Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted au wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadows
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow

Swinging on a pleasant evening
Yellow golden flowers dropping on me
Grandfather's white beard,
Came flying to me, the pappus
Blowing it up with a smile
Excited to bring out the antlions
Caught some red ants being their prey
Dropping them on their sand pits
Waiting to see them come out
Orange-red jungle flame flowers
Inviting me to have a sip of honey from it
Aimed some mangoes with my catapult
Ate them dipping in a mixture of salt and chilli powder
There came a gorgeous blue butterfly
Challenging me to catch it
Tired after all these activities
Back to my swing, to and fro
Flying high with a feel to touch the sky
It was my unforgettable evening !

Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins, wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadow
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow

I once knew a Dandelion:
she knew strange stories
and wore large sweaters
—too big for her frame,
that overcame her bones,
and hid her petals from the world.
I often found her hunched over the bowl
full of smoke and mirrors,
for her skin told her lies about herself—
never admitted her bones were falling apart,
or that she was flushing away her veins,
weakening her heart
until all her seeds and wishes and pappus were gone.

She starts gently tapping on the floor and then romps,
With one hand spread and other near to chest, she stomps;

Stage light follows her as she Palisades below,
As a shooting star which leaves behind the glow;

Her skirt appears to be a turning disc as she twirls and capers,
And when she pauses to resume, as a sugar heap it tapers;

As a pappus, she for a while rises and floats in the air,
Alights too as slowly as the same, oh what a flair!

She with her toe so elegantly executes pirouette,
Only other which will do this is a spin top and her silhouette!

The entrenchments surprise me and are enchanting,
As I count the leg crosses, eyes seem scanting

In that step, as butterfly wings, her legs flutter
I am here stupefied with no word to utter

As the prettiest angel that I can ween,
As the nearest iceberg that I have seen;

Sometimes she flies, sometimes she glides
Giving reasons for her, in my mind, to abide...

The intimacies of half-light loom in the indistinct hour.

Mute weavers- nudging one another,
voluminous and pale.

Light exudes her milky latex.
Porcelain hand,
reaching towards the cool umbra. Always reaching.

All certainty ebbs here, in the achromic film.

The manes of the spirits gap the dusk floating as spectral pappus.

They are shaking.
So many spaces between the gloom.

And yet, only to divert the hospitable darkness..
The opening, enveloping absence.

I want to think of the fireflies, their universes of warmth.
Opening and closing their bodies to darkness.

Always.

I (a youthful sexagenarian)
can no longer quip being
a country boy at heart,
but me as urban cowboy,
I declare would never
so fuhgeddaboudit dear reader
nothing 'cept bucolic existence
laboring organic garden
harvesting fruits and vegetables
by the bushel and quart
constitute an appropriate start.

Don't get me wrong;
Every cell comprising
body electric of mine,
would yearn to prolong
and relish those bygone salad days,
whereat (R)oute (D)elivery #2 Level Road
also known as "Glen Elm"
or hundred acre wood,
when Mister Leiper and family
originally owned vast estate
(turn of twentieth century)
once awash, flush, and plush
with webbed wide world

analogous to miniature Hindu Kush;
one of the great watersheds of Central Asia
forming part of vast Alpine zone
that stretches across Eurasia east to west;
and runs northeast to southwest;
and divides valley of the Amu Darya
(the ancient Oxus River)
to the north from
Indus River valley to the south.

Rather than complain about mein kampf
and hard times,
which ain't no Christmas Carol,
fraught with the battle of life
amidst great expectations,
yours truly much prefers
crafting poetic verses
precariously perched on edge of chair
clicking Macbook Pro keyboard;
Every now and again taking stretch
to access excellent outlook
from powerfully pointed bedroom window.

Thus yours truly doth
poetically lightly kvetch
or tease out commonplace natural phenomena
nevertheless unremarkable flora and fauna,
or maybe even a dog
and her/his owner playing fetch.

His immediate observation when peering out
rectangular pane (more long than wide) of glass
constitutes plethora of dandelions
populates the greensward;
said wildflower proliferated nearly overnight,
cuz smattering yesterdays ago
Taraxacum officinale, the German "lowenzahn"
(which means "lion's tooth"),
and French "pissenlit"
Ligules the yellow “petals” of dandelion flower
carpeted the lawn, and quickly regenerated
soon after landscaping crew cut the grass.

A dandelion seed is the plant's mature fruit,
known as a cypsela to botanists,
and its parachute-like structure
known as a pappus.

The pappus develops
as calyx of each floret dries and matures.

There are usually 150-200 seeds per flower
and up to 10 flowers per plant.

Seeds can be dispersed long distances
by wind because they move in updrafts,
yet upon making landfall
scant number squarely take root.

I am a child playing with my foster sister in a small field
We play in mud and run around the lid to the septic tank
a portal to hell

I feel the wind rush through tree leaves in a small field
We get tired from sun kisses drying us and the mud
the portal to hell

I pick up dandelions growing up and getting tall in a small field
We run around blowing pappus at each other and laugh

and somewhere in the dandelion swirls
I envision a universe among unlimited ones
where my mother is alive
it blows out into the world