Written: August 26, 2026
************
When I lose this lantern, let no mournful cry,
Nor grief-clad wail lament the soul set free;
My ribs release the breath that sought the sky,
And clay-bound chains shall fall away from me.
For I will be free
I am the fire no fetter ever held, or simper crept
The wing that soared beyond the walls that wept;
The dark was shallow, and the veil was frail—
I cast the husk; the cage is empty, pale.
For I will be free
I walk the path that heaven laid for me,
No seam, no parting—only light and grace;
Let not clay-born mourn my flight to foresee,
For dawn awaits beyond this darkened place.
For I will be free
So let no tolling bell or dirge proclaim,
I pass unbarred beyond the body frame;
The body was but a guest; I am the flame,
And dawn unseals the urn, beyond all name.
For I will be free
Don't cry for the heavenly wing or the clay.
I am the light that outlives the fading day;
Grieve not prison; let the soul that lives rise,
The soul lives on; only the husk dies;
For I will be free
Ask no door or tomb to stop my flight,
From dusk to eternity, I am free in light.
Softly I hear its whimper.
I can only simper.
It doesn't even feel real.
Its intent is my mind to steal.
Clearly I listen to its ofference.
Although I take no offence.
I know its not real.
I'm aware it won't heal.
Defiantly that voice in my head,
becomes something I really dread.
The words tend to distort.
They alter every honest thought.
Loudly the voice expands.
In such need of helping hands.
Ignoring it becomes a strain.
Tears manifest in vain.
Screaming orders for me to back down.
Bewilderment and tears slowly cause a frown.
Its as if I knew,
the voice belongs to you.
October motif errand runs toward the end
A winter morn on Orchard street, New York, wandering here and there
Seemingly a gift shop is surrealism, the shop owner sprung from Walt disney
a strange double, so to speak. Adored me with a humble simper
as a blue blazer was my attire with graceful ease and altruism
The blazer and the chest a motif of deep green forest, evergreen blossomed
from a cadence , by the lake. floating afar.
(to be completed)
Orchard Street is a historic eight-block street in New York City's Lower East Side known for
its mix of immigrant history and modern boutiques. It was once a commercial hub for
immigrant communities and is now famous for its trendy shops, diverse restaurants, and
landmarks like the Lower East Side Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street. Visitors can
find a variety of businesses, from classic eyeglass shops like Moscot to modern home decor
stores and art galleries.
Humble home, or palace known? Scenes
Pass.. somewhere is the tick of clocks; or beat of
Metronome? The rhythm of possibility’s a
Crashing of waves. Some false? much information! we journey through such days.' Endemic plan-demic were you killer? Or
Culler? answers beget questions; each bounce one off the other.' Amidst great
Hunger for peace! Yet much war is feasting on' oh how
The bloodthirsty simper. Their patience is
Strong.' Strong as a kingdom spanning our
Earth.' Yet to be broken.' Upon the coming
New birth ' His agents right now communing' these very
Spiritual hours ' incessantly requesting more wisdom more power.' His angels are
Active many deployed now on earth' legions in heaven move to restrict satanic
Girth.' The wall of eternity grows increasingly thin.' Soon comes Gods Kingdom and the death of all sin'
©Joe Maverick 25/4/2025
Cinnabar remittance ailerons squall federal cobblestones. Lank alpine squint modest. Nectarine grimace, cloys toothsome.
Coiffure chain rod composure anemic, primogeniture Swedish cotton murk optics
Rodeo riding maiden broadcaster network metaverse falconry. Boreal voyages legalese.
Simper treacle blanched anecdotally. Goofy balm, beardless tease, healthy as a horse, real bee knees.
.
I've known hern since
her simper
her bassinet
foots from
mine
we spoke no
language
just the
hear mine
cry
call me the loon
for say'n
"mine little remembered
the way
her lips and eyne
together
smiled
goodbye"
*occidental: from the west
oriental: from the east
The obstacles that still may come
As my clock is running down,
Will try, I'm sure, their very best
To put my mettle to the test,
And, when all, at last, is said and done,
It won't matter if I've lost or won.
I may not go out with a bang or a shout,
But, I believe I can leave minus simper or whimper.
Your coo, O dove, like the sound of a harmonica, thrills,
Evaporating all inner congestions my soul stills;
Even when you are, as though bitterly mourning, whimper;
An unknown peace fills me; out of merriment, I simper...!
When I hear your cool coo at dawn, my soul gets elated,
As the sweet tone of the Church-bell, rhythm is created;
Your flirting with your spouse has great spirituality,
Your love-filled romantic form expands my vitality...!
