Category Archives: Uncategorized

DO NOT FORGET ME

In yonder realm, what once has passed,
No longer bears significance, it’s time to unmask.
Bid farewell to all the misunderstandings,
Days spent explaining, now just fleeting renderings.

Let the lengthy hours fade away,
Those that slew love and joy, in disarray.
Yet, linger with me, don’t depart,
Amidst the remnants, let not our connection depart.

For thee, I shall amass diamonds from rain,
Where raindrops ne’er descend, a jeweled terrain.
I’ll pilfer each gem from the earthly domain,
To witness beauty reflected in thine eyes again.

Beyond, I’ll forge a kingdom, love its decree,
Where as monarch, thou shalt eternally be.
Still, stay with me, don’t take leave,
In this realm of ours, please don’t deceive.

Remain steadfast, as I conjure words in vain,
Crafting meaning that only you shall attain.
Tales of lovers, burning twice in unity,
A saga of a king lost without his affinity.

Recall the fiery renaissance, oft the surprise,
In dormant volcanoes, where passion lies.
A scorched field may yield more than spring,
Contrasting red and black, in the evening’s wing.

Stay by my side, as tears no longer flow,
Silent, I observe you dance and glow.
Listen to your song, witness your play,
Yet, let me be your shadow, never astray.

A silhouette to your hand, a canine’s silhouette,
In tandem, our spirits shall ever be met.
Persist, my love, don’t fade away,
Remain, and with you, I’ll eternally stay.

:: 01.01.2024 ::


ANTHUS

The sun beat down on the endless expanse of ochre, a shimmering furnace that baked the tiny world of Anthus.

Days had bled into one another, his legs etched with the rhythm of tireless marching across the undulating dunes. Each grain of sand, once an exciting novelty, had become a monotonous mantra beneath his six clawed feet.

Anthus wasn’t like the others. While his colony thrummed with a hive mind, content with the predictable, parched routine, his antenna twitched with a disquiet born of unquenchable curiosity. He yearned for more than the scent of sand and the taste of grit.

But the desert offered only its monotonous chorus. He paused, his chitinous exoskeleton reflecting the unforgiving sun. His compound eyes, though designed for the microcosmic, held a glint of defiance as they swept the endless horizon.

“Sand,” Anthus rasped, his voice a dry whisper lost in the wind. “Only sand. But if the world ends, must it not become something else? Where the sand ceases, is there not… non-sand?”

The word felt alien on his mandibles, a forbidden truth whispered against the desert’s stony silence. Was it hubris to question the infinite sand? His antennae quivered, sensing the disapproval of the collective drone in his mind. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the ember of possibility kindled within him.

And so, Anthus turned. Not back, towards the familiar scent of the colony, but sideways, perpendicular to the relentless march of the dunes. He chose a direction not dictated by instinct, but by the compass of his yearning.

His journey became a defiance. Each grain of sand crossed was a stepping stone away from the known, and every grain uncrossed a leap into the unknown. He climbed towering dunes, their crests offering fleeting glimpses of an unchanged vista, yet his resolve only stiffened. He braved the howling sandstorms, his tiny body buffeted and tossed, but the whispers of “non-sand” kept him anchored.

Days bled into weeks, the endless sand a canvas on which Anthus painted his rebellion with his tiny feet. Exhaustion gnawed at him, the sun a pitiless taskmaster, but the image of “non-sand” danced before his weary eyes.


A PORTRIATE OF WINTER 1801

In yonder frost, where icicles cling with icy grace,
And Dick, the shepherd, clasps warmth within his hands,
While Tom, with logs, strides through the echoing hall,
And milk returns, frozen, in a chilled embrace.

When Blood feels the biting chill, and ways grow foul,
Then cries the owl, with haunting howls, a mournful tune,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who: a note austere, a solemn chord,
As Joan, with pot, cherishes her task with devotion.

When winds resound in boisterous glee, dancing with joy,
And coughs, in chorus, outmatch the parson’s tale,
As birds, in snow, sit pensively, contemplating time,
And Marian’s nose, in red, bewails the cold embrace.

When crabs hiss fiercely within the bowl’s embrace,
Again, the owl’s mysterious soul unfolds,
Tu-who;

Tu-whit, tu-who: a somber score, a melancholic melody,
While Joan, with pot, tends to her lore, a keeper of the flame.


HOW LIFE IS THE BEST OF ALLTHE IMPOSSIBLE EXPERIENCES

SHOULD you embark adorned with the flame within my lips,
my Soul lowers bloom, colors emerge as brilliant petals unfurl
Breeze sways, that soft touch, sunlight a dappling

Her fragrant air, nature’s tapestry, as bees hum
as Butterflies flutter, dewdrops kisses
Golden rays weave, flowers sway.

