Upturned Poems

Nature in a Mischievous Mood

Nature in a Mischievous Mood

Early Sunday morning; 
nature rattling at the front door!
I accept its clamorous invitation 
stepping out with nothing more
in tow than an upturned collar..
and a theatrical imagination.

The morning ground is well-baked pastry,
all crusted with a shiver of winter;
sunlight whispering across the ground 
all sharp colour and playfulness.
So I step out, church bells skipping alongside
and light skating off in front of me.

Soon I am within reach of the beach;
my sandy sanctuary,
but nature is in a mischievous mood
the light fluctuating, 
its moods shifting,
gloss turning to flat matt.

The sea offers up a cold, blue arm 
encouraging me into watery depths
while the sky sits heavily
in a grey leather-weathered armchair.
Behind, peeking through a curtain of cloud 
a new season waits to spring into action.


Ian Souter

silent shifts

ego unfed
is now dead so
we’re led by God

we walk unshod 
inside God’s heart
Who nods gently

benign bliss burns
have upturned heart
that yearns for God

we know but yet
we covet lust 
forgetting God

what should we do
to renew light
anew within 

no one else knows
our soul rows on
in slow motion

After Clouds Depart

She thinned to vapour, blue as longing's edge,
while we searched skywards, calling her lost name.
Wind replied in whispers no one could catch–
just hollow notes strung on a frayed thread.
Now dusk repeats her gesture: palms upturned,
spilling light where her shadow once poured.
We drink the rain, still tasting her farewell.

Bonding with Nature

Bonding with Nature

Early Sunday morning; 
nature rattling at the front door!
I accept the invitation to bond,
stepping out with nothing more in tow
than an upturned collar
and a theatrical imagination.

The morning’s ground is well-baked pastry,
crusted with a shiver of winter;
sunlight whispering across the ground 
all sharp colour and playfulness.
So I stride out, church bells skipping alongside
with light skating off in front of me.

Soon I am within reach of the beach;
my sandy sanctuary,
but nature is in a roguish mood,
its light fluctuating;
its moods shifting;
gloss turning to flat matt.

The sea offers up a cold, blue arm 
encouraging me into watery depths
while the sky, heavy in thought, reclines
on a grey leather-weathered armchair.
Behind, peeking through clouded curtains
a new season waits to spring into action.


Ian Souter

Born Twice in Blood

I gave you a daughter
To have and to hold 
I gave you her gently
More precious than gold

I stitched her together
And formed her with care
Created her lovely 
Then born to me bare

Was bare as a baby 
I held her to me
Then she upturned her gaze
Looked sweetly at me

	You gave me no child
But something unfinished
Deformed and ugly 
So twisted and blemished 

Creature of sorrow 
I’d spare you the image 
All blackened and shadowed 
Reflecting your visage

You moulded it thus
Concocted its nature 
Then expected me
To cherish and nurture?

	Despicable steward! 
You hurt my daughter
Distorted her image
And raised her for slaughter. 

Despising my glory 
Dismissing her worth 
Her face my reflection, 
The salt of the earth 

Revise your destruction 
Bring her to water
Where her soul pants for me
Drink up, my daughter. 

	Returned to me, my child
Now forever mine
Born again in my blood
Sweet fountains of wine. 

A wish in the wind

I picked a dandelion today
Wondered if my wish would come true
And thought of you

I don't believe in those things, anyway
But still I blew on the weed
Because for you, I'd do whatever you'd plead

I stood back and saw an array
Of them- swaying in the wind
And seemed to whistle in the breeze some sort of hymn

One was upturned and flew away
Representing your heart would not choose to stay

Still I wondered
Would my wish come true?
Even as the dandelion flew

Clouds of Love and joy

Dear child, from clouds of cotton white,
If you should call,I will join your flight.
Your face upturned,a heavenly sight,
I'll come to you,with pure delight.

