In a nearby place I frequent,
a quiet country road -
paddy fields stretching either side.
the road broken and pitted with potholes.
I rode there time and again,
often drove that road,
enjoying the peace and the countryside’s scene..
Jungle mynas often walked
striding along the roadside
while a cha - bora restaurant stood nearby,
run by a lone woman.
There, my wife and I would sit together,
relaxing over cups of tea and eating bora
watching the quiet countryside pass by.
But as time went on
private schools and houses began to rise
upon the paddy fields,
violating the laws -
but no one came.
Instead more and more buildings
continued to spring up –
motor workshops,shops,petrol pumps, restaurants-
along the edges of the paddy fields
by the roadside
The paddy fields began to vanish;
the wandering mynas were nowhere to be seen.
So, the little cha bora restaurant-
The countryside’s agrarian character
and its peaceful rhythm have vanished.
The sleepy day shutting its eyes
As sunlight slides behind the hill.
While brooding lilac shadows rise,
The sleepy day shutting its eyes.
Dawn's final breath of quiet sighs
And all the world is growing still.
The sleepy day shutting its eyes
As sunlight slides behind the hill.
Quick-witted mother rabbit vanishes before a dog-see her
Working through a riddle
Mind completely absorbed
Thoughts baked until brittle
Answers collapse to dust
Patterns refuse to form
Questions erode my trust
The riddle thins to air
Echoes drift out of reach
In its wake a blank stare
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
this poem was written in response to the above weekly prompt picture:
Creativeramblings.com/poetry/prompted-haiku-16/
first steps crunch~
then silence swallows each imprint,
a fleeting braille of passage
Sometimes it happens
when you least expect it,
like the moment when the burden
of yourself finds rest beneath
the vast canopy of a River Red Gum
stretched across your path
and there is a sudden clarity
lensed through the cathedral like
quiet housed inside
its domed height.
Its enormous trunk
and gnarled limbs carry centuries
of history written in scars.
You carry your own concealed
under the weathered exterior
of human years. Something
finds communion here,
life linking in an almost shared
awareness, discovering ground
on which all things have purpose
and move through time
being bruised by suffering,
slowly perfecting the power
to see beyond the reaches
of the self, into that place
where all perspectives meet
and join, in the vanishing point
of the mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
words linger like mist~
soft echoes reshape the air
then vanish, somehow
I used to be
an enthusiastic lad
an energetic gad
about town
but time and tide
let me down
can't do the things
I used to do
who knew
it would come to this
with aches pains
spasms and strains
I'm running out of steam
it seems or so I've found
soon they'll plant me
in the happy hunting ground
with no midnight oil
or candle ends left to burn
then at last I'll be past
the point of no return
The save vanishing species USPS stamp -
featuring an Amur tiger cub graphic
-----------------------------------------------
Hillborn river, gentle Amur flows east
Embracing enroute a score of besties
Enriching diverse lives, some so unique
She sways towards the ocean Pacific
Warm orange bright Siberian tigers
Left in cold, threatened, dispossessed drifters
Settle along serene flowing Amur
Takes her name, huddle along her, survive
Sad eyes with Blake's immortal symmetry
An Amur cub stamped on clear envelope
Stares at cruel human eyes with pity
Asks for mercy, for marked territory
Vanishing Point
It's Easy To See
How The Future
Appears...
Because...
From There You're
Looking Into The:
Past.
-Gray Squirrel
06-01-2025
Oh ,my dearest and love some sibling shadow, listen, Are you still staying and living in my beloved soul ?, You are dancing gracefully in my dress of glisten, And you are looking like the darkest glittering coal ,
Wherever I go , you are willingly following me , You are my permanent companion in solitude, Are you a wonderful mirror of my soul of flee ?, Dancing cheerfully with you alone is always chewed, You are purposely speaking louder than words sometimes, That words are more reliable and content of true, You have many impressive stories to tell in nights, Alas , you are vanishing suddenly like a dew , And you hold the brightest and vivid secrets as rights.
Nested in the cat’s cradle
Paraded in a child’s fable
I have no voice, don’t let me die
No longer shall I live a lie
I have no soul nor thoughts to save
Unbeknownst to me is
this life beyond the grave?
A designer dainty as she
silky essence she creeps upon so free
and with sheer elegance
unveils a painted lady in a trance
Wake me before the dream ends
In this a lie I can’t depend
Ochre paint splat on walls
Tinted forewings so not to fall
Hindwings I hold up in pain
Fragile chitin, scales, and veins
Bleeding strokes of mango chutney
Opera gloves cobalt blue, cloak impunity
Wake me up! Before I drop
Still asleep, a standing prop
And when I open my eyes
I’ll have wings like butterflies
The bitter truth sounds insane
Blends of electronic elements
Mesh makes perfect sense distasteful
Nestled neatly prim and graceful
Kept in the dark where it’s unfair
Wake me lest I vanish in thin air
In my dream a translucent permanence
I stand alone and have woken an evanescence
Peace is the tide that never stays,
rolling in soft whispers, retreating in sighs,
touching the feet of the weary,
only to slip away before they can rest.
It lingers in the hush before a storm,
a breath between heartbeats,
a weightless second where nothing pulls—
then the world stirs, and it is gone.
We chase it in quiet rooms,
in hands we dare not hold too tightly,
in the spaces between words left unsaid,
as if silence itself could make it stay.
But peace is not a home, only a door,
left ajar for those who walk lightly,
who do not beg it to remain,
but smile as it leaves, knowing it will return.
Memories flutter like Post-It notes,
with scribbles faint and worn.
Reminders fade in the winds they’ve made,
my pages are tattered and torn.
Notes twist and swirl, then dip and curl,
in a wild and frantic breeze.
A cyclone spins where thoughts have been,
scattering all my memories.
Papers alight and suddenly take flight,
spinning frantically far and near.
But the harder I try, the stronger they fly,
increasingly more unclear.
I feel bold and reach to hold—
but my notes slip further away.
And piece by piece, I lose my peace,
as my library fades to gray.
The scattered scraps come fluttering back,
then flicker, furl, and flee.
A swift retreat, my memories fleet,
I’m not who I used to be.
An unraveling mind, fading line by line,
my life in vanishing ink.
Clinging to time and what’s left of my mind,
my sanity is on the brink.
But the yellow storm still rages on,
the cruel winds blow with might,
And time will steal all that was real,
‘til there’s nothing left but night.
-Edward
On a winter evening,
along a lonely country road
I rode my bicycle and saw,
far ahead, a young couple
dressed in traditional
ceremonial clothes.
The setting sun cast it's light
as they crossed the wide paddy field,
brown with stubble,
quiet and still
May be they were returning home
from a religious ceremony,
a beautiful moment
I know will never happen again
in my life
Today, the paddy field
by the roadside is disappearing
and the road has started to buzz
with the noise of change
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