Three months and you're gone.
We keep up to date
Make up time lost to closed windows,
Re-open doors and
Let the light in all
At once blinded and dazed.
Make up time lost to petty fights
Closed off minds that wander, sometimes,
towards each other-
Now unrequited.
Make up time in people
Like roots, expanding,
Respirating, out-with-the-old that never
really dies because water never really runs out, but circulates
Bones. Muscle Fibre. Tendons. Joints.
Talk to that small part of yourself that remembers a piece of her
A tiny thing that never fits quite right,
Made-up time that can teach only
In hindsight
The poison of idle hope.
Pitch colours and throttled laughter.
A pain in the back of your skull that you wish was something more.
Make up time in sensation
Relive the inanimate
The comfort of its permanence.
once in the dead night
while serving in the army
I had a visit...
a silent bat was flying
around me for my pleasure
after "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.
after poem: A Pulse Is Bound To Wane
A pulse is bound to wane,
red rhythm vibes in vein.
A stream-bed’s liquid power
still stirs when mood turns dour.
But beats do follow beats,
like cleats on city streets,
‘til red sun siphons west
throb beneath my breast.
the
pictorial
transformed
categoric
metaphors
of
affinity
inseparable
receptibility
in
conjurations
never-before-seen
an
impulse
changeable
summation
coexist
with
unforeseeable
particulars
simple
self-evident
without
pretence
in
dazzling
contemplative
concepts
visualised
in
potential
imminent
utopian
ideals
In Kyoto's gardens, cherry blossoms fall ??
Like delicate snowflakes, ethereal, beyond all
Sakura's pink, a fleeting sigh, pure delight ??
Beauty born, lost in morning's golden, radiant light
From Tuscany's hills, cypress trees ascend ??
To Santorini's sea, waves whisper, secrets send
Golden light, a moment's ecstasy, heart's refrain ??
Wind whispers truths, echoes of timeless, sweet strain
In Marrakez's medina, gold threads weave fine ??
Weaving stories, whispers, mystic, scented vine
Muezzin's call slows heartbeats, soul's true, inner pace ???
Impermanence reveals life's hidden, precious space
In Rio's samba, hearts beat fast, joyful fire ??
Carnival's moment, fleeting, pure desire
Fleur de rêve blooms, fades, yet leaves a trace ??
In goodbye, new dawn gleams, with promise, love's warm, gentle face
Moments linger, like autumn's last, golden kiss ??
Echoes of what was, whispers of what is
In impermanence, beauty's subtle, secret might ??
A fleeting dream, a memory, a whispered, heartfelt night.
It lasted just a couple of days
those hours wrapped in golden haze
over the horizon midday cease
and joy hummmed low beneath the trees
The sky was wide, the world so small
we built our dreams with legos and paper walls
we chased the sun through fields of green
too young to know what "gone" could mean
We laughed at clouds, we raced the rain
with muddy feet, we felt no shame
the air would echo our childish tune
and time stood still beneath the noon
Then summer packed it's toys away
and silence learned how not to play
playgrounds now empty, air drifted restlessly
and the swings hung and swayed mindlessly
The skies grew old, and the fields forgot
but time remmembers what i am not
One couple of days, and yet i find
has built a lasting lifetime in my mind
Grains of Sand
Waves lapping on shore
Caress the sands on the beach
Foam dances and swirls~
A rhythmic, calming presence
Nature`s powerful embrace
Footprints fade swiftly
Swept by ocean`s web and flow
Sands regain the sea~
Life`s transience we reckon
As prints on sands washed by waves
Huge heaps of sand dunes
Blown by the wild woeful winds
Are scattered away~
So is man, a grain of sand
In midst of the universe
Everything is useless in terms of awareness
Of the inevitable transience of what was us
No valuable compensation for this mess
But just illusions with naivety of trust
They are so easy to be thoroughly despised
That maybe it’s a hint at something more
Which cannot be revealed or fully realized
As if we lived before and afterwards it blurred
So maybe we should care about illusions
They’re here for a reason, to remind
That we could take much simpler the intrusions
Of the transitional removal left behind.
The bloom starts no repentance,
it is not afraid of the slip just yet.
each gentle wind is a sigh from the sky.
be scented now, then learn to die.
It is the fleeting we become.
in how we glow before we've gone.
Everything is temporary. Maybe it's not even real...
Life, this life...
I think you know, we have already been here.
Post-apocalyptic existence.
Utopian dreams.
Uncertainty at the surface,
the shift in between.
Contemplation and choice.
Birth.
Life.
Death.
They are all one and the same,
sharing the same knife,
to carve out the same name.
Version #1
Petals float down like dreams,
landing gently on the ground,
vanishing before we rise.
Version #2
Petals descend like whispers,
landing quietly on the earth,
lost before we open our eyes.
In the quiet of early morning,
a dewdrop clings to the edge of a leaf,
a fragile globe reflecting the first light.
It trembles, a breath away from falling,
a brief testament to the night's embrace.
So too, our joys, gathered like rain
in the cups of our hands,
slipping through fingers no matter how tightly closed.
The laughter of children fades into silence,
the warmth of a sunbeam dissolves into shadow,
and words spoken in tenderness
are carried off by the wind.
Yet, in this transience, there's a beauty,
a sharpening of senses to the grace of the ephemeral.
For in the knowing that all is fleeting,
we learn to cherish the moments,
to hold them close,
even as we let them go.
Like the dewdrop at dawn,
glistening and gone.
And that love is but like Autumn
Death in guise of colors awesome!
But I saw her drawing guarded,
Flying with love I more wanted.
Doomed were the promises of eternity
And that love is but like Autumn
Failed I to see the imminent,
Love like leaves is cursed to stray.
I am still holding onto you
Though the leaves told that I shall move,
And that love is but like Autumn
It was sure to retire from bosom.
Sometimes rainy, sometimes sunny
Everything we went through together
Ignorant how this at last ends,
And that love is but like Autumn.
Another old friend has passed on,
May he rest whereever he's gone.
Once you're a year above eighty
thoughts of life's transience are weighty.
but here were good times to think upon.
Old friends, I'll see you anon.
'wind is pounding in my heart'
It tears across the steppes and plain, it guides my mind and eases pain
Whithin the yurt, upon the road, it whets my mind; eases the loads
I've rode it's Breast ten thousand times,' with banner high the yak tails nine
Its of my blood, throughout my race, we hold it near'in flood; or trace
It's face is clear,, it's embrace strong, we sing it's praise riding along
The clatter of the ponys hooves, not loved by those who dwell neath rooves.!
The pallid sallow, wall surrounded.. And when we start they'll be astounded..'
We ride hard two days and nights, to charge and wheel; and ever strike.'
To clear a space, where yurts can be; then to move in travel free
To wake to different scenes around, to venture quickly into feotid towns
To take a bargain, to strike a deal; to return to the fire, and let sleep steal
And in this act, renew our mettle, to grasp each chance with finest fettle.
'For the contest of Constance Lafrance'
'Be inspired by your muse'
Written 17 8 2022
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