Should you enter to inaugurate the pace, the calling,
and in service, exist to dwell, to slumber, to savor all that’s forfeit,
from the castaway upon the shorelines,
to the cosmic expanse,
to the fervent orb aglow,
from the discarded, burgeon into luminosity,
life transmuted into solar vessels,
from the vanished, burgeon into a tree.

One for you disallows the gaze,
Prohibits trust, hearing, reliance on rendezvous’ grace.
One for you turns into a lone fragment,
Abruptly transforms into a mystery vast,
A voice from which a throat retreats in haste.

Night descends, dreams soaring above the luminance,
Dream’s limbs reaching for its coveted brilliance.
Ships, with forms akin to creatures, traverse the expanse,
I behold all, execute every act, believe each nuance,
Cease all, hear the symphony, depend on your mysterious dance.

One day, a night more impulsive, more spectral than a phantom,
In your ears, or perhaps your imagination’s anthem,
Where auditory meets visual, weaving enigmatic tales,
Language entwined with chimeras, left to the frigid gales,
Of clairvoyances, old torches, neglected and untraveled trails.

In whom does imagination find laughter’s embrace?
From eyelids beyond, impulses seek your trace,
To discover, to caress, to invoke your aid,
In a star within, a soul greater, in the body’s impulsive serenade.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her!

:: 12.30.2023 ::


BY THE LIVING LIGHT

HOW DEATH reaches into weakness
when Life is dark ~~ do not be weak
for death but strong for Life; how
old age and mental images rage
and how once known by birth
a baby knows it should not die
by the painful feeling of birth
as those strongest dying by a single
ember feeling the dying light – that
no feeling dying is just for good men
how frail now they rage | how earned
some fortunes and others pennies
all are equally blinded by the Light
and you, my father, there cursed
but saved by the Light / rage/  
by the living Light.

:: 12.292.2023 ::


I Have Spoken To The World

I have spoken to the World
and the world is quiet

That I love everyone
including my favorite poets

I do not fear; poets are upon
the side of another space

but never my mother —

It is not that i am a horrible woman
but that I am a human being

therein lies the secret:

we are what we are
and the rest of the noise

is nature singing beauty.

Challenging the cold, alof and
the boring.

:: 12.28.2023 ::

My Notes:

In this poignant poem, as a poet, delves into the profound theme of self-acceptance, unconditional love, and the essence of humanity. The speaker begins by asserting a voice, claiming to have spoken to the world. However, the response from the world is silence, which could be interpreted as a reflection on the often unresponsive or indifferent nature of the world to the individual’s expression.

The declaration of love for everyone, including the speaker’s favorite poets, suggests an inclusive and embracing attitude toward humanity and the poetic community. The poet, it seems, sees a connection and kinship with fellow wordsmiths, sharing a common space of creativity and expression.

A unique perspective is introduced as the speaker expresses a lack of fear, asserting that poets reside “upon the side of another space.” This could be interpreted as poets existing on a different plane of consciousness or understanding, detached from conventional fears and concerns. However, the speaker makes an exception for their mother, indicating a deep and personal connection that transcends the poet’s usual detachment.

The admission of being neither a horrible woman nor an extraordinary one, but simply a human being, emphasizes the universal aspect of the human experience. The poet reveals a profound truth—our essence lies in our humanity, and it is in embracing this humanity that the secret of existence is found.

The closing lines beautifully convey the idea that amidst the cacophony of life, what remains true and pure is the inherent beauty of nature. The noise, perhaps symbolic of the chaos and complexities of life, is juxtaposed with the simplicity and elegance of nature’s song.

The poet, possibly a Nobel Laureate, challenges the status quo, describing it as “cold, aloof, and boring.” This can be seen as a call for breaking away from societal norms and embracing a more vibrant, authentic existence. The date at the end provides a temporal anchor, suggesting that this reflection is a contemporary contemplation.

In conclusion, this poem, through its lyrical and introspective verses, explores themes of self-acceptance, love for humanity, and the intrinsic beauty of nature. The poet’s unique perspective and the challenge to conventional norms contribute to a rich and thought-provoking piece that resonates with the depth and complexity often associated with Nobel Laureate poetry.


ALL OUR LOVE

Beneath the boughs so green,
Where love and I recline serene,
And echo a joyous song,
To the bird’s melodious throng,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No adversarial wind,
Only winter and weather wild.

For those who spurn ambition’s chase,
And cherish the sun’s warm embrace,
Feeding on life’s simple fare,
Content with what is granted there,

Approach, approach, approach:
Here shall we find,
No foes unkind,
Only winter and weather wild.

