Dark grey clouds on a sky blue frame,
The sun sets with a golden glow,
How the heavens are set aflame!
Neem trees quivering in the gust,
As light showers from the sky flow,
The earth turns the colour of rust!
A cuckoo sings, its voice so trill,
And one can hear its call follow
Down the valley or up the hill!
Clouds curl into different shapes,
Moving across ever so slow,
Watch them transform, look how they traipse!
The sun, the rain, the clouds, the breeze,
They look lovely and seem mellow,
How can one not see God in these?
There's blood on my fresh roast coffee
blood on the sunny Sunday bell
blood on my tricycle wheels
across my blue-sky dreams
those devilish chem trails.
There's blood on John Lennon sheets
They're poisoning birds and honeybees.
They call us cattle, treat us like sheep.
Their arrogance blocks out our sun.
Sweaty jails swinging wide open for us.
Closed tight for the morally bankrupt.
They are mimicking Saturn's passion.
Munching away the faith of innocence.
Blood-blood-blood flowing everywhere.
It's all of them and always has been.
Demons drink without a care.
My blood pressure kisses the north side of high.
Patience hangs from the south side of down.
I used to traipse the woods to temper the grind.
Now I stay deep inside a cockroach house
a permanent bending of the mind.
Their egos are greasy and fatally stained.
Their arrogance-an incurable disease.
But what they don't understand is
that there's no escaping the crumbling castle
of the chronically damned.
God carved fate into the eternal face of time.
He will gild and elevate the little ones...
A resurrection of a blue-sky lullaby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I traipse along the seashore
where the tide forgets its name,
where the seagulls cry like lost receipts,
where the sand, pale as a sleepless page,
whispers: Look down. Look down.
But I search the horizon instead~
that bluish orange hyphen between here
and whatever comes next.
The ocean licks its lips,
spatting out a shell, half-cracked,
a confession in porcelain.
Is this you? the waves murmur,
rolling their r’s like a drunk god.
I hold it to my ear~
hear the static of a thousand voices
and the hiss of dead radios.
A crab scurries by me, dragging its life
like a piece of baggage with damaged wheels.
You’re overthinking it,
says the wind,
but the wind always says that.
At twilight, my silhouette stretches long,
a black rope thrown toward the sea.
I tug. Nothing tugs back.
And the moon, that cheap spotlight,
clicks on—illuminating
only how far I haven’t gone.
Poem published at creativeramblings.com/writing-prompts/writing-challenge-27/ on February 22, 2026
Hate invoke,
Haunt sound silence in,
Lapsed love still,
Heart opens,
A kid of traipse live alone,
life of sorrow fun.
I sit, this morn, on the bed of
A dried-up rivulet,
Head-bent and full of compunction.
It’s clam-quiet except for the impatient
Squawks above which prompt my heartbeat.
I raise my head, heavy with grief.
Climbers and weevils align in a silent choir,
Singing with precision the lines of a forgotten
Mirth.
It’s 5 o’clock in the morning — a time when
Cockcrows are loud enough to wake the dead.
I cringe and slink as I traipse about in the dead woods,
Among the cadavers of river plants, decimated,
Deserted, and vitiated through seasons’ flagrant ebb.
I see shadows that sing with their mouths tightly shut.
Like them all, I, too, am lonesome, and I draw about me
The dry waves of parched waters.
On my lips is a certain prayer — a revised edition of the
Paternoster.
Return, waters, return from the underrocks, I pray thee.
My sorrows are old and fragile.
Hoots and cries and stridulations beseech me.
I have picked my way among paths that
Cuddle the feet in sympathy and soothe
The souls that hide from the earnestness of
Sunrise.
Wash my dry naked feet, O waters,
And grease my palms so cracked from
Endless chafing.
Sultry ~ the days of sizzling summer heat
when wildflowers bloom in meadows and fields.
The warm embrace of sunlight never yields
and on the horizon— sea and sky meet.
I traipse across a beach of golden sand—
chasing ~waves~ where my feet playfully tread.
Hoards of hungry seagulls fly overhead~
fishing for lunch— feathered wings fully spanned!
"Love~ you'll find me each night on my porch swing,
watching the twinkling lights of fireflies dance—
recalling our summer nights of romance...
listening to songs the nightingales sing!"
Wind softly blowing through moss-draped oak trees—
magnolia scent~ wafting on Summer's breeze.
When I compare my love to frozen vines,
repressed beneath the frost’s relentless grip,
while sweetness looms, I nary taste the wines
of love that lingers taunting me to sip.
My aching skin, akin to frozen grapes,
betrays the warmth your nectar must exude.
Though pressed by weight and time, still on I traipse,
a doom I meet, forbearing interlude.
I crave your taste, but yearning still haunts me.
Your ardour shines yet coldness stains its glow.
Your charm forbidden till a bride to be,
conserved in mem’ry neath the depth of snow
Besotted by a love that’s crystallized,
Unripe fruit, yet adored, and idolized.
