He wears a heavy coat of rusty fur,
hunched and brooding in the coastal scrub.
They painted him a villain in the nursery tales,
a big, bad shadow waiting for the dark.
He has a hundred hollow eyes that never blink,
carved open by the jaws of summer fire.
A crooked spine, a fist of woody knots,
grumbling low curses to the southerly wind.
But who could blame his wicked, jagged grin?
He learned his roughness from the searing drought,
patrolling the ashes of a blackened world
while delicate soft gums slept in the canopy.
He is the grumpy elder of the heath,
bristling, thick-skinned, and unapologetic—
holding his seeds like stolen golden treasure
behind those silent, gaping wooden mouths.
Thin scars
now appear so faded.
They mirror iron bars
old yet decorated.
I connect scattered stars.
Branded,
these marks give me away.
If I’m being candid,
lines hold what I can’t say.
Brute force was demanded.
Upon
a wish the light dances,
here and then it is gone.
The roughness romances,
giving strength to build on.
My skin,
delicate mosaic
painted by where I’ve been.
Whichever one you pick?
It’s story leaves a grin.
The rustling of the leaves in gentle breeze;
the roughness of the bark that scuffed my knees;
the wonders I could view from up on high;
a place where I could run and hide to cry.
there are faceted sides
with the jewelers cut
an intuitive act – an empath’s work of refinement
that boasts mastery and natural symmetry
stolen from the roughness
commandeered from a fleck of carbon
embodied in 990,000,000 years of evolution
he endeavors to open and free its beauty
precisely the third eye reconnoiters
with tools representing intellect
impowered by skill and modern techniques
he strikes off chards of nature’s ancient creation
chiseling to remodel its perfection
he facets to release the light
shielded and tendered in millennial history
that has waited timelessly to be revealed
like the voice that creates the aria
each note given the precise clarity
birthing the song
he imbues the human element
melding with the majesty of this ancient stone
taking shape, becoming a source for his soul
he and the stone are one
with the wisdom of what eternity truly is
within the infinite human heart
Boots in the Ground
Boots in the ground, where the red dust breathes,
Morning breaks slow through tired leaves.
Steel in the heart, resolve in the bone,
A soldier stands though he stands alone.
The road is long, the sun burns high,
Sweat and silence beneath the sky.
No drums, no glory, no trumpet sound,
Just steady boots on stubborn ground.
Each step a promise, firm and plain,
To walk through fire, through loss, through pain.
The wind may howl, the night may fall,
But duty answers every call.
Dust on the face, courage within,
Battles outside and wars within.
Still forward they move, mile by mile,
Through fear, through doubt, through trial.
Boots in the ground, steady and strong—
Holding the line where hearts belong.
Fingers pull at the gashes and scars that litter the body.
They are red,
harsh against the doughy skin they have claimed.
They run so deep into the soul,
Like wells of memory,
easy to fall into.
Then barbed wire,
Displayed as tears,
scratching inside of his throat.
Thumbs lick the roughness of past pain,
eating the contrast of texture between them,
And who he remembers being.
There is no softness left,
his mind whispers,
still trying not to fall into the darkness of the past.
The cave of history is full of rocks,
Sharp with his old blood,
Wet with the waves of depression his therapist begged him to ride instead of drown in.
He wonders about the cave when the tide draws back,
Angry at the darkness,
forcing his fingers to dig into the crevasse of a scab.
He flinches at the freshness of pain,
And watches the light glimmer off the thick liquid dancing down his leg.
He closes his eyes and whispers,
Maybe,
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
To my Quarterback,
We are first round draft picks, starters, ready to get off the bench and begin a new season.
We have tackled many problems in our lives and in our previous relationships, but we will not penalize each other from what happened in the past. Yes, there were some fouls in our past, some incomplete passes and some unnecessary roughness, but we don’t have to put our guards up for defense. This time around, we both are on offense.
The difference this time is that God is our Coach.
Therefore, there will be no blocked kicks, no onside kicks, no running offside, no personal fouls, no pass interference and no substitutes.
