"forseeing" poems
these, why seasons are
so many
why (we) changing
way too often
stepping out in sandals
enter freezing blizzards
wearing scarf and mittens
get burned by melting hot
about to smell the scent of lillies
breath in troubled dust
rushing out to driest desert
my naked knees soak through mud
being seasoned seasoner
seems not help enough
forseeing unseen-able
ends up rough
these, our seasons
reckless in motion
thus locking us
in motionless loops
thank mindseasons
only
mindgardens
blossom
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 1:40 AM UTC
Years ago I loved a girl named Annie
My Annie lived on an island.
It was Summer when we first met
She has this long silky raven-like hair
Enough to draw the attention of men
She was like a piece carved by angels
Annie was so beautiful that you cannot compare her beauty with everyone else's.
Despite of our differences, she chose me
We loved each other and neither the gods nor the demons can ever separate us.
We danced together while we hum our song
We used to watch the waves kissed the shore
We love forseeing our future together
Our love, no one can ever dissever.
One day, the day we fear the most came
My Annie lived on an island
I live somewhere beyond the horizon
The summer has ended and I need to go home
She was so sad, she didn't bid goodbye
Annie was a seraph, she was once mine
It was a pity that we have to leave it all behind.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
In the dream (or perhaps it is forseeing) it is cold,
The air carries whispers of ice
That cut through the warmth of my skin
Like knives,
The quay is deserted,
Quiet aside from the occasional
Breeze induced moan from
A beer bottle tossed casually away
To lie discarded and thereby
A bit like me,
As I single up the mooring lines
Of the boat below me its movement
Becomes greater,
As if shunning the cold stillness
Of the land,
And seeing this I feel kinship
With the waking hull,
And a sense of shared impending journey
To the grey seas
Beyond the harbour wall,
As I work the halyards and
Aged sails creak up the mast
The breeze becomes more evident
In the brisk flapping of canvas,
Rime frost on the gunwhales gives way
To dark hand prints as I steady myself
Moving forward and aft,
Steadily prepping for departure
In a routine well known
Across decades,
Finally all is ready,
The wind picks up,
Sundering the clouds to reveal
A clear black sky studded in diamonds,
The navigation lights
From far galaxies come to light my way
As the backed foresail
Pushes the bows away,
Then with a creak the boom quells
The flapping main,
Approaching the harbour mouth
The wind rises further and a few
Long lazy yet driven rollers
Make their presence felt,
The heel increases as the bow tastes freedom,
Nav lights on the breakwater are
Unnaturally bright but no one sees
Nor waves goodbye,
Nor ever will again for tonight
I that was James just crossed the bar
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 3:51 PM UTC