No book, Life, to slow up for
Better, each page, back-turning
Than whose own lived out.
And like that, shelved, what requires
Quietest of spaces to
Contemplate about.
The city lights are often burning bright
but who may meet in shadows of the night?
Around the corner lovers locked embrace
or homeless, roaming streets to find a place.
The bustle of the people passing through
some slowly strolling down an avenue
All mysteries of the city nights are shelved
tight secrets all within its borders held.
Somehow, this view left me discovering
That meeting in the dark’s another thing.
Contrition for the recorded events of frugalities.
So abstemious have I been, thriving largely in
Defenceless glares of the four-eyed.
Now I have learned to creep alone and weep alone,
Closing tacitly the chapters written in mundane ink,
Reluming the smouldering logs of long slumber.
I have told every truth in loud moments
Now I have only but few lies in my saliva
And I intend puking the remaining few . . .
The pulp and the reed among the wayside waters
Must have tilted in the direction of their winds.
Bloated and deflated, this ego of worth, crimson
With the bath of birth.
Rebirth, woven in colourful Renaissance yarn, has awoken
The drunken somnambulist
The pipers come piping hot, and the stolen trumpet,
Hidden in the soft crests of wisteria,
Alerts the souls of the roosts.
I crave the creation formula of the Sixth Day.
The sage among us have broken many books
And licked many paintings —surrealism —in the
Image of the contorted face, writhing in the throes of
Elevated glances shelved in the mirror-images of Knowledge.
Could there be comeuppance for inquiring into the deep?
Beneath the amber glow of dusk’s embrace,
I dine alone with clocks that clear their throats,
My shadow keeps me warm and knows my face,
While silence hums old tunes it never quotes.
I toast to love with yesterday’s cheap oats,
A bachelor saint with mismatched socks and prayer,
Still flirting with the moon in awkward notes,
As if she might look down and almost care.
The moon, a chalice tipped by unseen hands,
Spills silver like forgiveness hard to earn,
It knows the jokes of those who make their stands,
Alone, yet hope the heart might someday learn.
I ask the dark if love will still return,
Or if God keeps it shelved for wiser years;
The answer laughs — live well, and let it burn —
So grace pours in, despite unanswered tears.
The Journals find their way,
easy, inspired self delusional displays,
one or two ,
written most every day,
but as the months now years begin their exit call,
the words flow more fluidly
than time alone can recall,
written down along line and page
the secret refuge of mind sway
left to random flutterings and utterings
the missing points of this aging sage,
hide in the accumulated books
shelved on dusty nooks
of private enterprise without lie
the wordings not for you.
29. One expected orchid was gift enough but eighteen and of different color blossoms, well, that beats all my expectations.
30. Clover, dandelions, oxalis, and buttercups that’s our front yard. No wonder flag-man-riding-an-easy-rider-chopper-of-grasses regards me with suspicion.
31. The snow reports kept coming: first inches and then feet. This year, the Sierras, oh so fat with snow, will go on a diet. All the salmon rivers will overflow and the fish will go dancing in backyards.
32. This log carcass at my feet--a coffin’s bottom shelved against mushrooms and other soft-moss decaying things--was once the arm or a nose of a tree and a cracking-moaning breeding song of a cicada discotheque.
33. The garden broke free. My chalk lines, the twined enslavement of kale, and the chicken wire were broken, cut, or directly spilled into grass and dandelions—a family reunion.
34. Plato, I imagine, is in Greek heaven shaping olive trees into perfect spheres. From there, he longs for messy branches, sweaty breasts, and children’s uncontrollable laughter.
***~~~***
Eye-catching gamut space and time of shelved encase
restrained lookout scrutinize scheme, advanced karma
Nurture the virtues of your eternal soul,
those attributes that are eternal.
Share your best, make it your goal,
let them manifest from the internal.
Let others see what will unfold,
as it extends from within to the external.
Share the creative energy, as you’ve been told,
open your mind like a ripe kernel.