You threw the perfect pass (your heart), and no one was around, which left me wide open to receive it. I caught it and secured it gracefully.
I wasn’t going to fumble this one. I ran it in and that day we scored a touchdown.
You sweetheart are indeed a perfect catch.
You and I together are now on our way to the Championship, for we are undefeated!
Love Always,
Your Wide Receiver
The duties are paid, yet restless remain these eyes,
Without my beloved’s sight, in vain remain these eyes.
His radiance softened my roughness away,
Helpless in their watchful pain remain these eyes.
Truth is no healer holds a cure to impart,
Afflicted with the illness of heart remain these eyes.
I cannot accept that another may see,
Slayers of grief and disgrace remain these eyes.
“Bhav” still stands humbled in the endless queue,
Whether love’s confession or death remain these eyes.
The noon heat no longer burns like dog days,
Storms now caress the leaves with care and grace,
The roughness of summer night kept at bay,
'Stead calmness, peace and comfort take their place.
The air is hazy, lazy, filled with fun,
Awaiting the chill and darkness of fall,
Now missing kisses of mid-summer's sun,
And cricket's early morning rasping call.
The sky billows brilliant blue with glamour,
The ocean's coolness purifies the air,
Tempting sunbaths silently clamour
For my pale skin on the beach to bask bare.
Natural things are rarely smooth
or flawless as they appear on the surface
Smooth fur on skin and curve on wing
are rough and jagged underneath
Push back against the grain shows true texture within
reveals bristling hairs and quill barbs of feathers
It's the grit within that shapes us
A pearl is smooth but inside is a seed of grit
We need the bumps knurls and gnarls to grip and hold
Slick things slip through silky wet and wanton fingers
Most natural things are rough at birth
Stones and gold nuggets are fractured rough at source
They're smoothed by wear and tear of sand rubbing in streams
Babies are smooth at birth but age roughens them
Humans grind away all day at nature's roughness
seeking perfection in shiny smooth and faultless
Blissfully they're unaware that
it's the faults flaws texture and roughness within
that glistens shiny the pearl
It's the bumps and gnarls outside that knurls the grip
Imagine a place
Where no discrimination exists
Where there is no topic of color or race
Imagine a place
Devoid of judgment and despair
Devoid of criticisms, differences, and nasty glares
Imagine a place
That doesn’t compare
The way we walk and what we wear
In this place, it does not matter
The texture of smoothness or roughness of hair
In such a place, all would be fare
In knowing that the root is the commonality we share
that will always connect us to the skin we bear
Not everything that is rough is bad
And soft is good
Remember the roughness of the grate is useful
While the softness of the moss
Can bring you down.
A mile and ahead to summit,
Can’t stop although I lack permit.
I am always so eager to admit ,
It matches my way and habit .
A game beyond any loss or profit,
I deny to quit and never retreat.
A script without retake and edit,
Confidence prevails and uplift.
Who said it to be undoable?
None here is infallible.
Resisting roughness makes it unreachable.
My soul says divinity is repeatable.
Natural obligations are traceable.
But can’t stop as journey seems to be remarkable.
Injury caused by less roughness
My thoughts of this world lie troubled and profound
As I pause drenched in the golden hues of copper fields
Stretched to the limit of the bronzed horizons that crowned
Beaming with the aspiration of assured hope revealed
As the sun wraps reverently all around
Where old familiars have settled to retreat
I have come where tranquility and serenity abound
Looking for a place of peace
I stand uplifted by a fabled tree of legendary rhyme
That laid its roots sublimely patterned in story
To furrow richly in the swelling soil of time
Gently resting within its landscape’s glory
It grew ever so magnificently
Harvesting the goodness of adaptation
In perfect unison with nature's severity
Relinquished in the passing of generations
Strong and textured with roughness and age
From the scars of hardship it dwells
In its simplicity and synchronicity-a musical page
A soothing lullaby-a song of peace and farewell
And in that golden light I am reminded we must
In a world amid calamity, despair and strife
Find ourselves in this place of calmness and trust
Amidst gardens of hope glowing with harmonious life
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