I meander along
drifting like a ribbon,
curling in the breeze,
bending like a river
sinuous with the flow
swing to the beat
swaying left and right
meandering onward
sashaying
rambling
winding
curling
humming
zigzag
zinging
singing
along
I go
um
In a late autumn, when the last leaf sways on the branch of fate,
I have not learned to love, only to possess, to capture in threads of connections,
Fragile yet unyielding ties, a dance of possession that knows not love,
It's more than obsession, yet not quite possession, an enigma without answer.
I do not let feelings live in me, but sink my teeth into them,
I sip emotion, devour desire, a predator of my own experiences,
And yet, there's always one, just one, who pierces through the cold walls,
So silently, I didn’t even notice when this miracle occurred.
Now I don't know, but I know enough, I carry duality in every gesture and word,
Even when I say "You are free to leave," my mind whispers the opposite,
And words become mere hollow echoes, if you believe them, I'm sorry,
For you can only leave when I become the last leaf of autumn, the only one left.
In this melancholy, where desires are winds scattering illusions,
Only the echo of loneliness remains, dwelling in each fallen leaf,
A dance of the soul intertwined with the memory of unfulfilled love,
In an eternal autumn, where only the last leaf knows the truth.
As The Pendulum Sways
and Time Drifts Astray,
and the Wind swifts away all that was
and returns it to it's Essence beyond the Ashes and Dust,
and the Ticking Withers into the Frey
leaving only that witch was Forged along The Way,
and all that remains is the Sacred Flame Of Truth
the Eternal Spark Of The Absolute,
Illuming like Stardust Into the night
and Scintillating unto the Sun Light,
Ever-Enduring, The Great Soul is Wise
Progressing, Evolving, Ever-Upright,
Ever- So Bright, The Sacred Torch burns with life
Coming and Going, All Knowing, ALL TRIUMPH!
The green grass sways
While the melody from the lone piper plays
And the crickets and the owls patiently wait
For the intro to their stanza by the old creaky gate
The blue summer skies reach up high without a care
While the earth worries incessantly and is constantly aware
But, the cows are hardly moving and the flowers are still
While time passes slowly out here on the hill
between the feral
and the ethereal
lust and love
playoff
soul watches
with bated breath
but the fact there's a game on
signals it's yet work in progress
11-December-2022
A school boy climbs up a berry tree
Unmindful of hurts from thorns prickly,
Picking choicest berries
He hurries, her to please,
A brief smile on her makes him happy.
But not this in his mind takes deep root,
In lap she takes when his hurting foot,
It’s her stern words, sweet pout,
She when pulls the thorn out,
His first lesson: act, forget the fruit!
Of his early school’s scenes this still stays,
Its imprint fresh despite passing days,
Two of them knew no love,
Spontaneous was their move,
It’s when heart over hedging head sways.
____________________________________
Reminiscing |01.05.2022|
Poet’s note: Somehow I always feel that mind is a male gender, and heart female! This is a limerick only in form, not in mood.
Seed
Buried
Roots grow deep
A stem sprouts
Little green leaves grow
Flowers of hues blossom
Surviving harsh seasons
Through months, years, decades
From the lone seed
Standing tall
A tree
Sways
Merse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
8/16/2021
Mood of moon...
how you eclipse me
with your solemn
and joyful revolutions.
Shine on me always
that I might explore
life’s beauty in the darken sky.
Awaken within me
your gentle touch
that I may forget
the harshness of day-life.
Mellow the tones
of my daily living
with softened shades
that are forgiving.
Weaken the shadows
the day chased around
as I look upon your face
may peace be found.
Mood of moon…
How you inspire me
with your glowing face
shining above.
Shine on me always
that my pen may explore
poetry within
a poem your reward.
© Debra Squyres 4/6/15
The coffin sways;
The people grumbles;
Popping out drinks to libation,
Pacifying with the ancestors to receive the deceased;
As so is thought of the content in the coffin
Unwilling to depart into the grave:
The coffin sways, and what is thought dead,
Has awakened from a long lasting coma;
Kicking and shouting so loud, but no one could possibly hear.
The coffin rest on holds of the family: swaying, and who cares.
There is no normal here,
Rules are ignored.
Consistently changing, altering,
Common template is scrapped.
Challenge this ideal of mine,
A daring person would only do.
For who is to say norm is norm,
I like to defy belief.
Fear is a stoppable obstacle,
But for the few uncorrupted.
For now I still walk straight,
I float like an island.
Doors must be held open,
Say please and thank you.
Courteous to the death,
Etiquette must be followed.
The wound must be cleaned,
The poem must be written right.
For that is the norm,
The corrupted belief.
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