Allow your thoughts to flow like a river,
share your gifts, be a giver.
Don’t hold back, it’s time to deliver,
use all the arrows in your quiver.
Nothing you’re given is meant to be held,
and never a time for talents to be shelved.
"Exit music for a bad movie"
that shining kingdom
waits and watches
numbed now to nightmares
its falling cuckold leaders
deliver fools gold
hungry homeless open palms receive
broken promises overflowing
forgotten hymns and collection plates
souls are worth blood in buried pain
borders are drawn all are caged
the marriages not made in heaven
shelved for another day
Candide Diderot. ‘25
I.
I got lost inside myself one night,
Like stars fall through a dome.
The body stayed, but not the light
The soul had left for home.
II.
I walked a library of breath,
Books unwritten, spines of bone.
Each dream was shelved behind my eyes,
And each one dreamed alone.
III.
My ribs turned into corridors,
Each one a silver thread,
Where time knelt down and locked its doors
Inside my hollow head.
IV.
I passed a moon with open veins,
Its blood was blue and slow.
The silence whispered names of me
I never got to know.
V.
I vanished into what I was
Not flesh, not mind, but mist.
And something vast began to buzz
In all I don’t exist.
Whispers
Long and lost
Loud and low
“S e i z e t h e d a y”
Touched my ears,
Poured into my soul,
Vanished my inner ghoul,
The night nostalgic, new,
Nectarous and nefarious,
Feathered my hands,
Floated me from my desk,
I sniffed soul soothing poetry
Intoxicating from the dusty old
Buttery books shelved on, inviting.
I drank one poem,
And another,
Then another,
Until I was dizzy drunk,
My eyelashes winged to the window
And it was dawn.
.
the wind has died down—
the ground s t r e w n
with nature’s debris—
autumn’s palette
a feast for the eye … a shelved chore
before the
inevitable miasma of dusty decay
teased by wind’s chilling fingers
that’s tasted in the back of the throat –
green and red leaves
scattered side by side—
a conspiritual cosying up
a compelling contrast:
youthful green, aged red—
although red leads the rainbow,
it
follows
in nature …
the beauty of old age
unfolds in the display of fallen leaves—
s c a t t e r e d to the wind
infinitely wiser …
It comes in flash, as face or sound
In fleeing memory of yore
Young bucks in green when mission-bound
The whumps of distant bombing roar
The scenes in large and small details
All etched in memory for life
And booby traps on jungle trails
With no reprieve from deadly strife
So gone, forgotten, shelved and filed
Yet it returns from abyss deep
Flashback to times really wild
Makes you wake up from fragile sleep
Another year summer's here
Remember all who went away
Who lived and died, confronting fear
Salute our vets, Memorial Day
May 23, 2024
I was going to become a teacher
I thought it was my calling
I was young and thought it best
to go to university straight out of high school
before I'd go to teachers' college
Well... things did not go as planned
for better or for worse, who knows
I got sidetracked ended up taking a job
education got shelved for longer than expected
So I worked and launched a modest career
No guidance maybe no brains ~ who knows
But in the end I realized the truth ~
if you don't choose, life chooses for you
Go for your dreams or risk living with regrets
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Motherly Love and Frowns
Treading down the memory lane streams to my mind
memories from far yet near, some sweet, some sour,
memories preciously shelved in the precincts of my inner sanctum;
so sweet were the mindful motherly hugs of love
like the embrace of a divine angel
so serene soft and self-assuring her smiles
like the spring selfless sunshine
so delicious her warm kisses on the forehead
that no other feel can replace,
yet interspersed at times with some harsh words
for playing hide and seek on the sideway street;
so soft was the caress of her hands on the cheeks
that not even a beloved can bestow
so cool and compassionate her cuddly care
no considerate nurse can dispense
so pleasing to rest on her merciful knees
more so after a hectic day`s fatigue,
yet interposed often times with some scowls
for dusting my clothing or getting home late after cycle rides;
In afterthought, her love and frowns have made me the man I am.
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