In a nearby place I frequent,
a quiet country road -
paddy fields stretching either side.
the road broken and pitted with potholes.
I rode there time and again,
often drove that road,
enjoying the peace and the countryside’s scene..
Jungle mynas often walked
striding along the roadside
while a cha - bora restaurant stood nearby,
run by a lone woman.
There, my wife and I would sit together,
relaxing over cups of tea and eating bora
watching the quiet countryside pass by.
But as time went on
private schools and houses began to rise
upon the paddy fields,
violating the laws -
but no one came.
Instead more and more buildings
continued to spring up –
motor workshops,shops,petrol pumps, restaurants-
along the edges of the paddy fields
by the roadside
The paddy fields began to vanish;
the wandering mynas were nowhere to be seen.
So, the little cha bora restaurant-
The countryside’s agrarian character
and its peaceful rhythm have vanished.
ARE WE JUST GOING IN CIRCLES ?
Unless influenced by change.
A path to face a case of spirals in space.
Spring season
Spring cleaning
Spring puts a spring in the step of the year
For cold winter gives way to a warm spring atmosphere
Where everything is renewed as green and colorful
Once they appear .
Spring weather as natural as an underground spring
Clear and cleansing spring water
untainted and unbothered.
New flowers and plants spring up out of the ground
After a winter long slumber.
Trees are strong as ever their trunks
stand as tall as their lumber.
Spring showers give way to lightning flashes
And echos of thunder.
A peaceful spring afternoon filled with inspiration
And wonder.
Natures Decay and Rebirth
Autumn sun warm on the balcony
The air was feigning grief
In the park the old oak tree
Dropped a single leaf
Hot coffee cup taken in hand
The leaves all golden brown
Nothing to do but stare and stand
Another slowly drifting down
The ground beneath was beckoning
Each crusty leaf to succumb
To meet their lifetime reckoning
Their living work been done
In flurries soon they’ll break away
Surrendering without a moan
Content to draw in every stray
The earth makes them her own
Time will pass, years go by
New growth will spring up high
Soil enriched with pure supply
By all that has to die
The sun was beating warm that day
My coffee cold.
Eat enough of the ocean.
And no one can haunt you.
Follow the seashells.
As if they are keys to the ice cream shop?
Sleep enough on your own time.
And the skills you kept will untether.
Organic movements.
Sailing and flowers spring up.
Cracked bottom of the boat.
Nothing gets through.
Unless it’s not a dream.
So be dreamy.
So be dreamless.
Empty of sleep.
Seeping through.
Everything.
Sleeping through it all.
Even the wind.
That’s all it is.
Howling storms.
Shush.
Never regret sleeping in.
10 April 2025 1:08 PM
The sky is crying
Humanity is dieing
Giving way to transhumanist enslavement
Through mind altering entertainment
Cyborg glory can be yours a body that won't die
Just let them change your DNA and believe their every lie
Diseases and overcrowding the preach from every nation and mountain
Shortage of food and public housing climate change all lies from their poisonous fountain
Get your mrna shot it's the only chance man has got
Look here look there fear everything but our boiling pot
Soon the useless eaters will all be dead
And the usefull will have our chip in their head
Then satan will stand where he should not
Declaring himself as the one and only god
But his reign will be short lived
His chains are forged the pit lay open with its waiting lid
Yeshuas Kingdom of a thousand years
Will ensure that His gospel reaches every ear
Then satan will roam for a short while more
Then the weeds that spring up with him will be burned
And new heaven and earth God will make
And forever we'll live with Him where sin never again will wake
Springtime has arrived,
And so has her yellowing;
Shading everything:-
And when her rains have fallen,
Yellow puddles spring up; achoo!
Impossibilities to Possibilities
The fears of man with God’s help
Became an avenue for fulfillment!
Through the potential of Christ
We can do all things
The plans that spring up in our minds
Let it be sealed with the Spirit of Christ who
Infuses in us the ability to do all things.
We are wired to produce what He demands!
Let us take the impossibilities and with His Name
Turn it into Possibilities and we will see
The cries of our souls being fulfilled
Impossibilities to Possibilities
The fears of man with God’s help
Became an avenue for fulfillment!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2025
some days
you quiver
as melancholy runs
it's cold hand on your skin.
some days...
resplendently sunny;
spirits and bright smiles
as warm as a Summer afternoon.
some days
you can't wait to start;
you spring up
with a pep in your step.
some days...
rough to sail through;
you feel so broken
you'd rather not get out of bed.
some days...
strange and confusing;
you don't know
which way is up or down.
yet, you persevere...
so worry not
what lurks in the shadows.
get under today's sunlight
and bask in it.
Trickling water, a natural bell
flows in rivets with carved rock.
Lush ferns spring up in the crevasses
rather alike the children of the water.
I hear the wind call me,
as I step onto the grassy ground.
Turning to face the sun,
my shadow falls behind me.
The sunset paints the horizon in myriads of colors,
The darkness of the night soon makes everything disappear,
The owl takes its chair on the post by the lake,
His eyes scan the whole shrubs and trees.
The crickets spring up and start their choir,
I wonder where they get such a synchronized ensemble,
The fireflies dance all over in the music,
They seem like stardust in the moonlit night.
The night creatures, hyenas come out looking for food,
I can see fear in the sparkling eyes of mother deer,
The mother goose shelters her young flock,
The predators shy away from such groups.
The night is wild,
The game of survival keeps going on,
Even big birds sleeping on top of trees,
Keep their eyes half open for impending disasters.
On a full moon night,
Bats fill up the sky,
The witches keep flying around,
Fairies assure kids' safety and a good night's sleep.
Roof shingles
are tossed like confetti in a Banshee wind.
She says it's going to be a bad weather day,
the green screen behind her wobbles
as a gust of torrential hailstones
rocks the studio,
yet her smile stays bright and perky.
The wind keeps churning through sparrows
and shattering windows. Tornados
spring up out of nowhere,
devastate homes, then ravish cows
as an afterthought.
Through a plasma screen
the attractive lady distracts my eyes,
She grins knowingly
I grin back, as we share a moment,
elsewhere, death strikes randomly
with a made for TV toothy banality.
Storms of platitudes continue to numb
and transfix.
I don't know why some must die
and others must keep watching.
I can only predict
that the weather girls will survive
to keep us informed
even as our living rooms implode.
Shadow black blood floods flow silently wailing in whirlpools
Volcanoes of endless enmity erupt with vengeance.
It's not humanness. Here, the mores of 'might is right' rules
Against routing quagmires, lotus buds fight for transcendence.
We shake hands like friends while minds float on clouds of fraudulence.
Amidst rocking crowds in digital sounds, we feel alone.
Wearing torn costumes of cleaved conscience, we seek vigilance.
Weeds of weariness spring up, wherefrom seeds of smiles are sown.
Like weak rams, we follow the rushing crowds to hit someone.
Who do we want to hit? Why do we want to? No one knows.
We make weapons and enable our young ones fight for fun.
Roots of truth hidden, falsehood from friendship flawlessly flows.
Why is each one who toils not the owner of their wages?
Why don't we end all dead ends that prevent our pilgrimages?
orbit around
ideas
once held
close
in past selves
rhetoric
bathed
in clichéd
visual
representation
burnished
impulse
strengthened
by the
the wilderness
of
inner life
needs
posited
by visual
language
unmoored
from contexts
vagueness
&amorphous
abstraction
fervency
erased
spring up
distilled
of some
essence
circumvented
in
narcissistic
grafting
of self
in the tangible
permanence
of durable
words
Expectant fields,
silent stones,
serious tombs...
words spring up
and materialize meanings...
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