And then there were none.

They came and they went..

silent joy simple fun

the starry firmament.

While for words this mind craved

the wind blew unheard

While this ink raved

flew away the singing bird!

The stars got weary of twinkling

real moon turned an imagined one

These blind eyes had no inkling
how they debarred the simple fun.

When they turned to behold

this madness was done

times hid in wrapped fold

And then there were none.

Buried in the quagmire of questions

the lonely traveler gasps.

Faith suffocates, belief stifles

and he seeks answers no more.

He regrets he walked into a one way trapdoor.

I know what time it is
At your place five past three
Night’s thinning for goodbye kiss
You are sunk in poetry!

Moon seeks recline to west
Stars are craving dawn of sun
Yet your mind hasn’t found rest
Chasing words on the free run!

Go to sleep angel tarry not
Before the fire burns you whole
For the coming day spare a thought
Close eyes till the night is coal!

You need to stop before hours grow small
Birds wake up in dewy rain
Rest my angel can’t catch them all
Your poems of joy and pain!

A mysterious crave entwined the air
in that moment all words were mess
when river breeze frolicked with her hair
sun pinked rose smeared her face!

We stood below a casuarina tree
the dust windblown scattered far
neath slumberous sky that breathed lazy
there was so much I wished to tell her!

But rested my hand upon her nape
dreaming that frame to shimmer long
with a clumsy yearn that took no shape
dropping to earth with casuarina's song!

Of passing time a momentous shot
in the autumn noon’s silent cavern
a ripple’s life was all it got
no rewind could be no return!

Bored poets write ennui
Sad poets psalms
Bad poets penning's
Are made into songs

Silly poets write limericks
And limericks they read
Drunk poets write scribbles
Drunk on their mead

Angry young men
Write rants by the hour
Wide-eyed young girls write
Of bunnies and flowers

Idiots write nonsense
Off the seat of their pants,
Got news for you, scoffers!
So do savants!

Gays write of rainbows
Saints of sonnets of old,
Storytellers write
pirate plunder and gold.

Broken poets write humbly
Strong writes unadorned,
Happy
write of roses

 Bleeding poets of thorns.


Soul Survivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc

There is a forest old as hillsides
tall, majestic, dappled shades
fall on ground beneath the silent
gnarled defenders of the glade.

There they stand in ancient splendour
many souls have passed their way
often used as welcome shelter
from the heat of summers day.

Sweet the air they breathe in chorus
our life's breath their lungs provide,
soaking up our daily poison
so that we may live and thrive.

You seas of men intent to clear them
citing progress, peddling greed
tearing roots from precious mooring
laying waste to nature's seed.

**** the beauty of a landscape
displace creatures for your need
rupture fragile ecosystems
scar the earth and watch it bleed.

To you I ask a simple question,
as I see the land bereaved.
What need has man of all this progress
when he can no longer breathe?