We'll play and laugh among the sky,
Hide and seek,just you and I.
Our hearts so light,we'll soar so high,
Time slipping high,as clouds drifting.

As long as you dwell in that place,
Amid the wisps of cloudy lace,
My mind and soul will seek your face
In that ethereal,peaceful space.

Our joyous game will never end,
As earth and heaven,sweetly blend.
My thoughts with yours will always blend.

What Do You Really Think?

Black/white

Which is might?

What’s to fight?

No color less
or more right! 

Politics!~ clans of self-serving, 
manipulative Pricks -- 

Lunatics!~ our woke
Generation – point it out 
to me…Please!~
show me the missed 
good, in ego-bloated, soulless, 
delusional 
Hollywood!  

The Democrat party
exposed, snobbish -- upturned
nose -- sipping from Satan’s
rancid cup -- lurid piss,
moral-less drink -- 

ignoring the wallow of their
own~ Sulphuryl, ruthless stink.

A song at sunrise reposted

He sang the song at sunrise, to the morning dawn
It rose into the atmosphere and carried on and on

It fell in gentle rain upon the barren lands
It moistened upturned faces and was caught in outstretched hands

It blew within warm winds across the marshy fen
Was whispered through the waving reeds and reached the hearts of men

This song is never ending all around the earth
The song that started long ago with our sweet Saviour's birth

Nothing Else Is New

One moment when the dust today
Was flung against my upturned face,
I felt the winter’s breath convey
A dream once mine in childhood’s place.

Yet though I walk a farther mile,
The dream returns, unchanged in hue—
No sadder now than all the while,
For nothing else is ever new.

Beautiful Melody

The sound hits as ton of bricks
And see you flying off the ledge
The state of awe, emotions’ mix
It puts the soul on the edge

As if you found what you missed
Your whole life, in vain hunt
High notes foggy clear mist
While you get hit with something blunt

To grow wings on cloud nine
When life-long yearning satisfied
Those jolting voices are divine
Be drunk and happy and bug-eyed

Them words, they rip, caress and sting
They don’t leave no stone unturned
The fierce vibes of bowed strings
Leave one excited and upturned

Your mind cleansed, you are complete
Must listen times, what a song!
This tune is ever-so-sweet
Until the next one comes along

May 1, 2024

Recluse

‘I’m a failed Muslim. 
I drink raki now,’ he says. 
A bottle twinkles 
on the upturned orange box. 
 
On the unmade bed, 
a punch-drunk pillow 
lurches in a sea of ruptured quilts. 
 
‘I never pray,’ he adds, 
as hawk-eyed Ataturk 
retreats to an ascetic frame 
and glowers at the room. 
 
And we who are too precious 
to confess our faults 
feel awkward in the silence. 


Turkey, 1990


First published in Blue Minaret

The Golden Oriole Found - A Fantasy Story

Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung. 
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches 
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water. 
There was a calm tranquillity about the place 
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance 
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.

He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman. 
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body. 
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose. 
He did not move but stood mesmerized, 
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice. 
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole. 
Come, sit near me 
And tell me how you found this place."


To be concluded in Part 3

Floating On All Sides

New mantelpiece, pinewood as heart's custom;
A waning fire's bed, her girl loving thwarted—

 ...I've sparkled my fingers' approach to this hearth.
I've kicked too long at its dousing birth.

As her skull's cracked by charcoal intent shears,
The Wintertime's frost slowly pulls out of her tears.

...You're the shadow in me, my upturned face—
Passing through this pine; this death; this hell of fireplace

For so familiar, so close, you seem in its embers;
I swear you're with me tonight in the deep ether.

...As the ashes seed to this wastely churn—
The flames may fall, but darling, I remember; you burn.

July 4 2016

Memory of my grandson at 6 years old

July 4th 2016

cache extra cuteness
courting field of coneflowers
purple purity
cute as button upturned smile
stirs boy’s long hair and wild grass

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