Applying to Harvard, Delphi Sa'id
To this question, didn't know how to plead
What's a 'panty raid,' they asked
Delphi, an answer he lacked
He stumbled, bumbled, said ~ "Sure. I smoke weed"
Campfire.
Banjo Jamboree.
Talking about the books we’ve been reading.
The seven-year-old says clearly,
“Let’s not talk about murder mysteries.
The campfire is in front of us and the
beautiful stars are above us.”
She’s right.
A BEAR OR A GUY
FEEL SAFER WITH WHICH AND WHY
CORNELL WOMEN CRY
Paths of ogival arches lead my sight
In one tunnel-drive of light
To behold bridges, seven in number,
As they straddle the tenebrous walkway we lumber,
Man and beast, towards expected glorious dawn.
Rock-solid, the bridges stand firm but drawn.
Wysocki’s world always feels like a place paused in time,
and here the old house rises with its many angles~
gable stacked upon gable
like thoughts a century deep.
The clapboard walls hold the color of weathered memory,
a soft, seasoned brown
that seems to remember every storm
and every quiet morning after.
Windows watch from every direction,
small square eyes
that have seen too many seasons
to be surprised by anything now.
A cat sits on the fence
as if appointed guardian of the view,
tail curled in the calm certainty
that nothing important escapes its notice.
The yard is tidy in that Wysocki way~
grass trimmed, path swept,
a place where time moves slowly enough
for chores to feel like rituals.
Standing in front of it
I sense a rush of stories
that never needed telling~
a house content to keep its history
folded into wood and windowlight.
The house feels like a pause in time,
a place where the wandering mind
can rest a moment
and imagine the lives still echoing inside.
Dice black and white
Not looking for a fight
Lucky hands, grip tight
Wanting a winning sight
Put pair into flight
Fist raised, power, and might
Snake eyes say good night
I read the signs
Like printed words:
You aren’t mine,
You’re just a flirt,
We don’t align,
Our quatrains hurt
In seven lines.
Doc, knows more or less everything
Grumpy, always sour as a citrus fruit
Happy, an absolutely lovely personality
Sleepy, suffers from Idiopathic Hypersomnia
Bashful, a blushing sunrise of purest rays
Sneezy, scratches nose and sneezes constantly
Dopey, don't greet him with a cold shoulder
Leaves falling
Birds migrating
Friends gather
’round the fire pit.
Hot chocolate
at football games.
Fall is finally here.
Faith,hope and charity
each positives, to me
and essential,as can be
The first,a gift from God
with agape,for free
the other as certain as can be
.....try them,each one,is for thee
Pride
I'm first
you're worst
Greed
all mine
don't whine
Envy
I need
your deed
Gluttony
pig out
grow stout
Sloth
sweat, plow
not now
Wrath
Joad's grapes
bad scrapes
Lust
dispose
of clothes
ancient olive tree
"Oliveira do Pes" tree
neat to read and see
three thousands seven hundreds ~
years of age and still produce
Every time in Paltan Bazar,Guwahati
I see a mingled life :
From North Each hill states
And mainland’s far off strand.
Arunachal Pradesh,Manipur,Meghalaya
Mizoram,Nagaland-
All join the throng,
Along with Tripura and Assam
By train,bus and aeroplane.
People mainly from North East arrive there
Coming to Guwahati
Or to go to different parts of India.
They are of different castes,
tribes and creed,
With varied tongues and customs
Side by side
or one after another
Like different flowers
Each bringing a petal -
Fragrance,colour,grace.
And Paltan Bazar seems a living art
A market of hues
Mainly from North East
Beautiful and loving.
Great Pyramid of Giza
it's old
I'm told
Hanging Gardens of Babylon
divine
grape vine
Statue of Zeus at Olympia
god king
stirring
Temple of Artemis at Ephesus
god mom
the bomb
Mausoleum at Halicarnassus
big tomb
much room
Colossus of Rhodes
big man
bronze tan
Lighthouse of Alexandria
took dunk
went plunk
At least the rain is consistent
wet
she's always wet
a deluge of romantic vignettes
pouring a soothing salve
upon a burning soul
for a fleeting moment we both feel whole
steam rising off the petrichor
two hands slipping/sliding
into one another
we run,
but not away,
seeking shelter from the storms
seven minutes in heaven
she counted in her head
we were tired
but not done
retired to the bed
where life had bled
so hearts could live
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