I traipse my fingers delicately across spiralled letters of each written word and dated times
The clumsily transitioned Thoughts are transferred on to pages full of Passion and expressive rhyme.
Splattered,stained and ink spilled journal, with it's torn ridge spine ,misspellings and crooked lines ,
Reading the moment a daydreaming story teller and her poetic adventures began, such beginnings were mine
If you're ever lost, forgotten, or misstep.
I'll traipse down the cobbles of your crash.
Hand in hand until you're back on track.
I'll surely spruce up a room for you.
It'll be on the mundane -humble side
but safe, warm, and welcoming.
Like in a child's sunlit dream.
I can cloak the well-worn floor
with a pattern of your choice.
There'll be no rent or rent of judgement.
Only a gray shoulder to stain
with the colors of your choice.
We'll whisper of the misty past.
Untangle the present and its jaggedness.
Pan the gold from the slag of tomorrow.
I'll gently lay a patch upon that blue chip in your heart.
For I love you immensely; you can stay forever if you wish, dear heart.
Frolic - frolic along with me
And be as a spritely fawn
Running carelessly through the reeds
As best we can imagine.
Let's traipse across the rivulet
Where a log fell in the right place.
What luck that we should find it
Like it knew of our escapade!
The shrubs have something to say;
Small murmurs are thrown to the wind.
They catch up to us and whiz by
But we've not a common language.
So wildly about the winds gush
That my whipped hair looks feral.
We trample the weeds underfoot;
We overtake a lonesome hill.
Somewhere, anywhere - let us run
And forge for ourselves a new path.
Frolic with me through the unknown
So sure that we never look back.
What A Beautiful
Human Being
you are
Like a precious gem
you shine
for all to wonder
It is a pleasure
to be in your presence,
to be bathed
in your magnificent glow
You are a gift
to all around
You traipse
through life with ease
never judging nor criticizing
Just living with your
own set of principles
that you keep
to yourself
with grace and humility
First blush fountain azimuth of hued rays
wet patio shrub basket in the haze
zealous heartland tower cry as life force
celebrate and savour August rare days
Magenta skylines cluster silken clouds
blue ocean colour eyes that worship shrouds
a fancy surreal canvass so divine
it mesmerises jubilant bright crowds
Summer fun arcades stoke our dream world mind
gasps of red tint bliss a peak season find
earthbound poise dilates refulgent cascade
rocking beach tune fare blurs dark strain purblind
Sapphire plinths that anchor stoic ambit
vision on parade my high rise gambit
traipse amid the dahlia euphoric
seventh heaven rapture’s cloud nine orbit
Emma’s Smile
He picked her up the other day
And from the window, peeking out of the blinds,
I watched them traipse down the driveway
Practically skipping, arms around each other,
Happiness bubbling from their feet,
Somersault energy fuses them.
At the bottom of the driveway
On their way late for something
They stopped for a few breath-beats
And hugged anyway.
Emma laid her head on his shoulder,
Eyes closed as if in relief,
He wrapped her tight around, too, and
They fit.
They stood still for some moments
Holding close,
One to the other, the same.
Emma leaned back to tell him, then,
Some funny little thing and
She beamed.
She smiled up at him with
Truth and
Youth and
Trust and
The sun smiled on her face
In an accident of perfect light, putting
Diamonds in her eyes and
Reality in check and
I knew then;
My girl would know love.
"My name's Lucy, what's yours," with outstretched palm.
"My name's Kirk,""Hi Kirk," "Hi Lucy, you're calm."
Temporal a passage traipse in units,
partitioned Earth's axis and Sun's movements.
Temperate seasons bud the cosmos plains,
Text the gods, link the nightshade, spare the chains.
Constellate heaven, possession errs bliss,
Lease the sky morning dew, sunrise--lips kiss.
Evergreen sanctioned untrimmed yields to gold.
Shade, consumed by the sun, glaring, behold.
Unique tan for the wayward souls loosen,
Fading footed beach traces ought proven.
The eternal god's shade Sun's complexion,
Temperate gold buds, untrimmed, lease heaven.
The power to create lies not beyond my grasp
Pawns of my making;
Kings and queens, monarchs and matriarchs
Emperors and empresses, enchantresses and peasants,
Even those who dared defy the gods,
Dare not defy me
An incidental untimely flick of my wrist
Is all it takes to erase your ephemeral existence
From even the most ancient of scrolls
Hidden behind the hushed
Dusty antique secretive oak doors
Of the world of the non-existent
Your fate is just a dark dice
I choose when to roll
Trials and tribulations
Judgement or redemption
Non is far from my caustic imagination.
An easy concatenation of your eternal verities
Can simply make me mess
With the threads of your sanity
And knock at the temples of your sanctity.
Create and destroy, make and shatter
All is just a fragment of my power.
I can make worlds attend their obsequies
And rulers of your time bow at my feet
I would be inclined to let you be known of my presence
But of all, none of you I deem worthy enough
To traipse in the halls of my courts.
As for to whom I owe this ode,
Dearest, are you sure you want to know?
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