Your cry has many a marvelous meaning to display,
By a calm heeding of your cry, my grief gets washed away;
Your heart-healing cry brings my far-dwelling spouse to my mind,
Feeling and pondering on your cry makes me self-refined...!
Cry, O dove, as often as you can, to make me merry,
Cry that the creatures would overcome the mind that's wary;
Cry so that peace and harmony constantly we could feel,
Powered by the self divine this wounded world we could heal...!!!
Babble,gabble
simper,whimper
gurgle coo;
holler,howl
scream,sigh
then cry.
Squeak,shriek
screech,squeal
bang,clang;
gnash,splash
peal and crash.
Shout,spout
roar ,rage
toot,hoot whistle;
whoop,sing
cheer and yell.
Ding,ting,tone
zing and ring
hiss,moan and groan;
whisper
then kiss.
looking at you
becomes calm waves rushing ashore
a gentle caressing wind
envelopes my soul
looking into your eyes
my heart sings in a devoted love
to the soul therein
the sight of your hands
become a wanton desire
to feel your touch
a simper upon the lips
is the only temptation
i ever wanted in life
they say with everything
in a single chalice
life may hold a perilous chance
but having tasted this wine
there is no other vineyard
where my heart could belong
no other reason
to take the next breath
where i cannot spend time
looking at you
5/23 Oregon
holding you in a dance
the side-by-side stroll
raising my arm is your cue
begins the whirlwind
a whisper crosses the floor
you turn into me
my hand slides to the hips
fold arm into mine
bringing in the warmth
cheek to cheek, lips to ear
i adore you
now the gentle separation
my arm reaches into the heavens
hers in hand as my other lowers
begins the magic in her pirouette
as she turns her hair rushes
shoulder to shoulder
i am spellbound in the wave
the foam appears receding, revealing
the ivory neck of the Venus i so adore
the ear comes into full view
where so often i hover
a butterfly caught in the magic
acquiring drams in a captivating meadow
moments spent in endearment
as that cheek-nose comes into view
i see Greek sculptors lost in a daydream
where chisel and stone await in reverence
as my hand pulls your hip in
lips in a simper, a delicious temptation
but not enough to deter our eyes embracing
as hysteria succumbs to ecstasy
our cheeks glide into one another
i am in a moment with her ear
i missed you
this is how my world turns
in the heavens we are
OKC 12/22
The time of peace
Christmas day and rain, disappearing polar bears in the Hudson Bay
and in the USA, a frost bomb explodes over America from Alaska
to New Mexico, a warning of what can happen if we are not alert.
Zelensky tries his hands on Churchillian oratory and fails; this is ok
as his audience is used to their President’s awful stuttering and
forgotten lines are a daily embarrassment to be endured.
Siberian icy weather stretches its cold finger down to Portugal
where people, under layers of blankets, watch TV and experience
the EU, spectacular political power fiasco, blaming, as usual, Putin.
Who will break out of the stranglehold of Brussel’s dictatorship?
the hope was Germany, but she has gone woke, simper in the arms
of the US president; one suspects it has to do with global thinking
Every voice has to be heard before action is taken states; in Europe
taking dictates from Brussel, there is apathy; no one has the strength
to break out of the life-sapping bondage and feel the wind of change
A darkened room knows no sorrow
No today and no tomorrow;
A darkened room has no sadness
It has no pain, only madness.
A darkened room has no light
Has no moon or starlight bright;
A darkened room has no shine
Has no lustre, yours or mine.
A darkened room has no good
Has no heartbeat, has no blood;
A darkened room has no breath
Has no life but only death.
A darkened room has no style
Has no simper, has no smile;
A darkened room has no grin
Has no easiness within.
A darkened room has no day
Has no notion, has no say;
A darkened room has no eve
Has no reason to believe.
A darkened room has no PC
It has no he or has no she;
A darkened room has no view
Has no me and has no you.
He was most handsome, blond?
and glamorous,?
everyone said so.?
?
While in repose?
her face was dull and unremarkable,?
yet when her features were animated?
they shone transcendent,?
the light of her?
made all drift to her aura.?
?
When he with his film-star looks?
did grin or simper,?
perceptive folks saw only?
the rainbow colors of a baboons backside.
?
Oddly enough they wed each other?
only to produce offspring,?
having neither light, nor presence.?
?
When those progeny, full grown,?
did turn away from any tête-à-tête,?
they left no colorful residue?
at all.
sunlit tendrils simper
through knot twisted tree fingertips
ember ambers of umber
a missed mist of glitter glistened gossamer
rises like a sheered chiffon smoke
and dawns voice is spoke
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