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island poet May 2018
“Moby ****,”  Herman Melville


~for the lost at sea~

after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining

the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls

sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality

I’m called to depart my beach shoreline  unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming

god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion,  nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties

my in-camera brain  eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles

walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?

puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others

perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered

Memorial Day 2018
Pyrrha Dec 2018
I don't know you
But you make me curious
I want under your skin
I want to get trapped inside your eyes

I don't know you
But I wish I could list off
All of your favorites
All of your dreams
All of your fears

One single glimpse
And a story of us unfolds
Inside my mind a playback of a possible life
But, I don't know you
I'm only curious
Rohan Press Mar 12
I abscond from
the phone calls where her
voice reminds me of her.
She's mumbling of the brittleness
of the east Cascades;
memory can't but etch, line to line,
some sore straightliner, wheeled.

I'll still playback what you leave me,
and harbor beneath the arches of ourselves.
Penny for the poor: I never promised to pay
this sum.
syncopation Oct 2018
If you believe life has a way
Of telling you what it wants to say
Without having you ask or listen very hard
You may have unlocked its secrets, seen its cards

Because sometimes I find life will get what it wants you do to
But don’t get me wrong, it listens too

Wishes you may have wished hard and long
Has been distilled into its ear as a song
And sometimes its melody will playback to you
In ways you never expected it to

But hear it you will,
the lyrics now different but still
Fills your Soul
with the same familiar glow

And that’s when you know.  

Life has a way
of telling you things that you hadn’t expected it to say
But things that are supposed to be at the end of the day.
Mark Feb 11
As I do list the highlights left of me
In twilight of my life through memoir's reel.
I find on playback still the eye does see;
Her face of fairest light so spins this wheel.
And smiles me back wherein my youth's alive
To gift again my fresher self her hold.
And whilst she glows, my vibrancy survive
Then length that I do live, shall still uphold.
Ah! When these bones are left amongst the dust
Instilled is she that deep my ghost will make -
The times of her; my center force's ******,
And 'bout that force our times shall then remake.

Her timeless beauty; I do hold with all!
That she be here, and there when death shall call.
It is the region we belong to
It never came to her that I wear a turban
Eyes sparkling
Falling in love

I did playback
But after the song, I come in front
It wasn’t appearance; it was affection that was coming along
Tears obvious; I broke down

Dr Baljit Singh
Saturday, 11th May 2019

— The End —