For the time gone we pine
To once there be back again
Drink that plane’s nectarous wine
Under the sky of powdered rain!

Still isn’t ripe under blackberry tree
The child’s innocence its dreams starry
Lies there dormant the unserved need
In morning dew buried in ****!

Where has gone that lived in space
Shining bright in summers’ recess
The doleful noons in imagined voyage
On painted seas sans anchorage!

Why it’s so we live in past
With it obsessed in longing lust
The mind of now feels painful numb
Present seems void yawning vacuum!

Pariah dogs pain me.

I feel for those mute sufferers
But can’t fill their life.

Many a times I have dreamed of
A doggery in my backyard
For those giver only friends.

Do for them something tangible

Send appeals to kind souls for charity
Creating a kind of NGO for these bravehearts
Giving them something from the more
They deserve.

I haven’t done anything of these.

Under twinkling stars
I feed them scraps
And mourn

When one is less.

in a state of disuse
the old gold mine stood  
as the cost of retrieving it
twas not financially viable
miners back in the days
of the gold rush
had abandoned
their panning sites
skeletons of gold cradles
lain by the creek edge
the flecks of gold
had become a dream
the grandest of illusions

with the advent
of modern mining techniques
the old mine had life giving oxygen
put back into it again
a company from Sydney
commenced quarrying
along the creek's ore vein
good quality gold  
twas retrieved
a bounty of abundance
which shone so vividly

if the old miners
of yesterday
were around
to-day
they'd be quoting
these words
in a most affirming way...
thought nothing can bring back the hour of splendor
in the grass of glory in the flower

I thank Beryl Lew
HP's numero uno
for being among the few
to appreciate my sombrero.

burning fire's longing glow
awakes the night dies so slow!

Write not hoping a receptive audience.

Write what's not nonsense.