Wanning Poems


Premium Member the e-fects of deciduous

Deciduous defines days of our lives
by temporary scenes upon its stage.
There we progress from infancy to age,
so often judged by wealth our death survives.
Deciduous events tempt youthful eyes,
producing all that energetic rage.
Each generation writing its new page,
changing values deemed societal strives.

Inconstant is the work of nature’s hand,
casting shadows on deciduous moons.
By nightly shifting, rhythm of the tides,
its waxing, wanning angles will command,
some human heart give yield to passions’ swoons.
Ephemeral emotions brief, felt prides.
Categories: wanning, age, change, nature,
Form: Italian Sonnet

Premium MemberMagnification

Written: November 24, 2023
             ____________________________________________

Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Under microscope, watch the draws.
With fresh style—microscopy tool.
Sight blur has been fixed—law or rule.

Microscope grips when bright hue thaws.
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Scab thinness—less than two microns
Hook the dwarf scope—to grasp ions.

A maze echo—of magic dream.
Wanning under the noiseless stream
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Disclosure of traces—that yaws

Pathways forged by spirits with faith.
We all crave relief from the wraith.
Who blesses hearts—effects show cause
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Categories: wanning, analogy, miracle, science,
Form: Quatern


Premium MemberBeneath the Wanning Moon

I close my eyes, as time drifts away, upon a tune of yesterday
to hear the songs of glory sung, beneath the wanning moon 
He stood there with a finger aiming at the sky,  
naming each and every star*
The vineyard winds soft as an easy meadow,  
joined the morning glories as they were closing for a fortnight.  
With the taste of wine still on his lips he whistled 
through the gap of his front teeth, while the chickadees 
slept, beneath their sheltered wings...
Many years have come and gone still I recall my father dearly,  
back in days when the sun was young and the moon 
was a pearl, waxed in luminescent blues. 
If I close my eyes, I can still recall that blessed summer, 
the one when I believed that father, knew it all.
Categories: wanning, father daughter, memory,
Form: Free verse

Premium MemberSeptember

summer slips its heated veil in September 
           a noiseless stride smoothing out
                                            the numbing pace of leisure
we pull back to the looming pitch of harvest
      revering all its bounty

twilight summer
        as students on campus embrace renewal
breezily swept up in a spirit of new ideas
                                     that burn through old ones
filters of wanderlust, discovery, concentration
that frame a path for growth
reclaiming the active tone of younger voices

inevitable meandering to fall
wanning hours of summer sun
                 that bring light's gaze upon you
                 a folding inward
                 in shadowy cooler nights
                 that knit round you 
                                            like a healing sweater 
to forget the green that's lost beyond our borders
in the churn and flash of breaking autumn colors








Composed: September 17/21
Categories: wanning, autumn, hope, seasons, september,
Form: Free verse

India Times

india independence day marked by vicissitude
like downward dive of flying kite

freedom of multiple choices wanning
men out of their element
india independence day marked by vicissitude
like downward dive of flying kite

freedom within, fading
men failing
india independence day marked by vicissitude
like downward dive of flying kite

freedom from coronavirus as elusive as
building merrier, sophisticated india
india independence day marked by vicissitude
like downward dive of flying kite
Categories: wanning, absence, depression, freedom, future,
Form: Sonnet


Glycolysis

underneath my silhouette 
it's always "liek" dusk. 

i hear a marching band in the fog,
a damp echo, some dilute
nightmare.

i still exhale you.

an illuminated allegory
i will forever see.

i sense it's fundamental,
like an imperfect cell 
wanning away inside;
my smoke filled lungs.

unable.
Categories: wanning, art, writing,
Form: Free verse
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