The orchid is flowering
Opening,
a living mandala
Next to my bed
I hear it in my dreams
It's telling me very strange things
About the chemistry between us
And what being a flower really is
And what it really means.

There's a lot to learn.

The orchid whispers in chemical symbols

I danced through the night one night
I drank water in the desert
The sweetest taste, I've ever known
I heard a sound I've never heard before
The buzzing of Chi
Blowing in
while the curtains fluttered
In the night time wind.

Our time I know is limited
Forever wilts away

But while the orchid is flowering
That's for another day

I find myself longing for the scent of the night and at least
One more dream to go.

Wind snaps through wild grain sprouted along the edge of the harbour
The aching creaks of the windmill over head orchestrate a haunting song
An appropriately ominous farewell to our weary sailors
Just beyond the port, we stand freshly alone and wait
We wait as they begin to vanish into the same fog from which they had appeared just a week ago
We watch as their vessel becomes a mere imperfection against a looming wall of clouds
And as they fade into the horizon, the sky darkens in anticipation of unavoidable ruin
Towering clouds shed foreshadowing tears
Weeks will pass, two months past when they should have returned will have come and gone
The same haunting cries of the windmill will soon be joined by echoing church hymns
Adorned in black veils and white flowers, we will be bathed by the same sorrowful clouds
Oppressive clouds will hang low above a candlelit procession
These fate burdened clouds will begin to weep, raindrops mingling with widows' tears

A shining bright dot of a lamp,
on a frozen dark blizzard of a night,
I trudge with heavy leaden feet,
to a promise of a warm heart!

I sleep walked through life.
Bending to the will and needs of the others.
I concealed my sorrows,
and ****** back the tears
I closed my eyes and
Closed my ears.
To the world inside and out.
Floating in slow motion,
Counting each day as passed.

Till I crashed into you.

You made me sing songs,
which I did not know
My closed eyes see beauty,
where none existed.
My ears ****** with gentle music
Waves of joys fill my heart,
My body vibrates in rapture
at your mere touch.

As I tune into the divine.

Through you.

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’ll be fine” she said
“The golden apples are within my reach.
I hear the distant thunder
And the flash of lightning
Lights the sky beyond the hills
But if my steps are ever forward
This muddy ground can’t trap my feet
And keep me from the prize I’m seeking.
I need only to climb up that tree.”

“I’ll be OK” she said
I have a sturdy ladder
And the shining apple tree
Is in a meadow not too far away.
It’s heavy - who will help me carry it
And hold it steady while I climb?”
There are many who raise hands
To offer buckets for the fruit
And shaded sheds to store it in.

“Tomorrow starts today” she said.
And dressed in apple picking clothes
With sturdy ladder climbing shoes
She set out across the fields
Where stood the golden apple tree.
Two fell behind along the way
And one decided to sleep in
So as the morning sun grew warm
She was left with just a step stool.

“I can do this” she proclaimed
I can figure out a way
To reach the apples lower down
And put a few into the basket
That replaced the heavy bucket”.
But the storm is closing in -
The metal stool, a lightning rod.
No longer safe out in the open
And not a single apple picked.                  
“I was over confident” she said
I thought the cheers and smiles all meant
That I could climb that golden tree
And gather apples to sustain me
Through the coming winter’s snows.”
But it appears that smiles and handshakes
Do not morph into a ladder
Tall enough to reach the fruit
That hides amongst the tallest branches.

“I feel despair” she moaned out loud
And flung herself into the brambles
Praying she would find black-berries -
Something to replace the apples
She knew would never be her meal.
But the blooming time was over,
Only withered nubs remained and
All she managed was torn clothing
And bleeding scratches on her fingers.

“I have no hope” she cried
“I’ve wasted all my energy and strength
Chasing visions that can not be mine,
Seeking golden apples I can’t reach.
Trusting hands that tried, but could not help me,
Facing knowledge that the winter will be hungry
And the only safe place is away
Where hands and smiles must be discovered
In a different kind of garden.”
                   ljm

We will,  you and I
travel together to the green waiting field
with ready tools and fulness of heart
hoping the crops we grow would in time yield

the  most bounteous harvest
our every dream and wish to fulfil
where faith will nurture our daily endeavour
and love will abide in the night so tender and still.

.
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine.  Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence.  Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice.  Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water.  It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.

                 The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
.