Short Happenchance Poems

Moment of death, life force sucked out,
that it’s the end, we have no doubt,
being offered no time to think,
for it’s over, in but a blink.

Having survived this happenchance,
what’s the way we now choose to dance?
Are we as yet not overawed,
that each life breath’s a gift of God?

11-June-2022...

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I thee take thy smoke in hand...
Taste buds blossom blumes fumigated by blandness for all this madness.

Hence forth with my aching pains...
Gives me none no new world gains.

Happenchance gasp's that choke my pipe's airid winds...
Again'st Gods laws of healthy body's house that goes on to detour all us 
mouse's law breaking sins....

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Life 
armed with the fates
   of futility
   besieges.
So be it  with the rose,
   her beauty  asway,
   pushed around
   by breezy happenchance,
powerless to stop   
   her petals
   to wither   then to drop
   in faithless raw
      betrayal,
As her beauty   of the moment
  dulls to naught
but yet   another yesterday
  of faded
  bloom....

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Mother nature never fails to steal the show 
As the seasons come and seasons go
Spring doth bring on fine romance 
Joy in happenchance
Where on hills
Dance
Daffodils 
Summer’s charmed entrance
On the wind Autumn leaves prance
Winter brings a wonderland of snow
Mother nature never fails to steal the show.

17th July 2020

Form: Andaree...

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For a toss goes zen,
when we face madmen.
With no option left,
our lethal stroke’s deft.

Harbour no ill will 
for blood that did spill,
in as was ordained ~
our heart is unstained.

In line of duty,
death too has beauty,
being but a dream,
that so chanced to stream.

Erect was our stance
through this happenchance,
for we were empty ~
in serenity.

02-July-2022...

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Feeling desire pulse imperceptible 
stealthily growing its roots in our mind,
we view happenchance undesirable,
freeing ourself here and now from its bind,
by simply choosing not to be aligned.
Our constant watchfulness and mindfulness,
filters all else save benign lovingness,
resonating with pulsations of bliss,
over time merging form and formlessness,
vibrant thus, in divine entwined caress.

03-March-2021...

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Kismet yanks the rug I'm standing, 
Shocked it barely sways my stance. 
Should have been a back-side landing, 
Unexpected happenchance. 

Anger follows loud reporting. 
As for me, my silence holds. 
I'm the villan, unsupporting, 
Tiresome lines, the same old role. 

New perspective thrills my senses, 
Plays must reach their final scene. 
As I pack, I feel a cleansing, 
Cancelled drama, blank marquee. 


Gene Bourne.
09-12-14




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