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on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep

Above  me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy

In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past

I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon

From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?

      With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
The blind man too,
enjoys birdsong, sun on his face,
pungent scents of spice, the
perfume of flowers.
Even the flute pipes sweeter when

In solitary silence
taste the freshly peeled orange,
enjoy the citrus spray,
remember this spaceless,
pin-wheeling sensation.

Savor the memory of
of morning gold rush,
summer blues in lazy sky,
rose and amber dusk falling,
nights when the moon hung so low
light brushed your cheek with slumber
and you saw heaven through the eyes of a dream.
Comment pouvons-nous
Invoquer un poème sans
Voyelles ou consonnes?
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides

There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.
I am an aberration, as you know.
I never promised you a villanelle.

You cannot trap the ocean in a shell.
You feed the roses blood to make them grow.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.

It does get bumpy on this carousel.
The ride is all extremes of high and low.
I never promised you a villanelle.

I was the aberration, you could tell.
I ******* my neuroses in a bow.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.

I think it's safe to say you know me well
in all my many masks, but even so,
I never promised you a villanelle.

Let me pin my ragged heart to your lapel.
If it's truly what you need, I'll let you go.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.
I never promised you a villanelle.
Video by Cornelius Something & Manufacturing Content
 Jul 2018 Yves C Sutherland
I have written a lot of poems about
but not a lot about falling in love
I guess it is easier to write about
someone once they are gone
no risk of exposing the heart
to see it stamped on and
handed right back
but today, I want to talk
about the butterflies
and I know
it's cliché
but the way my whole body
flutters around you is not
unlike that of a butterfly
the way my body
explodes with colour
a kaleidoscope of pink
and green
how they live inside of my
falling out when I try and
find the words to speak
and I may find it hard to
write about love
but let me say this
the skeleton of the butterfly
exists outside of its body
and when I am with you
I feel all so exposed
like everything inside of me
is on display
but not afraid
never afraid
so I promise
to breathe poetry
into my lungs
and onto the page
into poems that start
with your name
I want to talk about the butterflies.
 Jul 2018 Yves C Sutherland
it whispers playful musings
it sings songs--
like an old friend--
it sings songs
it muses about the end

it is the dilemma in knowing
that the drink which leaves you
frothing at the mouth
bleeding out the eyes
tastes like the best worst thing
tastes like the most saccharine--

it is the agony in knowing
that to drink it once means
to leave something unsaid
to leave the door open
and the gas on
to leave the static buzzing
and a baby crying
and the faucet running
and someone wondering--
for and inspired by anne.
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