on the first day of the month
we flipped all calendars in sight
and one on the sitting room wall
brought but a moment’s flicker
as the floral display exchanged
my dad’s now absent voice replayed
his botanic wit and joy displayed
what then was a random comment
during our regular video calls
but now no longer to be so
in another couple of months
shall mark the first year of his passing
a pinch it was of a fond memory
a punch in the gut of new reality

Ribald footprints

of a silent, brooding zitar

rendezvous with an ebbing tide

recalcitrant thoughts wash away

along this sandy shoal.

filled with melancholy
mood lit by lampshade
names and faces dissipate

weathered post it sticks
if only the memory did

why are you so easy
to be walk passed
but then so difficult
to completely forget

a cattle brand that
sears waking memory
scathes dreams of night
what remains of you

are rumpled bed-
clothes at sun-up
and crumpled sheets
on litter-strewn desk

all have gone far and wide
there, a fair distance away
where no eye spy nor stray
only hindsight dare confide
even sproutlings coy in Spring
no fresh joys will they bring
still from Sun, buds cannot hide

by the sea face in face
a child’s visage open
fraught in fear, freedom and friendship
predators, salt, sand
waves crash, rocks cut
chest crushing breaths
from watery garden sea sponge plucked
beside shells and stones
by a farcical display
feigning, fawning, flaunting: fearful now
petulant sand in shoe
soaks nothing better
no return, no exchange

Lift your gaze, feel the fire in your soul,
Travel back to where your spirit thrived,
Relish the echoes that make you feel whole,
In every word, a pulse of life derived.

For in the silence of unwritten lines,
We find the truth that eternally shines.

A "dying" family car can drive a child to grow up or become sad.

When your winter breaks into spring
think of new and wonderful things

while autumn creeps passed your window
break this winter free of sorrow

wait upon seasons - wait on life
live each day loving - escaping

weave each day's new strands - engaging
one day looking back - mem'ries rife.

though stairs above, unlit
well at each landing glows
where spiralled shadows fly
its bridge curtails its distance

through yearning measured steps
their creaking shrugs off decay

somewhere overhead
the smaller bear sits
my constant companion

whose trajectory lights up
carries forward my story arc
brings us our own constellation

revolving as sundial shadows
in the darkened doorways
will always ever be in transit

resuscitate
an ailing soul
bereft of starlight's

superb glimmer
and woollen warmth.  
Mayhap, stellate glow

in the stillness
of tranquil flight,
their counsel, console.

Humbly, we plea--
hymn of the night,
come and tarry awhile.*




_ _ __ ✏
○●
°

just like open sunlit skies above
which kept our days ever bright
whose bare-all gaze shoved us
to sanctuary from blistering glare

we always kept our shadows in sight

tents and those world tree ash boughs
carried us to roman candles of night
matsuri: our own non-roman holiday --
summer may be gone but these remain

sunrise unveiled a promise of treasure
demure as petals enjoining midday
grey clouds thin in billowy summer breeze
freeze a moment before this day consumes


sunset reveals firefly melodies
meandering starlit rivers flow,
flowered evening fragrances wafting;
welcomes a momentous nocturne

all the voices  
gathered in my digital scream  
somewhere on a site  
devoted to stream ,live  
i wield words aflame  
i share and laugh with joy  
alone but never lonely  
look at what the web has  
given me  
a liberated mind  
touched by global threads  
something that shines  
brighter than any daytime opery

Picking up the internal slack
and bring about an inward tension
that emboldens for one to face the day
and the prospects of oncoming ones.
Where wet cheeks, are visible cues
of flipping calendars, leaf upon leaf:
existing surrenders
and like a sparkled after-rain,
brings a moist crystality
that fills in the cracks
and mends the broken places.

Not all upgrades are a welcome sight,
For many don’t enhance or truly prove;
Yet status quo might yield a different light,
When deemed "a waste of talent" in the groove.

More than past reckonings, a heavier weight,
Now seen as waste of space, of breath, of time.
A shift from promise to a darker fate,
As hopes once bright now seem to barely climb.

