Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
As I sit . . .
green leaves hang . . . motionless . . .
~our earth spins on it's axis over a thousand miles per hour~

As I watch . . .
adagio grasses bow in repose . . .
~our earth orbits the sun over sixty-six thousand miles per hour~

As I rest . . .
vinca vines trail unruffled . . .
~our solar system whirls around the milky-way over five-hundred thousand miles per hour~

As I wonder . . .
flowers pose placid and serene
~our milky-way hurls headlong over a million miles per hour~

In my garden . . .
stillness reigns resolute . . . amidst this unimaginable tempestuous maelstrom

I am called to witness this defiance;
this static anarchy against the universe's irresistible momentum
I am surrounded by leafy verdure in stock-still solidarity;
blossoms colored with un-budged boldness
and tendriled vines in composed contempt
I am called to witness this unperturbed mutiny against torrid irascible forces

As I sit . . . musing on this peaceful anarchy

I think on He . . . that humble anarchist
waging peace against war
love against hate
grace against revenge
His submissive cheek immovable against brutish forces

I sit . . .
peacefully content in my garden of Eden
unmoved . . .
by the celerity of this careening world


geo.vuy 2015
I would have no universe without you
drawing me tight
in centrifugal embrace

Without your vows of devoted attraction
I would be flung ~ unsung
into black groans of space

But for the quest of your pulsing heart
I would expire ~ diminished
void of light

You chose to dance with my imperfections
my frenzy ~ in submission
spiraling in delight

In passionate embryonic fusion
you held me  ~ a spec  begotten
my inner darkness ~ forever  forgotten


gv.   1.2015
(Spect.   A single photon emission)
Music:  Speck Of Dust by Fellows
I was strewn
scattered wide
brooding foreheads of jagged stone
thirsty fragments
unfit for purpose
rugged - broken - lying alone

She - pure water
seeping in sand
dark and deep - unrequited and stilled
Her eternal spring
but a fearful trickle
Her destiny hidden - unfulfilled          

Open earth!
a forested crevice
Shake - Tremble - Set her free
Release her flood
of secret desires
splashing joyfully over me        

I will be
her playful bed
smoothing my edges - providence smiled
I will make her ripple
rushing with laughter
kissing her droplets - wet and wild

Cascading to  
her lyrical rill
we'll sing forever - in our sacred stream
She is my lover
caressingly she runs
once worthless rubble -  She did redeem!

gv   For my lovely wife. Feb.19.2014
her first cry

never   teared your eyes


her first smile

never   dimpled your cheeks


her first giggle

of joyous recognition

never   mothered your heart


her first word

never   tickled your ears


her first step

never   reached your arms



almost



a prayerful pause ~ spindles time

through its aperture ~ she has your eyes !

‘tho a minutest inflection ~ you see your face !

what joyous recognition ~ self ~ in-dwelt

her flutter ~ divinely felt



You named her   Grace



gv 18.29.3  18a
In the stillness of the dark
I sit,
And outside my window
The night holds many possibilities.
People move within the shadows
Barely visible to the naked eye
Living shadow lives alongside my own.

Do we dream together?
And will love survive death?

I see you
In different times
Living different lives
And myself as a shadow
Living my own shadow life.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell.
Nay if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
    Lest the wise world should look into your moan
    And mock you with me after I am gone.
Like a warm breath of air
He hovers in my memory
No superman, a meek soul
Not one to squander his time
But one who worked day in and out
To feed those
Whom he loved and sired
What was he?
A teacher, a farmer or an artist

I cannot say precisely...
All I can say;
He was each of these
Rolled into one

On holidays I saw him
Shut in the loft
a brush in hand
His fingers moving over the canvas
The steaming tea by his side
Untouched and getting cold as ice
Unmindful of everything around
He sat by the easel in the attic
Focussed only on the strokes that fell

When a distinct image shoots out
As the moon from behind clouds
A wave of satisfaction would gleam
Across his face,
His frantic nerves at once hushed
Bearing the look of one
Who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms

He would view it from different angles
Never seeking anyone’s opinion
But gloating if he saw
Our admiring eyes fell on it

Being artistically inclined
He lived more in the world of art

But gradually things changed
To his fright, he found his hands shaky
And the lines on the canvas
Going tremulous and disjointed
Couldn’t hold a brush!

On diagnosed of Parkinson’s disease
His world abruptly lost its sheen
He saw the disease weeding
Its way into his life
Suddenly grown old
He lost interest in everything
We saw him sitting in his armchair
So immobile, for hours on end
His eyes stretched to a far horizon

We displayed before him
Paintings once born of his imagination
To see if his world would brighten
And it worked!

Recently, in one of my dreams
I saw him sitting at the foot of Michael Angelo
To learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
In his life time!
As one grows old, when evening approaches, memories too lengthen like shadows.
Now I remember more often of my parents wondering how much of sweat and toil they had shed to make their children comfortable, how much of love they lavished and what all sacrifices they endured. A snap shot of my father who was a teacher by profession but more of an artist at heart.
Next page