Transpires Poems

Reverse Osmosis of Life

(“Corpus Callosum”, 2017, original encaustic)

Reverse Osmosis of Life

It’s a two way street
The way reality exists
Divided into truth on one side
And illusion’s delusions the other,
And yet the most fascinating aspect
Is the membrane that exists between the two
A membrane of I don’t know what,
But which I’m sure the ancients had a name for,
Which divides, insulates and yet connects 
And filters through cosmic osmosis
The personal and transpersonal,
Or you could say the mortal and immortal.

Sometimes I can feel the membrane at work
Seeing it even just beyond the limits of my mind’s eye
Knowing what it’s doing
As it transpires
Because I am in fact on both sides simultaneously
At least to some degree.
Everything after all is an extension 
And expression of Life,
You, me, us,
In whatever forms it finds us
From refined and subtle to coarse and gross.

The other night I dreamt of being a bridge
Not a figurative one, but literally
An object with girders and cross members
Able to span a stream or gully.
It didn’t surprise me, just intrigue me
That the creative nature of the Mind
Is what it is
And in fact, is all there is.

(8/18/25)

THE TOMB OF MIRRORS

There’s this voice that echoes inside of me,in the pit of my soul
He has long sharp nails, with which he tears down the walls of my heart,peice by piece
Every time my foot steps on the grass, greener than the day before
He pulls me down into the Earth
And I am submerged into the sea 
Filled with thousands of faces, faces I know ,but none of them I recognise
He caresses my face with his palms, softer than petals of a rose
And then ,he hold my hands so tightly that I see my veins and 
drop by drop my blood drips in the ocean
But I hold him back with every bit of my strength
And I listen to my screams he eats the flesh on my body
Using every ounce of strength in the skies and the stars, he opens the insides of my stomach
To reveal my intestines and all I see is….
Shame ,shame and so much shame and so much guilt 
That it transpires very bit of light around me
And for the very last time I kiss the sea back

The Evidence of Things Not Seen

About my soul, I feel at peace. 
I know that it will make its flight 
to Heaven after that last breath.
In thoughts of Heaven, I delight.

Why am I sure of what transpires
when children of the Savior die?
Can I provide proof positive
that what I hold to is not a lie?

I can declare that I have faith:
“the evidence of things not seen,”
and “the substance of things hoped for.”
I know what these sweet verses mean.

The part of me that doesn’t die,       
my unseen soul, will instantly	            
be with the Lord, the Bible says.
Its promises leave me doubt-free.

Hebrews 11

Children of the Forgotten Town

In the gelid that transpires
Of the wreckages of the bombed town
Two children, brother and sister,
With no house and family
Step into the stones of collapsed houses
Playing no more and smiling no more
No gifts, no holidays
Little brother and sister hand by hand
Walking randomly in search of nowhere
No joy anymore obfuscated by dark memories
Of departed mummy and daddy
Escalated by noises of guns shooting afar
Tumulted by random bombs
Silenced by threatening shadows and
Frightening nights
One lollipop from the ruined candy seller at the corner
And then the roar and blast of a close bomb
To take those innocent lives away forever

Medication

One’s existence sustains uncertainty, 
disruption subsequent to such functionality. 
Proceeding reality as my own assessment, 
despite that it might get unpleasant. 
What transpires within this body and mind 
obliges the supplement’s empowerment to be one of a kind. 
Attempting for a disparate upshot, 
its side effects hit like a gunshot. 
Normality dismantling this flow is constructing quite a show. 
Give credence to this substance which has been fought over,
a void I intend to gradually rely on and rover

IN YOUR QUITE MOMENTS

It could be my paranoia, 
perhaps my curiosity,
Its intensity,  leaving me with 1 of the 9 lives, yet i still yearn
 
Do i use the soft or hard brushes, in stroking the canvas of  
scenarios that would make a picture of what you picture? 
Is it with colour?  a classic?  Or that which is left hidden ?

I wish i could comprehend a fraction of what transpires, 
for it feels like eternity, from one second to the next.

You're on my mind

Written: June 5th, 2024, For Jay Narain Contest

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your smile awestruck me every morning,
Truly ambrosian and quiddity display style.
Your ariose image is rife in my dreams,
As optimism rises, I wake up with beams.

You could be the one, I didn't love enough,
There was a juncture in, I treated you rough.
Girl, if I beshrew you feel odious, I was blind,
If I crestfallen you, you're often on my mind.

You induce me to dare my worries and fears,
I will support you in your anguish and tears.
All I sense for you is beyond what I may show,
You are precious to me; I wish that you know.

I didn't descry you those lonesome times,
It is a delight to have you; you are sublime.
My thoughts of you hampered my tries to rest,
The warmth of your kindness swells my chest.

Whatever transpires, I will be devout to you,
My briny goal is always you, and I will pursue.
Allow me to win your quintessence one final time,
I often relate to you; I've never had time to dime.

The In-Between

Owls fly back toward the dark.
I hear the phantom tread of first light,
the tramp and scurry of predators and prey
passing, this way and that

through the in-between.

Those who watch from the hidden camps,
of hide and seek, listen to a broken silence,
as it transpires
to a tangible skin of green noise.

