Sweet spring succeeds severe snow time,
Sublime season of plants rebirth,
Sunshine mild and warm greets the land,
Seeds and flowers sprout from the ground,
Sweet-scented scents pervade the air,
Stars and silver moon vie to please,
Smiles settle on every faces.
Beneath the rippled, sunlit glass,
I rest among the eelgrass blades,
A shadowed world where currents pass
Through quiet, emerald-tinted glades.
A gentle pulse draws in the tide,
Through open folds, the feast is spun;
I sift the sea where currents glide,
And take the bounty of the sun.
A sudden rush—a snapping spark—
I lift and dance upon the floor,
And vanish swiftly in the dark
To settle on the sandy shore.
Here, safe within my textured walls,
Away from cruising shadow’s eye,
Where peace defines the quiet halls,
The rushing world may wander by.
Adorned in ribbed and fluted grace,
Where painted bands of pink align
With lavender across my face,
The ocean's quiet masterpiece—
A living scallop...resting.
"Tulips under Sastin"
is a Project and research module
for a song.
It's mention is a work in progress
it's self. Just the mention of this phrase
means interest
and a willingness to be a part of the
inspiration of this
southing sound.
Urging: needing to exsist it
tugs the helm lines
and twistthem in a bunch.
needing attention
longing to be
it's mere mention causes
those who wish togetherness to
come together and create it
for the sake of the future.
polishing,oiling,swabbing adjusting
so that other's might marvel
at the way's of differencing
can bring others together
in a collective with interest same in need and want
a desire to be creative
and at the same time\create something now
that will sound like something then.
Clean all those instruments
collaberate
and settle on tempo, writte the notes
rmember the tone
adjust the need for
clear and tranparnet readiness
folk who love music and don't
mind working come together and create this thang.
!
Within the painting,
an elderly woman sits~
the years have finally loosened their grip,
leaving only the calm that comes
after life’s long journey.
Her face holds the hush
of lavender dawn~
lines like soft arroyos
each one a testament
to the life she carried with grace.
Around her, butterflies drift~
not bright, frantic things,
but slow-winged keepers of wisdom,
their bodies lit with a pale,
almost holy shimmer.
They hover near her temples
as if listening
to the quiet stories she no longer needs to speak.
They settle on her shoulders
like blessings,
like memories that have finally learned
how to rest.
One lands on her shoulder,
folding and unfolding its wings
in a rhythm flowing with this truth~
nothing learned is ever lost.
She smiles,
acknowlodging
the peace she has become~
a peace earned slowly,
tenderly,
the way morning light
learns to warm a room.
Within the canvas' stillness
you can almost hear
the hush of wisdom
taking flight.
Pulled to align
The pendulum argued.
But the plumb bob knew
what's right and not contrite.
To be poised, centered,
upright, steadfast, sure
adroit, proud but not trite.
Dangling right on
the plumb bob line,
a pendulum perpendicular
pondered,
then answered
to prim and proper,
with ample sufficiency
now certain.
Gravity assured,
swings swung, spun run,
seesaw done,
all daft drafts
exhausted,
the bob plumbed
to settle on
aplomb.
The Pigeons of Thoughts
The pigeons of thoughts fly in joy
only to settle on the ground.
My heart beats with joy like a child
to scare the pigeons,
to see I am in control.
The sun watches my childish play.
It is a witness to my rise and fall,
very much like the pigeons.
I capture the scene
and imprison them in my mobile.
So do my thoughts,
which fly high
and come back within me.
Written by
Suresh M Iyer
Beneath terraced mountain peaks,
Where stars reach down like sequestered cousins,
And the land is split by silvern rivers,
The first tentative seed heads of snow
Settle on the sered treeline.
When you don't have desire
do you have a purpose?
Upon the edge of life
my brain reflects images
of what has been
flickering randomly
black and white than blackness
Light absorbs my being
illuminated I ascend
far from human realm
I glide onward into an ocean of
eternal space
seeing all I saw
hearing all I heard
feeling numb
sound like the waves surging the beach
Brightness chills
light engulfs
forever onward
glowing within
my eyes flame
poof
sparkling ember dying light
settle on the ledge of being
darkness besieges
without voice my mind screams
flames within my palms
hands wave round and round
darkness retreats
as light flickers
I stand alone toes clutching the edge
nothingness
alone but full
fall back furling into remnants of am
light soft comforts
Home.
