personal journal musings from last week...*

Stopped in at my neighborhood pub last night
  a couple of pints, some word exchange
Colorful place on a perfect Spring evening
  people on tap, constantly spilling in and out

The place is bustling and packed
  loud and dynamic
Sound flowing on open air
  drifting in from sidewalk patio and out to beer garden

Luckily nab a lonely stool near the entrance
  girl sitting kitty-corner around curving end of bar
Casually we cover topics from her mac 'n cheese
  to wind chill generated by ceiling fans

Conversation is suddenly confiding
  prior night's end-all fight with her live-in boyfriend
Obvious need to talk to someone neutral
  bartenders are busy, so it's me and we do

She's come seeking emotional sanctuary
  awaiting his departure to some event
Unhappy with her role in the argument
  unhappy with the person she has become with him

They'd intended to go ring shopping
  as recently as last week
She now looks forward only to the comfort of
  quiet, pajamas, ice cream, dreamless sleep

Upon leaving, she twice asks that I promise
  to be here if she finds no solitude and must return
This is no request...more of an appeal
  alone in privacy is one thing...alone in festivity another

I promise twice - I'll be here
  she doesn't return
I sincerely hope that she's well on her way to
  an ice cream induced pj slumber

              Less than an hour later...same bar stool

Pleasingly boisterous bachelorette party arrives
  staking claim to a nearby parcel of floor
Numerous "excuse me" squeeze-throughs  for drink orders
  rendering me a semi-familiar bar obstacle

One reveless wedges in, questions me
  what color underpants do I have on...don't recall
Insists that we check...dark bluish-grey
  too bad...she was hoping for purple to match her own

Impishly waiting long enough for my mind to stew
  she finally reveals the query as part of a formal interactive checklist
I apologize for not being more daring in spectrum
  we laugh, nevertheless...strike one

Eventually exchanging pleasantries with another
  a more subtle approach, but the inquisition repeats
Here we go again...Batter up!...Red?...very sorry...strike two
  I'm feeling of no value to this effort

Red offers me a redeeming pitch from the list
  someone must serenade the bride-to-be
I accept and get to meet the veiled celebrity
  she wears an engaging and jubilant aura

Gauging the atmosphere, I decide against romantic
  opting for a song that playfully questions the sanity of her choice
From my heart, I sing the chorus to Matchbox Twenty's "Unwell"
  It goes over very well and I avoid strike three

She and I hit it off, we discuss her wedding plans
  discover our roots are in the same part of the city
I'm rewarded for my musical contribution
  allowed to buy her a shot of Patrón...the checklist dwindles

Now partaking in the excitement of their celebration  
  an honorary addition to the large but exclusive group
My joyous new acquaintance has us take a picture together
  a snapshot of this special occasion to which I've somehow been privileged

A train of waves, goodbyes, thanks, and good lucks
  trails the party as I watch it crawl to the next establishment
In the hushed cacophony, I return to my thoughts
  a fantastic diversity of emotional experience within two short hours

My elbows on the bar in sober contemplation
  counting crows ...one...two...juxtaposed
A contrast of simultaneous realities
  somberly lamenting vs vibrantly anticipating

Reflecting on the beauty in such contrasts
  that serve to define the images of our lives
I finally come to the inevitable conclusion
  it's time for another pint...of ice cream

Match, match forward and go, you heroic sons of America
Reconnoiter into the strongholds of boko haram,
And restore our captive girls from the foul  custody,
Lawlessly held hostage by the connoisseurs of terror,
Go on and recover poor souls from ribald of religion
Impishly created by Moslem from the satanic verses,
Regulating foray of terror on the poor of the poor
******, mahyeming, looting and executing massacres,
Match on and on yee angels of democracy,
Don’t stop in any haste or in any wonder,
To help in the sham flabbergastations,
About  the  Igbos who fought the Biafra,
And the Yorubas who federally defended,
Under the aegis of Obasanjo the Sandhurst
General, where are they all to save the girls
Of Nigeria from the Islamist terror
Excuted by  boko haram the handmaid of evil.

