¦¦¦¦ in the ebb and flow
¦¦¦ my dreams ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ in mind,
Humbly ¦¦¦¦¦¦ you will find
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ a gleam that's true
To ¦¦¦ dreams ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ in you.
¦¦¦¦¦¦ my lines ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ with rhyme
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ deem them worth ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ I think ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ your kindly thought,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ words ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ fit your taste.
Please ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Riffle ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ in ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ just a glance,
Give ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ a chance . . .
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ readers who
Tune to them,--may ¦¦¦ be you!
(Blackout of LEnvoi by Robert William Service)
Acorns line the yard,
proud stoic soldiers
protecting homeland,
women, and children.
Burnt-brown caps askew
on beige chilly heads
awaiting the rush
of Autumn’s medley.
Aural leaves riffle,
padding the rough path
with scarlet flutters
of fallen heroes.
Eyes now unseeing
feeding from the loam
in hopes Spring will root
life from sacrifice.
A howling wind
Playing castanet leaves
Rattles the trash cans
Ruffles the squirrel’s tail
Limits avian air traffic
Spins fallen leaves
Into street corner protests
Under the riffle of an unseen flag
Rhythm, rhyme, and resonance.
Riddle, riffle through.
Red run roundabout? Last chance.
Buried deep in blue.
Stifle, sound of silence?
Better not ask why.
Victory bequeaths violence!
Somebody must die!
Pool up, silk thread, on my spool.
Thunder, fly at once.
Help the boy to keep it cool!
Goblin, grinning, guns!
Tyrant of the ancient waste?
How does success taste?
O ye virgins, art thou chaste?
Turkey legs a-baste!
Lobbied for, O hobby? When?
Now or then again?
Gods of death, a death! Try ten.
Dragon, from thy den...
Rattlesnake, thy timber.
Cone of volcano.
Hurry, Blizzard! Cause shiver!
Bloom, thy bungalow.
Dun the skies on Martian soil.
Fate, must we embroil?
O ye serpents, thus to coil!
Water hot to boil...
Figure eight? It's gotten late.
All men hate to wait.
Cross the desert or the strait?
Limestone gone to plate!0
butterflies flutter in your presence
bluebells ring the sound of your voice
bold moon gives bright sun a turn
fireflies light when you smile
streams riffle your name
my heart hammers
in my mind
is this
love
Book pages riffle dance
Feeling its steady glance
Thoughts soaked up
Dreams turnup
Time doesn’t halt
Nostalgic vault
Somber fingers
Forehead expression lingers
Outside world nonexistent
Substantially existent
1/29/2025
Sometimes a breeze can be
a pleasurable presence.
It makes the curtains shimmy as
it creeps into my room.
They ripple with a twitch and flutter now,
pleasant with a warmish ruffle.
But that breeze becomes a wind,
the curtains wobble, riffle, ripple.
Warmth has become wintry:
a wobble and a ruffle bestow
violence now with a blow.
Close that window and tell
that gust to go, quit, take leave.
Yes, it does have a name I try not to utter.
(30 Nov 2024)
#Repetition_of_irremediable_calamity
Stare the dark gloomed space of shooting casanovas, blurred with shades of karma, coated with deja vu, I was here the mind says, my hands mired with more dirt, contaminating my hard work and effort to never to pass through this hind streets of lingering pain and regrets, a rotational oozing of ghostlike tormenting shadows of my yesterday, and feel pacing in slow motion in this circles of no exits, no matter the effort pores punches all over my hope, feel drowning, suffocating and my soul ebbing, dilating in volumes I can't contain any further
My calamity takes everything out of me, regret there be nothing to identify me with, after it's taking, invisible blows shatters me from every direction, how can I not give in when I too was made from the very dust of this earth, a human like the rest
Here I'm tested to never rise again or to man up and prove the naysayers and those who have written me off even before my birth, spirit lead my me to faith without borders, pass me a riffle to eleminate every doubt before me, face up, faith on, and irremediable is just a word in my calamity
#Poetic_Ink
Naught but a billowed vagabond
A breeze longing to shriek
Soar on an eagle’s up draft
Plunge, predator-like, to earth
Riffle the grasses as I pursue
The limitations of my fate
The plain song moves
Drifting on the wind
Flags riffle
At its passing
A nervous horse
Prances and kicks
Death pauses
Wipes his plate
For rich feeding
Combat approaches
I am a civilian at war
I do not know how to hold a gun at all
I hope to return home a warrior
I am a civilian at war
facing giants and the world
I hope you hold my hand when I stretch it for help
I am a civilian at war
My feet are swollen and my stomach as well
I hope you feed me when I won’t be able to lift my hand
I am a civilian at war
My uniform has rugs
I hope you dress me when you see me naked
I am civilian at war
Confused by man’s religions
I hope you guide me if you see me my friend
I am a civilian at war
My riffle has run out of bullets
I hope you recharge mine if have some in excess
I am woman
alone in a labour room
I hope you come to my rescue if you hear my voice
I am a man
Depressed
I hope you talk to me when you see me drowning
I am girl child
sexually Assaulted
I hope you protect me next time you see me alone
I am a young person
Caught stealing and swindling my loved ones
I hope you employ me next time you read my resume
As daylight crept away, defeated
A darkness called me to be seated
Beneath a tree that was no more
Beside a silenced, absent, shore
a cold wind chuckles
passersby turn from her greeting
cul-de-sac trash swirls
a fallen sparrow
feathers riffle in the cold
a bitter wind howls
their hats now tilted
snowmen lean into the sun
carrots sniffing springtime
A drone be, a male bee,
useless in hive of she's,
except at mating time!
Expelled when job done.
A drone is monotonous hum
of sitars and bag-pipes,
mantras meditating,
prayer wheels.
A drone is now an aerial vehicle,
an unmanned helicopter
used for surveillance
and dropping bombs.
A modern form of warfare
whose hum is feared
for the terror it brings
anonymous and remotely
with the sender
out of harm's way.
Just as the bullet be,
when it leaves the barrel
of the way off shooter's riffle.
The drone is still so masculine
but hardly humdrum,
anymore.
Thoughts of nothingness embrace the moonlight
caress the emptiness of pilfered light
drape it across the meadows in dull gray
to light a path for lover’s gone astray --
as crafty shadows hide their sin from sight.
A distant riffle mourns the tree strung kites
that never lived the dreams they thought they might
for something on the wind made them betray --
Thoughts of nothingness…
Cold stars will mock the stillness of their plight
as on a crooked moon their tears alight
to haunt a saddened mist upon the bay
adrift upon a tide that could not stay
but edges ever closer with moon’s height.
Thoughts of nothingness…
©4/19/2022
Your Favorite Theme Poetry Contest
With the weak November sun
and high treed bank
the deep dark pool waters
reflect no light nor sign
of silver fish beneath the surface
Silent save for the murmur
of a downstream riffle
and the kingfisher’s rattle
then a tug on my line
the screech of the reel’s drag
a splash, a glimpse of a fresh steelhead
The tug now a frantic upstream run
I bite my lip and taste my blood
then my line goes slack, the fish is free
and the reel stem cold between my fingers
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