abandonment ...
and autumn loses its elegance,
those misted tears invading the glint
behind our past trysts --
that I learn how desolate this stained time
retreats when he fades away
like a ghastly ghost,
when the soul-stars dream and die...
knowing in fall's requiem,
I am no longer there.
CLOCK
darting
through footpaths
poignant memoirs yearn
for unspent revelries
where life's seasons fall in haste
" precious moments ripped by time's hands"
Constance La France's The Pensive Poet's Contest
Reminiscences are yet revived by the glory
of Now mirroring slivers of past traces' ~ by poet
This thinning pen lays on a shed
of damp grasses where there are
no flowers to daringly explore---
A gasping star wanes
into the ash of light;
emptiness raking its only shape -
neutral as dunked rays greying the skyline.
Dreary as a poet's last whimper,
unfinished phrases gather
to rest... anticipating
drooped wake of winter petals,
as blots of ink
trace the calligraphy of langour,
the shadow play from past revelries
and adult slow- burn despair : how pensive
sighs offer their chánts
to a rising moon--- and buds of waving lime,
of the sky cascading
all the hums of vintage music evanesce ,
soft sheen of paper crumpling thoughts
so darn mellow , gathering on thé barks
of yesteryears where pages
of innocence and grief múst now
be rendered to memorials' grave...
Watching for thrushes that grow moist
from dusky soil, my heels trek along
deepened clay. As I lay on the porch listening
to tress rustling, inky moon sinks its riddled face
through veil of midnight. Somehow, I feel restless...
abandoned like jagged refrains of this heart
which seems to fall into an unsettling interlude
of time. Yes, this golden chapter drifts,
as a baptism of new beginnings swells.
on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree
The nightfall drools looking for the yellow
among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines
of strangers--native women and children ---
disturb my revelries of younger moments
lingering through the dipping sway from moonglow.
Through calm intervals of laughter, I sway
with mid life's flow; fire to air, salt to honey.
Much as I need to inhabit youth's space,
it no longer belongs to me.
But twilight comes brimming with all
the glistened jewels of my own half- time of a world.
between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like an unsung note
Tonight, let's toast to life's revelries
When sparkle of moments pops fine wine,
Play on the year's red-berried stories
Relishing the grace of Auld Lang Syne!
This vear like bubbles...forever gone,
Yet through all journeys we'll entwine
Firm the resolve, to choose not what's wrong
To sing of kinship, good Auld Lang Syne!
When the heart feels low,
or the day feels too long,
just one warm cup of tea,
and you by me, that’s enough.
No revelries, no crowd,
just peace and a little quite ride.
your smile,
Your gentle touch,
my gaze,
Our heartbeats,
and tea by our side.
Always remember,
You share your laughter,
so share your pain too.
I’m here,
in every season,
for that one quiet cup of tea,
with you.
Always.!
©Chitra Arun
,How seasons and weather change
the way I shiver pleasantly from their
anonymous ways---
daring in the heated blisters of
summer's flesh, then
mysterious through winter's ghost...
There's no way to measure each
and every cycle's radiance--- I don't know
why they are equal in lush revelries,
untamed yet graceful
along pendulums of time.
Still, I thrive, fumble, and journey once
again to relish the ambrosial interludes
within their galaxy ...without counting
the viscous sunsets of fall
or spring time carousels:
I gaze experientially
at life's moments kinetic as brushed winds --
tuck them as magical spells and then
begin yet another awakening
before plucked midnight shuts down...
Asclepius, in days when we are young,
The Music of the Spheres we first hear sung!
Through straining then, to listen and to learn,
What revelries of truth one may discern!
But we are not conceived as angels are:
A thousand mindless cares our minds must mar,
Whose troubled tides, through time, turn tyrannous tsar.
‘Tis ever and of needs a sorrowful grace,
To see a distant beauty, but in trace,
And know it is no work of mortal race.
My deepest fantasies are high.
Into the deep I would not go.
In them, I'd soar with birds in sky
and watch all things that are below.
All on my own, I long to fly.
My deepest fantasies are high.
I’d drift with wind where I’d belong,
and with wind's whispers, I would sigh.
No revelries of wealth have I.
I’d rather lift like a balloon.
My deepest fantasies are high.
Perhaps I’d even touch the moon!
My body once again would be
without its pain, and I’d feel spry
while moving like a dream and free.
My deepest fantasies are high.
through streets of déclassé squalor, i wander,
courtesan of chaos my feet bare,
ballerina on the dirty floor
o the city's kin of decay,
ragtag orchestra plays its dirge;
an eerie swan song.
i dance with shadows, a mistress of midnight's
in alleyways, i hear the ghosts of carnal revelries,
know the dolled-up ghoul of society's sweet melee,
her cocktail shrouded in obtuseness,
shares its waves of beer-fused intoxication
steering blatant revelries, ghouls engaged to death
chomping down streetlight openings in bitter stone
bow walled yew tree drifters, steps of many feet in
shallow parade to pew, the kneel cushion's betrayal
- how the shadowless crave… and the headless sing
In realm of love, you are the awe of mystique~
Musings of smitten soul, passions bespeak,
When glances romantic lure enamored night
To dance of fantasies moonlit revelries ignite
Waltzing with stars scintillating opaline skies,
As smiles endearing emanate from your eyes
Beaming missives esoteric, vying to explore,
Secrets of heartbeats extolling echoes of yore,
Adulating present as tomorrow’s dream soar
To domains heavenly, croons of love implore,
Infatuated by aroma your redolent vibes impart,
Abloom in elixir of the rose inside my heart.
March 26, 2023
Poem of the day on March 27, 2023
Placed 1st: The Rose Inside My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Oh, splendorous, spectacular, resplendent autumn!
Boldly you dye cypress ~ flaunting ochre, cinnamon,
Yellowing sugar-maple, glazing tangerine emotions,
As scarlet winds warble in accents of majestic aspens,
Responding in purple whispers, tupelo leaves flutter
Reminiscing in revelries evoked by red-oak crimson
Lingering in blazing meadows, enchanting red maple.
Oh, autumn! fly me there, into depths of the season,
Frolicking upon gamboge hills, wrap me in your vision,
Tour with me dazzling terrains of flamboyant foliage
Composing deep pleasure in brilliant changing colors,
Hang your portrait upon cobalt cliffs of ruby horizon
Painting blushing hearts in amber hints of setting sun,
Mindful still of wistful shudders quivering barren trees
And unsung withering yearnings of falling golden leaves,
Aspiring blossoming kisses--on lips of flowering spring.
While we wait
The terrace of our flat is a place for retired kings
the sun shines humbly not burning my nose and
the sea is calm as a full glass of water left
undisturbed in the kitchen during the dark hours,
outside in the streets, the pest is raging, closed
shops and full hospitals, death is aggravating,
caused by people refusing to wear masks or go to
parties and illegal revelries, the pest is demanding
payment, nothing is free if you are not prepared
to dance with death not dressed for the occasion.
In the interim, we sit inside and wait for the vaccine.
Colored leaves are earthly bound
falling soft upon the ground
making not one single sound
images of beauty found.
So many those, them, and these
tugging gently from their trees
drifting darting in the breeze
Autumn’s joyful revelries.
Hues of yellow, gold, and red
all around, soft landing dead
lying still upon their bed
in my thoughts, they live instead.
(click on my picture to buy my poetry book!)
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