The snow layered thin upon the rooftops,
lining the neighborhood with rows and rows of bleached skulls.

People crawled forth from toothless mouths,
baring their tongues to a leaking ceiling,
their heads covered like hidden fists.

Clenched in each was the fading ink of bottles
trapped in the carcasses of beached whales
who finally met that distant shore
and did not turn away.

Not of any divine thoughts,
Or of some disruptive reports,
Not of high tales of morals,
Or of those words of import.
These are meagrely of those-
affairs that seem arbitrary.
I write of the many things-
scattered in the ordinary.

There are wondrous beauties-
In the wisps and curls of smoke,
That escape the evening's tea.
And in the weird lingering smells,
That call to morns from childhood.
Aye, there is solace in the news-
That the morning papers convey,
And also in the harsh routine of the day.

In the humble love of a spouse,
And the stern faces in the crowd,
Are those elaborate stories that tell:
The musings of a cause untold.
And on this premise of thought,
Like how flowers beckon to bees,
Spreads a meadow of a certain-
Fulfillment nurtured by chaos.

So, what with those chores,
That do not end with death!
And what with those odd things
That are strewn around like stars!
The daily battles with trifles,
And the woes for 'morrow!
Amidst these stultifying hours,
Lie the true secrets of happy living.

So, with no image nor compare-
'tis verse describes the ordinary with care.

This is how our dreams end:
Not an avalanche cascading around our ears,
But the subtle shift of pebbles in a stream bed,
An endless series of minute compromises with ourselves
Which we justify to by raising any number of spectres:
The weight of disappointment from unrequited expectation,
The bogeyman of unintended consequence from our successes.
So we make the box of our wishes smaller and then yet smaller,
Until we do not recognize them as ours at all;
Or, perhaps, we have adulterated them so often
We can no longer ascertain
At what point they stopped resembling our hopes and ideals,
Not unlike when the batter, stepping to the plate,
Scratches out the back line of the batter’s box
Until its boundary disappears
Into a confusion of dust and lime.

One final wish, then; scatter me at the crossroads when I die,
So that, if perhaps for only that one moment,
I can rise above the gray and cracked macadam
Of these too-familiar roads
And float into a clear, blue unambiguous sky,
No longer a victim of the gravity
Of the workaday concerns that shackle us together.

In some crazy way
like  being loved
Poetry  gives me
Strength and
Motivation
at times it’s
all I  have
It’s where
I escaped
It’s Where I
feel right at home  
my happy
state of mind
Where I take
my mental
Essence to
a higher plateau
Where words
becomes Arts
Never ceased
to amazed
Let the ink
dance  with
my mind  
Tango enlightenment
Impossible to avoid
ink splattered
all over
my thoughts
It’s like swimming
In the  Black Sea
with full consent
into a black hole
Impossible to
let go
Orientation put
me into a dazed
But not for long
anticipating
memory fades
Ruined  expressions
like mind on fire
seeking for the  river
Put words together
analyzed all
the dance strides
my ink had taken
Scrutinized  
what It all means
and make sense
      of it all
Nevertheless
keep my insanity
Is The duel
being  fought
Enduringly
into the abyss of
The poetic  mind

I’m
Sitting here On the
      mountain top
Watching the sunrise

           With
a cup of coffee in hand
           today’s
   paper on the other
   I’m reminded of the
   Life I ought to have
           And
  How blessed I am
      To  be alive

          Oh my
What a beautiful
         Scenery

Nature surely knows
           How
  To put on a show

The Trees are creaking
And moaning  in the
             wind
The snakes are  hissing
The Goats  are bleating
The bears are  growling
The bees are humming
And buzzing In a
          distance
Birds high on the trees
  Clapping for the rise
            I swear
Excitements had them
Singing all morning long
           Even had
the leaves dancing
            For joy
              And
      Luckily for me
         I was there
With my cup of coffee
   In hand and today’s
    Paper on the other
To capture the moment
              Of  a
Perfect performance
         By Nature