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Given enough time
The gentle vine suffocates
The lively wind chime
True story, watched it happen in the backyard
 Mar 2015 Lost Soul
Jack
~

Maps are folded and re-folded into pocket sized
destinations of our own heart’s desires

Routes become numbers and numbers become moments
as the planning cycle, with yellow highlighter in hand,
presents a “look forward to” scenario

Well beyond windows of curtained belief
and hedges shaped like poetic scribblings calling to me

The sidewalk of chalk marks in hopscotch etchings,
faded from the sun and foot smeared play dates,
leads to that place of affection filled dreams

and I see over the next sunrise a highway,
empty of detours and beckoning Winnebago wanderings

to this heart, from another, on windswept invitations
penned in frilly fonts and colors of imagination,
reaching deeply inside and holding tightly

A glance back at what is left behind brings a smile,
for what waits ahead is now everything new

In the grand scheme of things, what is found chiseled in fate
proves that destiny is a destination of dreams, of hopes and
*of love… . when that journey brings me to you
Conquer the disharmony
That creates ripples on
The veneer of silence
From the depths
Powerful chants resonate
This world within
An inspiration to quell
The disturbances
Savor the silence
And feeling of nothingness
You have emptied yourself
Of all the disharmony
Now, only powerful silence
And you are one
With the cosmic harmony
 Feb 2015 Lost Soul
ryn
Witch's Brew
 Feb 2015 Lost Soul
ryn
)
       o    (              (             (                  
O   )     (                      )        
            )                (      o
    (              (      (                       O  
   )     o              )   O       )        o
(    O              (     o      (         ) 
)    o                              )    (
**make me a cauldron of a witch's
brew•let it bubble and boil...;
simmer and stew• allow the con-
coction to churn•feed it with raw an-
guish and spiteful spurn•whisper my wi-
shes into shady ingredients•scatter them in
to render it potent•stir it wild...with an iron
ladle with a wooden haft•raucous incanta-
tions of a long forgotten craft•...now give
me a vial of the witch's brew•let it
**** me or grant me the gifts
promised in lieu•
 Feb 2015 Lost Soul
Prabhu Iyer
A puff of cigar in, mist, out
on the street, shrouding the
tracks and missed heart aches;

this morning, time,
is not kept by the ticking clock.

Only one vehicle has crossed the road.

Mellow sun warming up the snow
forever burying the tracks out;

The stubble's scruffy, and heart,
as dishevelled as the sheets;

Empty cups, full of memories -
and stained of the night's wine;

In the corners the embers still crackle:

leaning back on ease chair,
wondering
who it was that left early
this misty morning;
Classic noir: served with morning coffee.

.
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