The coquettish full moon, on a cloudless clear sky,
apple of the eyes of lovers from far and wide,
impishly wicked you are, in that avatar enticing
your eyes seek only the one for whom your heart beats for.
At times you are an anorexic crescent wearing a misty veil,
flirting with fluffy clouds, you make each one go  crazy
Curiously I behold the village belle simple, peeping out-
of the window of her cottage, waiting for the lover,
who comes at odd hours with palpitating heart
My love, you are one of a kind, displaying myriad faces
an enchanting presence, I crave, each moment, in whatever form
how could I ever prescribe the way your love to reach me
your love is my never setting moon,
                                      whichever way you choose to express.

She lies in bed and impishly smiles
Her naked body is my temple
I think about her every once in awhile
Love is always distorted, rarely simple

Her naked body is my temple
I explore every inch of her mind
Love is always distorted, rarely simple
I am saddened by what I find

I explore every inch of her mind
I think that I know her inside and out
I am saddened by what I find
everyone has something to lie about

When I left her it was November
I think about her every once in awhile
I cannot help but to remember
She lies in bed and impishly smiles

Ditty This, Little Boy: Venerable Auntie

My Gf's nephew came for a visit,
Teased her that night,
Bowing ceremoniously,
In the Chinese manner,
Addressing her slyly, impishly,
Oh hell, teasingly, as,
Venerable Auntie

She smiled, but said little,
The next night,
When to Argentine Tango dance she must,
In the Chinese manner,
Wore a dress tight fitting,
Her poem, she called it,
With slits up the sides,
To facilitate her swoons and slides,
Leaving the imagination to take care of the rest

As she left, o'er shoulder she called out,
(To me)
Good night little boy,
Don't wait up for my return,
Auntie has gone to play
she won't be back till
Her bad boys have venerated her,
Sufficiently...

6:10 AM
June 11, 2013

I remember laughter rippling around the streets
amber of eyes aglow, brimming with hope
children cutting a caper impishly in Aleppo
dad squinting at my fiddling around with his computer
Today, our shoulders are hunched with fear
kids no longer splashing in puddles
knee-deep in rubble and smeared with blood
hollering out war cries, looking for relatives
Some crucified, others beheaded
no hearse waiting to deliver our people to burial places
Rachel weeping for her children
rising out like a phoenix, splintering husks of shells around
Walking through the cemetery while a couple
are muttering into their swirling Chardonnay
two words collide, two paths diverge
the road to hell is paved with good intentions

You come around
And make me feel,
Like I don't want to feel,
As if the only way is your way,
What am I to think?  How can I heal?
Are all majestic colours impishly yours?
I walk alone on glare streets of harsh silence,
In rushing crowds of coldness, darkest and deep
Loneliness, you have made mourn of sun
My punisher, you have stolen music
Out from under my fumble hands,
Your eyes are like confusion,
My heart has nil defense,
I wait for you to let me go,
My hopeless prayer,
But I am undone
No, I never will
Be known, nor
Your only
One.

Gulls, gannets brooding
vying for plankton
Acrobatic flights, flappings
Swarm the blue
Chirping, tweeting another
To lave the silvery sea.

Impishly unclad moppets
Running and frolicking,
Some helping their
Fishermen father untwine nets
The evening venture their chaste aim.

Over the horizon
Is the Yellow Face
Lustring like a
Gigantique Bohemian Chandelier
Lapping on the repose waters.


Someday when am ripe and mellow
With means to own a crew
I will sail up that mulky horizon
And touch that glowing cosmic disc.

But mater says
"The horizon doesn't end"
"It goes in league miles"
"Even when a yore mile is sailed"
"It's unattainable, puerile and trifling" She'd opine.

Only these chiding words of hers
I never take for a dime,
I will engage in my venture
I will stand to be corrected.

This is my only demure dream
I will endeavour and suckle her
I wouldn't want an elegiac ending
In this beach I've known for eon.

I cry because I lost my time
and you cry because you found yours
but not where you wanted
and now it’s almost gone

the full moon grins
impishly, and mocks
you for a fool

and his smile for me
is that of an old friend
another of many less-than-noble
men who beneath his gaze
have acted lies and whispered
them in woman’s ear

and with the soft caress of laughter
my spine tingles and my hairs
stand up, ready to run
at the first sign of trouble
because if joy and terror
share the same physical response
what does that tell you
about being happy

simply this:
the first law of the universe
is that everything is always falling apart

As the dust settles in
On the coffee table,
I smile.