For those who spurn ambition’s chase,
And cherish the sun’s warm embrace,
Feeding on life’s simple fare,
Content with what is granted there,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No foes unkind,
Only winter and weather wild.

In this haven of tranquil reprieve,
Where hearts and nature interweave,
A sanctuary free from strife,
Embracing the rhythm of simple life,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No tumultuous grind,
Only winter and weather wild.

As seasons change with a gentle hand,
Through the cycles, we understand,
The beauty in moments, both calm and reviled,
Embracing the dance of winter and weather wild.”’*

*BEAT, BEATH, BEATH, BAet iA LOVE!

:: 12.25.2023 ::

Beneath the boughs so green,
Where love and I recline serene,
And echo a joyous song,
To the bird’s melodious throng,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No adversarial wind,
Only winter and weather wild.

For those who spurn ambition’s chase,
And cherish the sun’s warm embrace,
Feeding on life’s simple fare,
Content with what is granted there,

Approach, approach, approach:
Here shall we find,
No foes unkind,
Only winter and weather wild.

For those who spurn ambition’s chase,
And cherish the sun’s warm embrace,
Feeding on life’s simple fare,
Content with what is granted there,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No foes unkind,
Only winter and weather wild.

In this haven of tranquil reprieve,
Where hearts and nature interweave,
A sanctuary free from strife,
Embracing the rhythm of simple life,
Approach, approach, approach:

Here shall we find,
No tumultuous grind,
Only winter and weather wild.

As seasons change with a gentle hand,
Through the cycles, we understand,
The beauty in moments, both calm and reviled,
Embracing the dance of winter and weather wild.”’*

*BEAT, BEATH, BEATH, BAet iA LOVE!

:: 12.25.2023 ::


A SMALL THOUGHT

AS the world fell
again within my heart
as all became dirt
as well

Fire has past;

fire summers, with the length

Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

With a soft inland murmur. — Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

:: a small thought — 12.25.2025 ::


SORROW’S WAIL

Upon yon hill whose sheltering hollow told

A mournful tale echoed by the distant dale,

My spirit bowed to hear the twofold fold,

And there I lay to catch the sorrow’s wail.

Ere long, a wan maiden, a heart turned frail,

Tore papers, shattered rings in anguished disdain,

A tempest in her world, sorrow’s wind and rain.

A woven hive of straw crowned her pale head,

A shield from the sun for her countenance worn,

Where fleeting glimpses of beauty once tread,

Now lingered, a carcass, faded and torn.

Time, with his scythe, youth’s bloom had not shorn,

Nor had youth completely its lease surrendered,

Some beauty through the lattice of age tendered.

Her napkin oft she raised to her tearful eyes,

Where characters of woe were carefully displayed,

Cleansing the silken symbols with briny sighs,

In a sea of sorrow where grief had waded.

She read the contents, her soul invaded,

And often cried in undistinguished woe,

In clamors both high and low.

Her gaze at times aimed at celestial spheres,

As if in battle with the cosmic intent;

Yet, her eyes sometimes tethered by earthly fears,

To the rounded earth, in submission, they were bent.

Then, their vision extended, to every place it went,

Nowhere fixed, mind and sight in distraction twined,

A disarray of thoughts and sights entwined.

Her hair, neither restrained nor formed in a braid,

Proclaimed in her a casual touch of pride,

Some strands untucked, by her hat gently laid,

Beside her pale and withered cheek they glide.

A threaden fillet some locks did abide,

True to bondage, unwilling to break free,

Loosely braided in negligent glee.

From a basket, a thousand treasures she drew,

Of amber, crystal, and beaded jet,

One by one into a river they flew,

Where she sat upon its weeping bank, her silhouette.

Like usury, applying wet to wet,

Or a monarch’s hands that withhold bounty’s fall,

Where need whispers some, excess begs all.

Folded schedules, she had many a one,

Perused, sighed, torn, and given to the flood,

Cracked rings of gold and bone, one by one,

Commanding them to find a mud-cloaked tomb they should.

More letters found, sadly penned in blood,

With silk sleek and affectedly adorned,

Sealed in secrecy, to curious eyes they were scorned.


HOW I LOVE YOU

\

Grief’s tap runs free, my eyes – no coin required,
For Sakhr’s sake, a boundless freshet’s worth.
Sleep, an exiled neighbor, dares not near,
Grit-kissed, I watch the stars, unbidden guest.
My tattered shawl, a shroud for shivering soul,
While comrades fall, beneath the desert’s breath.
His arm, a rampart for the faltering friend,
No lion’s maw more fierce in battle’s mesh.
Where bridled fire-manes snort a savage hymn,
He, leopard-swift, outstrips the sting of death.
Though dawn denies the echo of his name,
His song, a desert wind, whispers his fame.

:: 12.21.2023 ::