June’s Queen of the Night
By Phan Tan Hai
The Queen of the Night arrives at midnight,
Leaves a trace of scent, then slips away;
My tea remains unfinished—
Why does spring’s prime haste so away?
An unappointed midnight bloom,
Leaving behind a lingering smile;
My verses remain unfinished—
How can I capture that heavenly fragrance?
A midnight farewell, the Queen departs,
A flutter of white robes drifting by;
My words are sent in haste,
Borne by the wind across the clouds.
Like a maiden, the flower vanishes,
Swept far off by the mountain winds;
I stand motionless, gazing out
As moonbeams flood the forest wild.
She leaves in silence,
Moonlight still lingers in my tea;
A sparkling smile in azure eyes,
A memory that refuses to fade.
Bidding farewell as petals turn to dust,
Amidst sunbeams and falling rain;
I chant a thousand sacred sutras
As a rain of blossoms fills the sky.
Bidding farewell as clouds turn to mountains,
My poem pauses mid-flow;
A parting spanning countless lifetimes,
In the breath between form and emptiness.
your beacon of light
spanning across the ocean
as sailors awake
Every existing thing has wings for its fall,
But I have none—not even a wing to plummet with.
With nothing but this bare body of mine,
I crashed down into that dark puddle,
Yet somehow, I forced my broken self to rise and stand.
This time, however, I fell upon the rushing highway.
The invisible voices screaming, Beep! Beep!
And that ominous something of the dark, where even the moonlight denied me.
Twice, I was struck by that thunderous bolt in my mind...
And the rain begins to fall.
And so, I have become a pool of water gathered by the roadside,
Shouting out for the sake of their passing tire tracks.
"Drive on with all your might,
But please, do not speed!
It is me, the water, lying here."
Water is majestic.
Water is the grand, eternal element of nature, spanning thousands of years.
Yet today, once again, upon the windshields of their cars,
They ruthlessly wipe my water away with the wipers.
Cortez the Killer was playing
As we danced in the dark
Weaving a web of love
A Möbius Strip
Spanning lifetimes
In the dark, seeking light
Always light
Until with a light kiss
And long last hug
You left us there
And flew
Beyond beyond
And out of sight
A song once heard
Never forgot
So young, yet so old
So full, yet so free
You lay down your load
Leaving us to gather ours
Returning home silent
In the night
Each alone
In our own way
Dancing a circle
A circle of light.
(5/31/26)
I'm playing a role,
Just part of a whole,
I roll with the flow,
Improvising as I go,
The star of my own show,
Growing an audience,
A claire audient experience,
Chance being the big event,
Getting bent and sent into chaos,
Entertaining an invisible mass,
A real class act in fact,
Tactfully assembled,
Resembling a fool as a tool,
In the school of life learning,
Earning my degree in duality,
An individual making decrees,
With a relationship to the trees,
The breeze flows through my lungs,
My tongue holds the power to devour,
I scour the land for a dollar,
Feeling the collar around my neck,
Checking for the chain again,
Maintaining the best I can,
Remaining true to the plan,
Commanding with intention,
My attention spanning all,
Falling right into place,
Ending the chase for money,
My Honey by my side,
Riding into the sunset,
Deciding the future we get.
PRECLUDED IMPULSES
vivid
evocations
constantly
moving
spanning
the
indivisible
tangible
cleansing
aspirations
from
coincidentally
expressed
positive
archetypetual
efforts
all-pervading
instinctive
feelings
of renewed
impulsive
consciousness
Watch how the light and dark play
and place the spotlight on her,
caterwauling in pig-tails,
wetting our black paradise.
Her spidery silhouette
of tears, spanning these lost streets,
coaxes roses from potholes.