A pre-dawn walk ends in a parking lot,
listening to the rustle and whisper
of a creeping camouflage of violence.

As sunlight emerges, a rising sky promises,
one more lovely, and dangerous
daybreak.

Seasons Change

The spell of spring transpires in
as rains of life begin to mend.
Meadows vast with bumble bees
and yellow blooms between the trees.
The scent of fresh consumes the air
from fields of lavender with such flair.

Summer sounds of plunging water.
Babbling brooks sharing idle chatter.
The sky is clear and blue with friends.
Birds with songs as nature trends.
Alluring grasslands entice the sun
with stems of long and daisy mums.

Cool gales of autumn and clouds of grey,
begin to usher the warmth away.
Lulled to sleep are woodland trees
with dancing leaves on breezy days.
Harvest colours of golden rust.
Fallen leaves that smell of musk. 

Chilled winter winds begin to bite
with swirling snow so crisp and white.
Waterfalls that stand so still.
Frozen lakes capped with snowdrift hills.
The wintry sun yields days of cold.
Frigid nights that grip a hold.

Seasons change but never end.
Onward forward without suspend.
Triumphant bursts of celebration,
then a gentle fade in dwindling motion. 
Each in turn with its splendour. 
One begins as the others slumber.

When one door opens Joe Bonamassa Song

Joe's song inspires,
But what transpires?
Door can open anywhere,
Does it lead nowhere?
None escape life alive,
Meanwhile, let's thrive,
None win in this pond,
None come second,
Finally, we're crisps,
Souls become wisps,
No use looking back,
No complaints, great lifehack!

Scum Buckets

Scum Buckets
(For a contest)

Can American’s be
As a whole, like a tree
With branches far and wide

That is constantly tapped
Collecting green sap
As in taxes from our thin hide

Out of hard working hands
All over our land
From Eugene to Nantucket

That fill’s Washington’s till
Where they convert it to swill
That’s poured into scum buckets

Where in essence, transpires
Is that cash vampires
Sponging conmen, that do suck it
	
Corruptly disperse
The blood from our purse
Into their sordid scum buckets

And so that scum goes
To places we appose
Were it spreads like a virus

But why should our pay
Be pissed away
To ruses undesirous

It’s time that they stop
Leeching every drop
Of our personal property

By declaring suck it
To their scum buckets
Which en masse we will empty

And without their scum
There will only be some
Left working in DC

And the rest will survive
Like all people alive
To benefit humanity

A Trusting Heart

The muse inspires the artist

The moth desires the flame

My trust transpires with time

My heart requires the same

The Letter Join In the Conversation

Mary had received a letter.
She read it aloud to her friend Netta.
It was to invite her to go with Ben,
As done last year to the town fair again.

Netta said “aren’t you going with Joe?”
Mary replied ”He did ask me to go.
Why don’t the four of us go together?”
Oh I so hope its lovely weather.

“Which boy would you be with?” Netta enquires. 
Mary laughed “Whatever transpires”
She smiled.”Ben and I did have fun last year
He paid for everything such a dear,

We had hot dogs and went on every ride, 
It would be really hard for me to decide.
I like Joe, he’s easy to get to know.
So is it agreed, four of us will go?

Fine, lets answer Ben’s letter straight away.
Now what shall we say?
Thank you Ben, how sweet of you.
Netta is coming too”

Hearing

When symphonic waves crash on soundless shores,
Listen to the cadence of silent seas,
He's a virtuoso of voiceless woes,
orchestrating pre-written faith, at ease.

For every tainted tide, transpires a tune,
If you lend your ear to the unsung sighs,
perhaps sonorous currents too would croon,
amidst ringing reasons that fall and rise.

There's a fine song for every shipwrecked heart,
entrenched in rhymes from the soul of sand dunes.
Healing comes through searing sirens as art,
rhapsodizing themes of roaring runes.

As waters whistle, hushed air ricochets,
resonating the melody of a dulcet dove,
breeze beneath ripples rewinds and replays,
in divine dialects through language of love.

Whilst chorus of crickets swiftly unfold,
allow nature to compose musings of the ocean.
Words can only whisper deep scars untold,
in poetic crescendo, that translates intense emotions.

Wait For Morning To Burn

Morning fog descends 
Dusky pinpricks on my skin
Veils of hidden hills arise
Shrouds obey sunrise

Redwood still stands tall
Poetry sits on a perch
Feel the morning fog recede
Clouds layered veils deep

Fog's book peels pages 
Sunrise lifts up gray curtains
Opaque airs thicken distance
Lone jay takes off

Poem transpires slate
Inspiration dissipates
Male jay remains in the drab
Smoke apparitions

Distance is illusion
Loneliness a delusion
Like fog fooling perspective
Change heaven’s constant

Tomorrow shrouds come
Ashen mornings will return
Love will find rest in redwoods
Poems are renounced

Stay grounded as trees
Climb above clouds to what's blue
Wait for aspect to restore
Fog, bird, or lover

***
2 Samuel 23:4
'Is as the light of the morning when the sun rises, a morning without clouds, when the tender grass springs out of the earth, through sunshine after rain.’

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