The silence sits beside me in the dark
No voice remains to soften the harsh air
My thoughts ignite like embers in the dark
They drift through spaces no one dares to share
No one is left to quarrel with my rage
The walls observe me closely, filled with pity
I stare right back, as I wither with age
The mirrors try but fail to make me pretty
My blankets cling and settle on my skin
They shield me from a world that feels too cold
My loneliness is buried deep within
A quiet truth my weary heart can hold
But my presence is the calm I’ve come to trust
For I will not break myself or lose my trust
Silver Linings
Silver linings
Trust the timing
Manifesting
Glowing
Shinning
Step into your own light
On the runway of your life
Time to take off
Enjoy the flight
No more hiding.
Self expression
Poetry vibing.
Let life’s journey begin
No time to pretend
Reveal to us what’s real.
So we can heal
Spoken word poetry
Words make you feel
Why settle on society’s appetizers
When you were meant to enjoy
a 4 course meal?
I hold the glass, a heavy sphere,
And watch the seasons disappear.
A single shake, a sudden squall,
Recalls the winter of it all.
We walked through drifts of knee-deep white,
Beneath the streetlamp's amber light.
You pulled me close to block the wind,
Where warmth began and ice could end.
The flakes inside are sharp and plastic,
But memory makes them seem fantastic.
I see your breath, a ghostly cloud,
I hear your laugh, distinct and loud.
But gravity commands the snow,
To settle on the roof below.
The storm goes quiet on the shelf,
And leaves me standing by myself.
I cannot shake you back to life,
Through all the years of calm and strife.
So I just shake the globe instead,
And keep you spinning in my head.
Snow Globe Memories – Mystic
As my wrinkled old hands grasp the glass ball,
I watch as the glistening snowflakes begin to fall.
I gaze into it and give it one last shake.
There’ll be no room for all I was hoping to take.
My heart strokes the strings of memories, sublime.
This little snow globe has stood the test of time.
I watch the soft flakes settle on an old oak tree.
Alpine trees echo enticing chants, beckoning me.
I was bound for paradise, such a splendid upward climb.
The alps bringing peace, when church bells chime.
My wanderlust cured, no more would I roam.
Such amazing years I have spent in my mountain home.
Lost in the vision of my little snow globe here today.
As the last of the snow has settled, I really want to stay.
Along with some other treasures, I pack it in my port.
My love of this home just couldn’t be bought.
I wonder if there’s a snow globe that depicts where I am going.
I’ll miss my lovely chalet especially when it’s snowing.
I’ll keep my wee globe with its snow falling under the dome,
and I’ll take the snow in my glass ball to the old age home.
Snowflakes flutter to frosted earth
On a perfect winter day.
They glide through frigid wind,
Refracting whatever threads of light
Peek through the sky's soft gray quilt.
I stand on snow-crusted ground,
Craving my neck in awe
Of the chandelier of quartz drifting down.
My boots leave indents in an ever-growing cushion.
I want to let one settle on my hand.
So I can run my fingernail across
One of its many crystalline branches.
So I may feel just how smooth
A rigid structure could ever be.
So I will know that something as grand
As the smoky giants that sleep
Lazily above the horizon
Can craft something as intricate as it.
But I worry that the heat from my hands
Will melt and do away its delicate form.
If I were to tap it, even with the
Weakest edge of my nail,
I fear I would cleave it,
Between the roots of its symmetrical beauty,
In two.
The sands of entropy in chaotic times,
settle on the shelf of the disorganized life.
In moments wafting with the dispersed dust,
the truth of belief in turmoil oscillates
in the ruffling surge of mayhem.
In the efflux of errant disarray,
everything changes in nonplussed instants.
The mystifying alchemy of metamorphosis
reveals the real façade of intuition,
reflectively masked.
In the squall of divesting consternation,
the disheveled mind in a state of confusion
splinters the leitmotif of emotions.
The confounded cascade of disquiet
drifts them to the misty oblivion.
Yet, when the palace of sands
on the shore of yearning tumbles down,
the psychic waves of feelings
break with the tune of fading ecstasy,
composing the music for the memory,
partly cloudy.
I wonder, as we find ourselves afloat,
how is it that we have all come to be,
from sites, disparate, far-flung and remote,
just ashes floating on a lonely sea.
Though, perhaps we've loved, and perhaps we've sinned,
now, we are only life's lost residue,
carried to these waves by an ocean wind.
Who knows who we were, who to bid adieu?
We meet as strangers on a sea, blue-green,
beneath sky drawn from a child's crayon hue.
What if we sail on all that's ever been,
drifting on tears of ev'ry me and you?
Let all these tears, although we've forgot 'em,
bath us as we settle on the bottom.
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