Fans in stands & beds with heads in their hands
Bazball disbands shredded into dreaded strands
Boycott this lot don't give a jot no one understands
Piss poor bores ignore turnstile roar in hostile lands
Tanned Aussie class brass band was hardly bland
Yelping Stokes blokes giving them a helping hand
Canned the cool fool Bazball brand must be banned
Ivory tower power zen that Baz Bob and Ben wield
Defective ploys annoys but from noise boys shield
What did planning spanning 4 years actually yield
Smote gloat all the chatting not like 86 and Gatting
Bleak Ben does ken Oz not a den for weak men
Joe standing sentry his century show a footnote
For it does seem this time right quote right team
As a hack with that knack way back once wrote
Can't Bat.......Can't bowl ....Can't field!
Some intimacies are quite unique,
where two hearts mature together,
enmeshed in a web of love.
Guiding each other
with the light in the eyes.
Hope, in the dreams becoming one,
guess, that’s what makes separation harrowing.
Pain is caused not because of two hearts separating,
but one being ripped apart.
Yet, there lies magic in those memories.
They can bring two hearts
yet closer spanning the miles in seconds.
©Chitra Arun
When you go down the hallway of dreams,
Doors opening to the right and left,
There is no choice
Until you decide there is.
So many doors, so many choices,
Each opening into a different world,
Spanning time and places,
From childhood to old age
As well as before and after.
In my hallway lots of doors open into school rooms
And lots into old homes
And old jobs, old wives and young children,
Places never visited, and others apparently
Never left.
I’m sure there are other doors
That lead to dinosaurs, and aliens,
As well as fairy folk and gnomes,
And life forms I have not yet imagined.
It seems to me this hallway stretches on forever
Without a bend or curve
The rooms behind the doors
Providing enough twists and turns.
But this is all just a guess
As the hall remains unlit in my unconscious.
And yet still I know exactly what it looks like
And where all the doors lead...
(10/2/25)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
out of the blue, a figure appears
a relic of the past, an old drummer, worn and gray
old drummer's heart still full of fire
his hands, still nimble, find their way
the park's stillness shattered by sound
as his drums and cymbals awaken
he beats and pounds, his passion pours
the music flows from his soul
park's inhabitants gather ‘round,
a curious throng entranced by his wild, rhythmic song
the rhythm weaves a spell, a hypnotic trance
the old drummer's music, a moment’s magic
his drums transports, transforms, and transcends,
a bridge spanning his years
connecting past and present, his laughter, sorrow, and tears
in this fleeting instant, his world is set right
he finishes, his drums grow still
the park is silent, but music remains
a lingering echo, old drummer's regrets and soulful refrains
How much of life do we catch
as we walk briskly past windows
behind each a drama unfolding
How much of life do we miss
as we speed past tenements teeming
with primal emotions, like downed power lines
alive with passion and angst
How much of life can we know as
as we fly across continents
spanning time zones of populations divers
running the gamut from AI-creators and
manipulators to prep cooks, no-counts and killers
How much of life would have enriched us if attention were paid
to the windows on the journeys that you and I've made
seconds slip through fingers like fine sand,
Minutes melt away in morning light.
Hours stretch and bend at day's demand,
Then vanish with the coming night.
Where does the time go when we look away?
When laughter fills a room, when tears fall free?
It pools in moments we cannot delay,
Then rushes forward, boundless as the sea.
It hides in coffee cups and halfway smiles,
In bedtime stories, stretching past their end.
It's lost in daydreams spanning countless miles,
And found in conversations with a friend.
Where does the time go? Perhaps it never leaves—
Just changes form like water, air, and light.
Becoming memory that gently weaves
The tapestry we carry through the night.
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
You
have been
gone awhile,
but this morning,
a sweet dream of you—
sitting that close to me,
facing me, felt so real
looking so strong and fit, I saw
your tattoo so very familiar—
brought a flood of memories, oh my dear.
So many unspoken words left unsaid,
still a warmth and familiar feelings,
spanning so many precious years
I will treasure the moment,
take it as an omen
that up in Heaven
Life continues
I felt it—
my first
love.
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