Short Tapers Poems

An embarce with a touch,
Expression on a silence,
Light from newly dipped tapers......

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.     Folks flee Florida.
      Searing Spring sunshine sizzles.
      Traffic tapers then....

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Rain on rooftop gently pelts and slowly drips;
beneath the gust-battered brenches owls complain...  
cooing and lamenting not to make it stay,
unless it tapers....

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It went through me
the hot day;
vaulting back.
at night.
To hustle the poetry things.

Weary of the luminous
dials. I want to
think in dark.

*

The bookcase was empty.
Croaking words
had departed for
greener pastures.

Hold on.
I am coming to
defuse the grenades.


Satish Verma...

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Slender and long,
           the bamboo tapers off skyward,
           waving in the frolicsome breeze
                      at the noonday cotton

                                  clouds.


                     Across the damp sand,
          its shadow pencils thin, quivering
              strokes and lines like artwork
                     in tinted hues on silken

                                 shrouds....

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Nothing here today for you my imagination says
But I hear a giggle, and sense her wide mouth smile.
So I toss that onto the page

Trixie my in-charge muse turns her back on me. It is a pretty back.
Tapers into a perfect waist. 
I write it up.

Thought they could keep me from my craft?
Ha!
Crone hands me a ripe red juicy apple.
I am so busy fooling imagination and muse,
I accidentally take a b……………………………………………………….....

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canopies flutter, 
bamboo grove sways,
fronds of coconut palms wave,
sunlight falls obliquely upon me
on the trail that winds and tapers
through a dense undergrowth, 
to a clearing yonder, I seek
my gurgling, gleeful creek!


easterly breeze sings, 
coaxes the leaves overhead 
to hum like a strange strumming
of a dozen bass guitars;
a tiny blur darts upward
and whirls behind a branch,
there it blinks down at me
--that green lizard I see!...

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This is...
morning gilded
in remorse
how can I wake unfettered?
My life was never my own
each day beckons
a loosening shackle
so I wear my fog
and go
toward a promise
toward myself
poking holes in my shell
letting light peak 
in tapers like brilliant baby eyes
tiny and immeasurable
but this shell never cracks
I am a loathsome embryo
because I repair it
I willed it
so I maintain my prison
and no magic word
can break my will
no fear can match my own....

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The tree branch crossing needles.
Bushy with white rays.
Perched, an angel topside.
Glowing to the gaze.

Ornaments of glass.
Pressed transparent shapes.
Strings that dangle, spin.
Memories in napes.

Skirt below the tree.
Draped and lapped and snug.
Packages on top.
Hovering the rug.

Light bulbs glowing bright.
Bulbs of shiny glass.
Currents flowing faster.
Still to eyes that pass.

Frosted stalky tree.
Towering it tapers.
Rows of magic branches.
Visions turn to vapors....

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Prism turned
as another memory refracted
against forgetfulness.

Motes caught in the cross fire
of synapses,
[collateral damage]

and like the sightless,
depression is read
in those delta lines
of arid tributaries,
cascading from salted pools.

Contentment or inevitability
are caught between a sigh,
where tumbleweed disguises
any tracks left behind;

I need no spooks to follow,

all my demons are an audience
watching a monologue mimed,

as my tube of life
tapers....

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The tree branch crossing needles.
Bushy with white rays.
Perched, an angel topside.
Glowing to the gaze.

Ornaments of glass.
Pressed transparent shapes.
Strings that dangle, spin.
Memories in napes.

Skirt below the tree.
Draped and lapped and snug.
Packages on top.
Hovering the rug.

Light bulbs glowing bright.
Bulbs of shiny glass.
Currents flowing faster.
Still to eyes that pass.

Frosted stalky tree.
Towering it tapers.
Rows of magic branches.
Visions turn to vapors....

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