We are like stagnant water, never moving, never flowing.
Trapped in silence, where shadows gather low,
A quiet pool that holds the dust of yesterday,
Unstirred by wind or whisper from above.
Yet deep within, a gentle call invites us forth,
To leave the stillness that weighs upon the soul.
We should be like a river, always flowing, ever changing,
Carrying light through valleys green and bold.
With every turn we yield to grace's guiding hand,
Washing clean the banks where sorrow once held sway.
We dance with stones that shape our path anew,
And nourish fields where hope begins to grow.
Grateful hearts, we thank the One who breaks the dam,
Who turns our quiet depths to living streams of praise.
No longer bound by what refuses breath or life,
We flow in freedom, bathed in mercy's endless days.
In humble joy we journey on, refreshed and free,
A testament to love that makes the weary whole.
For in this sacred motion, ever changing, ever true,
We find the beauty of a soul made new.
Memory burns the kettle black. It bursts.
Broth slides as cream sticks to the stove's hot eye.
Emptiness gathers on a spoon, unstirred.
Dinner is runned out on in a quick blur.
Yesterday's coating is on my tongue's cry.
Memory burns the kettle black. It bursts.
The room's chills left there hold me within brrs.
How could melted icecubes still subtly bite?
Emptiness gathers on a spoon, unstirred.
I flow like a desert's sandpaper thirst.
The watered taste is hardened by stark light.
Memory burns the kettle black. It bursts.
A wait in this loveache becomes curdled.
Please, hold me, all my scars don't feed it right.
Emptiness gathers on a spoon, unstirred.
Where a cleaning chore, inside only shirk.
The warmth in my bubble is a goodbye.
Memory burns the kettle black. It bursts.
Emptiness gathers on a spoon, unstirred.
I've crisscrossed through my page
Yet the words would not engage
I've written many lines
Which seems to drift into the undefined
Then I tripped over a few words
Yet the muse remained unstirred
The words will come when they're ready, I suppose
Tiptoeing through my muse with pretty bows
after Privilege of Being by Robert Haas
A tipping point of too many
are talking harshly. Down below,
demon-dead in the unstirred inferno
and perdition of animal thirsting
are coiling one another's tails in response.
They are honeyed vermillion and covered
in trim the texture of hot picamar.
They espy up all the time
at the graceless rapture—
it must sound to them like cold butter
dancing across a cast iron skillet.
Then one voice—she is about to shout—
takes the man's rigid hand and says,
listen to me, and he does.
Or is it the man caressing loose
the gravelly noose of anger?
Anyway, they do,
they listen to each other:
two minds with matured mediums,
hungry to be heard, to be fed by the frisson
of recognition, their skin sizzling with it—
brutal words turned into kindness
by well-intended touches,
and the gossiping, nosy dead are derelict
and growing deaf. They hate it.
They scream a chivvy about injustice
that breaks no skin, but frays the veil
between
what's bone and broth—
a warning, a dirge, a hiss of envy
worse than silence.
In realms of dusk, where whispers sleep,
A nascent dream, in colours deep.
Green tendrils curl, unseen, unheard,
A restless yearning, wings unstirred.
Beneath the hush, where shadows stray,
A silent storm begins to play.
Dormant fires, with embers bright,
Embrace the dark, ignite the night.
Furious whispers, soft and low,
Unfurl like leaves, begin to grow.
They writhe and dance, unseen, unheard,
A hidden symphony, every word.
Cracking the shell, they push and strive,
Emerald shards, where dreams survive.
Colourless fades, replaced by hue,
Passionate greens, breaking through.
From slumber deep, with verdant grace,
Ideas bloom, find their embrace.
No longer tame, no longer still,
They fill the world, against their will.
With wings unfurled, they paint the dawn,
A vibrant chorus, newly born.
Furious green, a rising tide,
Where dreams take flight, and secrets hide.
So let us dream, in shades unseen,
For whispers sleep, in emerald sheen.
And from the hush, where silence lies,
Colourless dawns paint vibrant skies.