The rising sun
Elusive and innocent

Illuminates their faces as they sleep:

My brother-
All stubborn scowls
And groans.

My father-
Weatherbeaten and wizened.

My mother-
Pining and tired.

Youthful shadows creep into our home
On tiptoe,
Grinning impishly.

Barefoot, I greet them.

The sun impishly dances
across my desk
prancing between
flaws and scratches
evidence of time.

It dances
across my face.
Endlessly laughing.
It hides between lines
uncovers years
itself remaining unfading.

How can something so
unbending, adamant, true
exist among the degeneration
of everything
ever set into motion?

Its caress is taunting
ever intoxicating
unending.
Tomorrow will never come
never pulling the vial slowly closed.

To feel its warmth and company
is to feel God’s smile
a breath of hope.

.
You come around
And make me feel,
Like I don't want to feel,
As if the only way is your way,
What am I to think?  How can I heal?
Are all majestic colours impishly yours?
I walk alone on glare streets of harsh silence,
In rushing crowds of coldness, darkest and deep
Loneliness, you have made mourn of sun
My punisher, you have stolen music
Out from under my fumble hands,
Your eyes are like confusion,
My heart has nil defense,
I wait for you to let me go,
My hopeless prayer,
But I am undone
No, I never will
Be known, nor
Your only
One.

One constantly thinks of lover,
In the breath she takes,
In the exhale that proceeds,
While mingling with flowers, grass, and toad.

Impishly, as though to whisper,
His name tickles her ear,
Begin the spasms to her inner sphere.

Yes! Unsullied Comrade!
Let her feed you sweet fruits,
Nestle your head near her *******.
Give her expert love with tickle of kiss!

She may be confined to impudent human,
But 'tis evidently true,
That she effortlessly does care,
And care especially for you.

Let your mind flow.

Let the thoughts swirl.

Let your words come out of nowhere.

Out of nowhere.

But somewhere something happened.

No cliché figurative flickering fluorescent set you off, no slight nudge sent you *******; no, you've been lit on fire. You don’t know it, but you’re burning. But that flame is not the one nestled neatly in your grandmother's fireplace, nor the uniform petals licking up at underside of her tea kettle. It is a forest fire, raging and impatient, intent on turning over and devouring every leaf of your inspiration until you let it out. From far away it might appear to be merrily orange, but underneath it's blazing blue and white.

Maybe you can feel it. A burn like that would leave a mark.

Those stories that crackle from your tongue are going to tear this world down and replace it with one of their own. The energy they create is irresistible. It will consume you like old newspapers in an autumn bonfire.

Yes, it will consume you, just like the search for the perfect word. Remember? That tickling on the tip of your tongue that will not go away, not in hell, until you can name it. You’ll wrack your brain for hours, sometimes days, as though it were a cluttered attic and in the most hidden corner huddles your word, grinning impishly when you stumble upon it. That quest that devours your mind again and again is only the beginning, the end, the in-between, the pinpricks of color on your canvas that make up your painting, your masterpiece. And it will be a masterpiece. Your beginnings and your ends and your in-betweens will become a wonderful whole.

But, a warning. The window to your mind is not the lens that everyone will look through. Those whose opinions distort their sight will tell you your beginnings are simply weak scaffolding, your ends have loose threads that remain unsewn, and your in-betweens are only the unoriginal fluff of a muddled mind.

Their words, however, are only kindling for your fire.

Watch them burn.

They will learn to respect the writer.

on a rock near an island - and a long forgotten shore
she stills sits there - the mermaid
graceful charming - but fading
eyes only looking at a mobile phone
won't see her anymore

nightfall at the seaside - another long forgotten shore
she starts singing  then - the siren
celestial sound - but fading
ears covered by headphones
won't hear her anymore

deepest forest - untouched nature
in a ring, so says the lore
she's  dancing there - the fairy
impishly cheerful still - but fading
senses focused on "smart e-devices"
won't feel magic anymore.....

