A dog with a ball
bolts beneath a wooden table
that has seen some life,
many years of beer and storms
have turned the slats to torpid grey
not brown and sleek as once they were
but enough to hide the quaking fur
of the dog with the ball
who growls and shakes his salty curls
while the wind from the beach
curses and hurls abusive shrieks
at the well wrapped man with a paper cup
who attempts to drink and to calm his pup,
nobody else is there at all
just man with a cup, and a dog with a ball
We’re absorbed
by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
tired brains monopolized
by the clutter of the meal tray,
numbed by hours of jiggling -
the carting of torpid bodies
through interminable distance,
wedged into
a restricted boredom.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls,
if an engine fails
few will find the strength to panic,
we’ll keep decanting small bottles
of vin de table,
studiously apply hard butter
to soft buns.
As the aircraft plummets earthward
we’ll continue to struggle
with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers,
with small, molded cruets,
glad to be occupied
and totally blanked out
to what comes next -
or whatever.
Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.
My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.
The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.
But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.
Japan, 1968
Previous version published in Outposts, England
Disseminated, I fell in Fall
A Cascade of Amber Autumn Leaves
Rejected and Cast Away by Deep Rooted Seasoned Trees
Purged of Energy that no Longer Align
Nature's Foreboding Warning Sign.
Discarded By the Gravity, Mercurial Retrograded
I Succumbed, Physically Numbed to Embrace Transformation
Pluto deemed Necessary Shadow Self Initiation
For My Path is Destined, A Daunting Journey
Where I Confront Layers of My Soul and Fulfil My Destiny
For When Lifeless Leaves Fall From Their Hosts of Trees
In the New Luna I Shed Outdated Tendencies.
Within Chaos is Order, Scorpio's Moon Emotionally Drenched
Illusions Of Fear and Limitations Shackled and Benched
No more Tears, Isolated from Mundane Manipulators
I Reject the Noise, Choosing the Peacemakers
Hibernated in a Cocoon of Self Discovery, Secure from the Torpid Winter
Connected to the All, Yet a Solitary Snowflake, An Icy Splinter
In Winters Brutal Hold, Profound Wisdom in a Snowflake Unfold
At Home In Comfort in Pluto's Ninth Mansion
Metamorphic Recycled Soul Secured In A Celestial Tapestry of Expansion.
grieving sad loss of summer
it is time of greatest joy
when old bones no longer ache
and eyes are blessed with colour
to smell crisp newly mown grass
after warm summer shower
herbaceous border delights
hollyhocks reached perfection
midnight, smell the torpid air
wisteria in moonlight
salamander on old walls
nightlight with aura sheds glow
drinking strong morning coffee
wide eyes take in this beauty
never to be forgotten
image held close to my heart
Perfect summer rain does softly descend
Like heaven's tears on beautiful flowers
A Poet's inspiration could well be penned
As eyes feast on beauty for many hours.
Bougainvillea such flamboyant sight
Uplifting in its faultless perfection
Wisteria-perfumed hot torpid night
Happiness reigns no sign of dejection.
Soft summer rain falls throughout the long night
Crickets sing melodious melody
Soft lace at window flutters, optic white
Such beauty unbound splendid ecstasy
Remembering perfect soft summer rain
In my mind, this vision will always reign.
Wind whispers through the ears of distant lovers as the sun hides behind ominously positioned clouds
where their gray cast shadows on quiet hearts
quiet minds, & quiet eyes alike
Poor lovers, transfixed by natures embodiment of their undisclosed truths,
words no more manageable than a peep escaping a ducklings throat
Eyes shut wide, glued by dependance
Waiting for mama to come, waiting to be fed
But there is no food here, just gray
& mama will not come it is just you and i
& the feelings we dare not bare
Starving ourselves
waiting for spring to melt the ice away
In the morning I heard the tea pot singing,
With the amber liquid sizzling,
Saw spouts of vapor ejecting,
With a sweet aroma tickling.
While pouring my cup of steaming tea,
Adding some cream, a little sugar and stirring it
I thought of the magic effect it brings,
Reviving us on every morning and keeping us fit.
As we sip it while we scan the news paper
We feel the early languor being lifted,
Keeping us hydrated throughout the day,
With our cognitive abilities liberally assisted.
I feel there is nothing like a cup of well blended tea,
For a tired soul to enliven his body.
It’s delicious taste and delicate fragrance,
Make it everyone’s lovesome buddy!
It’s a heavenly drink for the torpid minds,
A beverage brewed from the best of leaves.
A magic potion for the feverish lips,
Which in tiresome hours, everyone craves.
Sure, teatime is the most pleasant family time.
How we babble and burble over a cup of tea
Drawing people closer and cementing relations.
Certainly, it’s a time to look forward with glee.
Don't fear, My dear
We are hear
To fight back together
Don't wake up early in the morning to finish the chores
Wake up to prove yourselves and destroy the whores
Be yourself and love yourself beyond limits
so that
When he says something, you can fight back without being torpid
You can do it
And I am with you
We both will fight together without being in a hue
Infact why to prove always
Be capable, Be opportunistic
Be a leader
Do things to satisfy yourself
Not because of the fake feminism which he said
Let's talk about equality in its real sense
Where the world of opportunity and education will be immense
fall sheds its first leaves
fine trees are becoming bare -
golden coloured path
chilly rain smells near
no resting place for nature -
all bears hibernate
fireflies lie torpid
underground or thick tree barks -
warm spring will wake all
The last snow of winter
blown by the wind
bares the gray
of branches to the sun
pregnant with buds.
Is it spring?
Testing spring
torpid from the winter
sleepy tiny buds
hesitant of the wind
search for the sun
between stalks of gray
A flash of red among the gray
a robin singing spring
drinking the sun
snow melt of winter
unfettered by the wind
shaking the buds
Softens around the buds
warmed by the sun
the frozen clay of winter
helped by the gray
showering clouds of spring
and milder wind
With gentler wind
and warming sun
the colors of spring
unfold in the opening buds
after the long gray
days of winter
Good-bye winter winds
Gray days without sun
Hello new buds of festive spring
Between sips of Julep
birdsong wafts in the air;
busy bees and countless
butterflies abound on
blossoms of buddleia.
But me? I fall into
blissful torpid languor.
I lack words to enjoin in spring
Torpid I fall for Winter's listlessness
like a dusty ornament
I cannot break for freedoms
gust of purification
I long for a valley
its silence an agreement
searching for serenity
of a poet's consciousness
to stay verte
to dream in words
Torpid fields of woe
A voice drones like an endless day
What have you come here to mourn ?
Unwrap your plans
Swirl like mirth
Between sunsets and Waterfalls
journeying headstrong
through gateways swirl
as your pulse surges
To touch the earth
feel the birth
of an untouched mile
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
I'm teetering on the verge of a smirk.
You won't hear it when the dimout torpid
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
A last leaf's fall is too loud and morbid
A written, unmailed love note in black ink.
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
I'm teetering on the verge of a smirk.
Written: February 23, 2023
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