In shadows cast by others' sharp disdain,
The worth we carry fades beneath the strife,
Yet still, we yearn to break from this refrain,
To find our strength and reclaim what is Life.

So let not labels bind us in their thrall,
For within us all, a spark awaits the call.

think of me, of us, some time
bandying of thoughts will do
let them sidle up close to you
just as we did not so long ago

then come and gaze again at

the light residing in my eyes
then tell me if your reflection
shines with crystalline truth
some time, think of us, of me

give up shallying; on finding and sharing
what could be thought of as inner beauty
when these hirsute thoughts bristle again
berating what little of self regard remains
it’s but an exaggeration to point out hate
when clearly it wasn’t my poem but myself
that lay on literature’s butcher-block altar

for whom threadbare scraps
are treasures under your table
deserts, ever undulated dunes

in picture-book perfect gales

stripping away like sandpaper
perhaps the sting of salt rain
shall sterilize this wanting within

.


sunrise unveiled a promise of treasure
demure as petals enjoining midday
grey clouds thin in billowy summer breeze
freeze a moment before this day consumes


sunset reveals firefly melodies
meandering starlit rivers flow,
flowered evening fragrances wafting;
welcomes a momentous nocturne


.

people are our real legacy;
one day sure, entire poems
shall have been forgotten,
while remains a phrase or
a feeling drawn from wells
deeper than memory can
reach, or device can retrieve
much like thread-diving as
we scamper for posts buried
by traffic and flood posters…
follow, subscribe, or friend
buttons can only do so much
so we hang on to what we
have and hold dear, today
saving each precious moment
if bookmarked sentiments
are promises all will be well
we’ll boldly breathe again

enough of you
and all of me

before letting go
this consider--
once posted, one
may thus wonder
is there a reader at the other end of this poem?
oh, sure there is

but the privilege
of knowing their thought process and journey
is theirs to keep
or to you share
at their behest
so now let’s see

enough from me
and now to you

Were it not for one to play buffoon

or to say of none we're way too soon

involved in peddling mass hysteria

when it's been held in each posterior

consciousness - makers of peace are

blessed. So ever to be near or far

we at our disposal have in hand

a power to write upon our sand.

Is remorse a prison to the soul
the sole utterance of reproach
that if not to myself be True
the possible best in life accrue

what if regret creeps on the morning
a thief stalking the shadow of dawn
(re)fresh from bare motive drawing
crystal arteries of a day that is new

or shall we allow the mind meander
let it's "work" find itself crowning
there in its core uncover simplicity
strip away a mournful state of heart ?

An unlit candle,
a matchstick, waiting in vain—
neither will ignite,
unless one strikes the other,
shadows linger, dim and cold.

A known quantity bereft of quality;
a name of little beyond its letters,
by road’s shoulder perhaps guide

to openly weep a slippery *****
of once having known someone’s art
yet lay hold naught of their heart

eternally flowing river of kindnesses
shall meander, thoughts ever caress
even when words and faces now drift

a familiar feeling remains here still
years invested this regenerating gift
lines and verse ever ascend that hill

.


revolutions of the second hand
innumerable to the watchful eye
has not comforted this bruising
nor can this heart run far enough


away from the pulsing gangrene
when off the darkest mile it tread
in the cooling of a fading day that
gentle crushing fixed completely


drowning in despondent smiles
wafting wavelets forlorn, wailing,
whispering affections now silent
wanting a happier, more innocent time


.

Once prismatic brilliance;
brilliant only through borrowed light;

alone again in darkness, glum;
gleams, instant companion of night --

blind to grief and deaf to joy,
save by pristine thought, on lonely height:

a lone, canine howl reports and echoes,
as nocturnal critters hide, out of sight.*



_✒
●○
°

candle in the window
for the son of a widow
now left orphaned, save

for a bejewelled crown
whose issue once secured
now stands a former flame

for want of royal surrogacy
where an uncle demurred
now twice an heir found


candle once in the wind
on a window sill still, sits
once, always the people’s princess