© Heike Borgard 2017

You come around
And make me feel,
Like I don't want to feel,
As if the only way is your way,
What am I to think?  How can I heal?
Are all majestic colours impishly yours?
I walk alone on glare streets of harsh silence,
In rushing crowds of coldness, darkest and deep
Loneliness, you have made mourn of sun
My punisher, you have stolen music
Out from under my fumble hands,
Your eyes are like confusion,
My heart has nil defense,
I wait for you to let me go,
My hopeless prayer,
But I am undone
No, I never will
Be known, nor
Your only
One.

You come around
And make me feel,
Like I don't want to feel,
As if the only way is your way,
What am I to think?  How can I heal?
Are all majestic colours impishly yours?
I walk alone on glare streets of harsh silence,
In rushing crowds of coldness, darkest and deep
Loneliness, you have made mourn of sun
My punisher, you have stolen music
Out from under my fumble hands,
Your eyes are like confusion,
My heart has nil defense,
I wait for you to let me go,
My hopeless prayer,
But I am undone
No, I never will
Be known, nor
Your only
One.

Pine, Spruce, Deodar and Chinar drape the foothills of the mountains freshly blanketed in white. Their peaks proudly rise high, making a journey towards the heaven. Nowhere else in the world could the mountains be seen so close to the sky.

Grassy lawns run around a vast expanse, enveloping the entire landscape in green. Tourists and school going children alike, walk past it merrily.

Delight dances in her eyes, which is evident by the glint of sunlight on her countenance and the wide smile that adorns her beautiful face. Few strands of her dark black hair let themselves loose, swaying impishly with the cool breeze while their ends begin to turn white.

Awestruck as she is at the vista in front of her eyes, trying to capture the flitting moment, she is transfixed by the soft white pieces of frozen water that whirl around in the air before falling down to the earth. She holds out her hand to the sky and a few flakes, carried as a blessing by a balmy cool breeze from the welkin high, settle down gently onto the soft hand that until now knew not of its touch. It feels cold and smooth, almost tender like a feather, melting at her tepid contact. She is more than pleased to have discovered snow for the first time in her life.

Sheltered in deep abysses, enveloped
By the soft touch of translucent salted fluids,
Voluptuous fluctuating bodies of enthralling creatures
Inhabit the unscathed aquatic spheres, impishly enjoying
The uncountable marvels of spirited marine existence.

Secret currents carry turtles migrating ten
Thousand miles or more across the oceans in search
Of jellyfish and warmer waters with remoras sliding backwards,
Clinging onto them by suction as mantas pursue
Shrimps and krill before the passage of baleens.

Dolphins splash about communicating sounds, flamingo tongue
Sea snails leaving trails, of dead coral tissue in their wake. Red
Vase sponge copiously producing slime as squids swim by,
Focusing their prominent eyes on targets while colourful *****
Walk sideways, foraging for small, spiny, globular urchins.

Sneaky sharks finely tune electromagnetic sensors marked
By pits on their snouts to detect, slight muscular movements,
Down to heartbeats of preys, fighting battles with flying hawks
Over penguins, and trumpetfish align themselves with other
Vertical objects and sea stars, regenerate lost body parts.

Moving as one, schools of sweetlips explore accompanied
By devoted cleaner wrasses grooming them to keep
Their skin and mouths free of infection-causing parasites.
All play the game, of balance and harmony in the underworld,
While mermaids travel along the few remaining vessels of

Stranded humans in quest of land.

By nabs

There's a girl dancing to the music of life.
Summer eyes, summer child.
Playing air guitar with imagination,
drumming her little feet to the earth.

Dancing her own little rituals.
Hops and twirls. Giggling.
Jumping and clapping,
letting the joy course through her little body.

The girl grinned impishly at me,
mischievous glint in her eyes.
She run towards me and grabs my hand,
whisking me away to dance.

Each spins and hops,
Taught me how to laugh.
How to stop and wonder and dream and dream.
How to let life be breathtaking.

I didn't realize I had forgotten the simplicity of joy.

There's a little boy with sparrow wings.
Woven from the stars and the shadow.
Hands full of carefully gathered sand,
golden golden sand.

He let them go, slipping through his finger tips,
watching them get swooped away by the wind.

"Why do you do that?"
The question slipped out of my mouth.
Like an eager bird flying for the first time.
That startled me.

I thought I had long forgotten how to let my questions out.

The boy gaze at me,
His eyes swirls like oil spills
with it striking rainbows that looks
young and old on his face.

