Short Sunned Poems

Tropic mooned, on the rise
For what's now eyed for love
Warms more the heart this, mid-day's
Sunned burning rage above....

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The light of the sun
shines a warm, bright
heat to a bedcover 
stitched in flowers.
I sleep by
a blue 
flower drape.
It comforts 
the fresh 
sunned skin....

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The peace of the Lord
Inner content
Down at the bottom
Of a garden
Seeded and raised, midst
Each sunned ferment;
Meek herb's; baby's breath's. *
Joyed o'er of wren.

* Gypsophila...

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Living carefree
And caring not
Of life's joy-burst, half forgot;
But elsewhere sunned.

Heaven's upleapt;
To Earth which fell.
Uninterrupted play-spell.
Child's soul, least stunned!...

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No face, stared longer at
Ripped away, repellant
When from off others
As this sunned, consoles for
Your own smooth water's.

Sat and slumped, down-hearted
There before, of whom rise
Again, pacified!
Glum, wavy-lined only
When itself, storm-tried....

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What are you, if not yet dead
Living out, beforehand
Its lost forever moment
In its featureless land!

Feel now what, never too late
Through what of its power
Redemptive, fails not , smiled out:
A loving compassion.
Winter in the heart's limbo
As spring-time, sunned upon....

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Woolly and blue,
So spacious,
As to leave no clue,
Vaster than,
the sight of eyes,
when angry,
it relentlessly,
sunned and rained,
when happy,
it was clear,
and cool,
and added to it,
a rainbow,
It was umbrella to world,
In fact under it,
Was imprisoned,
The entire human hoard....

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We are all places, barring
That one locality
Fulfillment-ripe, in reach of.
Wish's sunned; and lazy!

The soul of disenchantment;
And the bane of us all!
Haunted, from o'er the next hill
By its lone-sounding call.

Who is the phantom, but lives
His own true self not in!
For what's forced on its esteem
In facade's see-through grin....

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Grows like a weed
Strangles my mind
Takes over me
This evil vine
Planted in madness
Sadness it's seeds
Watered with fear
Sunned in mediocrity 
It's ravaging, savage
It twists things, it lies
Pain's it's photosynthesis 
That's how it survives
I have to break free of it
Hack off it's leaves
Pull it out from it's roots
Before it overgrows me....

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Always he comes here
Humming to the air
Calling and begging
Calling the dead
Who passed long ago
For help! for help!

Hefty he is
Bowing
Kneeling
Behind this monastery
He did cry for the moon.

Dressed
In his white vestment
Tinted in red
Where is he going?

He defied the ancients
Sad is his mother
Sad is his father.

Even the sun sunned madly
And the moon mooned sadly
Weeping for this listless acolyte....

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