Existentially you think
you know me
having eaten a slice
of my mind
delicious you think
the bubbling froth
of this poetry
peppered with sprinkles
of rising undertones
the sugar depth charged
unstirred, yet
touch the lip of my cup
you’d feel the burn
the tongue means to speak
unhoneyed
the kiss stings
the pain
swollen
and
sweet
Candide Diderot. '24
(Seeing an old man walking out of a marriage registrar’s office with a young girl, two women talking…)
Retaining charm till old is art
More than the matter ‘tis of heart,
Look, unstirred, undeterred,
Caught he has a young bird—
The daughter of his old sweetheart,
Now hurt as if by Cupid’s dart!
And old habit as well
(An old man, a retired teacher, and his two sons invoke spirit to write on Ouija board, which makes a spelling mistake, and the old teacher would not allow it to go farther, quoting, a mnemonic device to remember spellings of words with ei or ie. )
Invoked, the ghost when came to be,
The planchette moved on its will free,
The old man still shouted:
Ye must recall, blockhead,
This: I ere E, save after C,
Look, there’s no C in grieve, it’s G.
________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |07.07.2023| humour/rhyme
Poetic intention
exceeding my words
Meanings now idle
truth left unstirred
Marching unspoken
Marching unheard
Marching without me
—to march undeterred
(The New Room: March, 2022)
Night often falls
with the matter unsettled
The pudding unstirred
—as choices recant
(Amtrak R5: June, 2021)
A dawn born
growing into morn
A life is led
a soul is fed
No truth to divine
as blind to any sign
Sounds unheard
feels unstirred
Wind and breeze
to weather and appease
Guided by a Hand
even with a taken stand
Divine powers of no limit
none to stand against kismet
The mystery of the beyond
a wave of an angelic wand
Silent stars in outer space
ignite light on Earth face
A voice I now could hear
the signs are quite clear
Time to the soul brace
and pray for God’s grace.
Sitting alone, chilled in unstirred colds
olive green liquid flows to the earth
lemon greens with lime yellow folds
cover all smiles, stomachs increasing their girth;
candy crush dreams, visions of color flow
sour gray skies, storm clouds streaming by
three, four, fives in a discrete row;
follow the arrows, only this way to go
stay apart, six feet away, wave a quick hello,
dance in the brief light of the sun's play
just another day, what day is it anyway?
Hold back the fear, play a solitary game or two
while living in the time of pandemic blues.
Are thoughts with no hope
Reason with no cope
Fleeting shadows with no scope
Shifting patterns with no symmetry
Substance with no chemistry
Allergenetic to the word of the birds
Words gone with the wind
Wishing wells, Words unheard
Witts steer clear, drama unstirred
3 blind mice tick and tock on my clock
Silently, Grinding my gears
Bursting bubbles gum
Carefully, Biting my tongue
Nerves fumbled with murs and mumbles
Ready to rumble
At any rate!!! Justice stay humble!!!
Dora's cat goes outside
On a chair she sits with pride
Enjoying her view of the birds
They are in the grass unstirred
Chirping happily is unheard
Dora's cat goes outside
On a chair she sits with pride
Enjoying her view of the birds
They are in the grass unstirred
Chirping happily is unheard
A land far far away
With its great splendid
The daylight that brightens the way
Thrived passing all the dry seasons
Nothing,but a tree on the wayside
Had brought significance to the land
Deep beneath the soil it's roots abide
Stands tall for people to see
A shelter to the birds of the air
And the beast of the earth
Moreover the storms did it bear
Lo,there it stands unstirred
There on the roots sprouted a plant
Yet,nothing could ever see
Grew with water so scant
But ungrugitate the wealth of the tree
For all the stroams that hit
And floods that made it drowned
Was it safe under it
It grew and grew
Not long did it last
Soon was the tree cut
Left alone weeping in the dust
Laid the plant
O what happy days under the sun did it think
Had it become to late to realize
There lying dead,the young plant
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