He doesn't smile, he doesn't need to.

He take my hand and guide it towards the ground,
sinking it down the golden golden sand.
Gently closing my fingers to cup at them.
They feel soft, like silk and lips.

They tickle and I loosen my grasp.

As each grain flies away from my clutch,
Flashes of images floods my mind
like a storm of wings, each
was made from memories and carries feeling.

The birth of a daughter seen by the father,
the first time someone went to the sea,
the giddiness of two people falling in love,
the sunshine reflected on your eyes.

A hand brushed a stray tear away.
The boy doesn't smile, he doesn't need to.
I didn't realize I was crying.
He looked at me and I understand.

Like little kids saying goodbye to their friends,
Memories are meant to be let go.
To not clutch them tight as to not destroy them.
Memories are too easily tainted.

So I open my palms again and said goodbye.
I'll know they'll come back, like little kids know
their friend will be back the next day.

I have never felt this free before.

There is a baby with a tuft of black hair on top.
Bundled with innocence and wonder.
She had her eyes open, she giggled.
It's her first laugh, it sparkles like fairies.

I picked her up and hold her close to me.

I run and run and run until
there's wing on my back.
Taking a leap of faith, and jump.

Soaring toward the blue blue skies for the stars
with life pumping through my veins.

sometimes I wonder if it's you who is lost or if it is I
tied to each other by spider silk
as delicate as a whisper
as strong as a promise (or whiskey)

our laughter booms forth
as loud as the trucks rambling off the freeway
as pure as the water we consume
our limbs entwined in sheets peppered with dog hair

endless stories fall from your lips
a boy not yet a man
a man with the heart of a boy
of far off lands, of another world

your eyes sparkle secretively
devilishly, mirthfully, wondrously
you lips curl cloyingly
slyly, impishly, lovingly
conjuring ways to trouble and adore me

if only tonight could last forever
there will be no other like it

tendrils of marlboro blends cling to the air
permeating the drawers, the walls, the sheets
and underneath it all
a heady fragrance burns and smolders

i fish for my lessons of you
in sleepless nights, in strength
measured in casts of iron
of release, acceptance, presence

the snow has melted with the rush of rain
permafrost given way to daffodils
how time slips away when i'm with you

let it be.

One silky spring day
in my bare memories
presents few fine crows
perched on light picket posts.


Gilded yet dark,
the birds spoke in shrills.
Had I looked away,
my mind be pure filth.


An orchestra,
all for me.
The hills swayed,
much with the trees.


But time's no fool,
the sky grew death.
A jolt of light,
a new scene set.


How quick it turned,
the blue gone too soon.
But on they went,
with transient tunes.

Yet, after not too long,



The bluster chewed land.
I woke from my glance.



The troupe had no disband.
I feared them with no chance.



Then,

A pale strike it was,
all I can remember.

It slammed its poor body,
so tough, so impishly,
how rough, how inimically.

Its feathers flew,
desperate to escape frightful peace.
Its beak dove down,
an Olympic performance to cease.

And so,
it flew right deep into tender ground.

And what's left of bitter sound,
is all to be ever seen,

yet never found.

No one crossed that threshold in quite a while
Doors weren’t knocked twice in light
“ Rain” , impishly she said when saw me surprised

The only knock my ears were aware were of my ration’s load
Her galoshes confirmed the miry road
The muddy lane to my forgotten abode

I asked her if she was mistaken
Emptiness in my voice left her soul shaken
Rambler, she travelled the roads that were not taken

Brown her braids, drops from the rain they confined
One fell on dusty floors, contrasting the view it traced a line
Disparity of salt void on the floor but abundant on the cheeks of mine

Glanced my old house with her eyes, she broke the perfect stillness of her face
In her new world I seemed to loose my pace, she asks me “ What is this place?”
“Dream”, I told her, “ Of solitude and life without race”

It wasn’t only her visit that looked strange
Antipodal of my dreams, hers were of different range
She travelled because she was happy only when the scenes changed

Odd but the solitude seeker me liked her company, she unthreaded me with questions until there was no light
Stars shined, shinier the moon, shiniest her eyes in the night
She asked to stay over. “Rain”,  impishly she said when saw me surprised.