lazy sounds

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A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
these wrinkled thoughts—
they need 
some ironing

I outstretch my arms,
I yawn, I smile—
safe in the knowledge
that I am not 
immortal

                          /Loathing
                          this endless
                          loop of
                          lazy sounds/

*

A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
those wrinkled thoughts—
they crave
some irony

A spider web
some deep, brown eyes—
a saturnine reflection 
in my morning
coffee

                          /Loathing
                          this endless
                          loop of
                          lazy sounds/



*
A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
those wrinkled thoughts—
they need 
some ironing

Where did She go?
I sensed her, near—
yet now she's
nowhere around 
to be seen

                          /O Muse, come back,
                           bearing harmonious gifts—
                           effacing this senseless
                          loop of lazy
                          s o u n d s/

allure

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allure, allure,
a silent sulk
a smile,
a doubt

                ~ A change 
        of  r o u t e ~

a fear of drought,
these crispy beds.
the linens—blue

           ~ The eternal 
      s h a d e s ~

with open eyes
these thought parades—
I sense them all

           ~ The storm 
   p e r v a d e s ~

it rains and rains,
and soaks the truth—
all magic rites

      ~  A silent 
       s u l k ~           

allure, allure
this hidden truth.
a smile,
some doubt,

     ~ This endless 
           s h o u t ~

the sweaty words,
these crispy beds.
the sirens—blue

     ~ The calmness 
           f a d e s ~ 

with open eyes
those thought parades—
I sense them all

                         ~ T h e  s t o r m 
     p   e   r   v   a   d   e   s ~ 

Lights On

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Feeling homesick
all stranded
left the building
keys inside it—
no way back

                He’s now so lost

Lights are on
the lamp
still shining
those shelves—
empty

                Books all gone

Who’s the liar
who’s the beggar
who’s 
      the
thief—

                This empty soul

Feeling homesick
all stranded
left the building
keys inside it—
no way back

                He’s now so lost

He’s got
talent
he’s a genius
such smoked mirage—
portrait, 

                Pawn

ice tickles

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       Moving on 
        with life—
       enhancing 
    m         o          s  
          o          d

                       / ice won’t 
                      break
                     as you skate
                               o n /

              Drawing
                on this 
               sensual,
            s l i p p e r y
   s           r           a         e
        u           f           c     

                        / enraptured
                               by those
                         i c e
                         t i c k l e s /

         Feet moving
          to the sound
               of a 
           s i l e n t
w       i          p         r
     h        s          e        

/ ice won’t 
        break
   as you skate
 o n /

                    An ageless 
    s  u  p  e r  n  o  v  a
                   in this 
                          perpetual
 
                w       i       n      t      e      r
              
                                s
                      
                                        k
              
                              y 

ink rain weather

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Walking barefoot
on fresh grass
rain keeps
smearing
this old
draft

                   / Faint
                    reflections 
                        o f 
                     o u r
                  d a m p
                 r  e  a  l  i  t  y  /

Dizzy letters
all get 
blurred
eerie story—
last line
slurred

              / D r i z z l i n g lines
                   in ink rain
                    weather /

Books all
tattered,
O, too frail!
this ink
watered down—
too pale

All these stories
drowning, bold;
fading lines
on torn page
drawn

                  / Faint
                    reflections 
                        o f 
                     o u r
                  d a m p
                 r  e  a  l  i  t  y /

(Were they
really any
good, though?
I wonder 
now—
too late)

           / D r i z z l i n g  lines
                   in ink rain
                    weather /

p o e t r y. s o l d i e r s.

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Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry 
in those eager
fingers

                  / Unforgiving Eyes /
 
               Will you remember those words
               W h e n  y o u  a r e  o l d -
               W h e n  s h e ’ s  g o n e ?

Poetry soldiers
missing in action—
silent whispers
that do not speak 
wonders, yet reveal
half truths

              / Unforgiving Lies /

             Will you remember their words
             W h e n  s h e’ s   o l d -
             W h e n  y o u ’ r e  g o n e ?

Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry 
in those eager
fingers

              / Unforgiving Minds /

Like the 
poetry soldiers
missing in action—
yearning for fictions
to evolve from
abstractions

Minds, eyes,
white lies,
soft words—
barely whispered—
under 
b  l  a  z  i  n  g
     e    n    e    m    y  
         s     k     i     e    s

the colour of your dreams

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I often 
get lost
in your 
canvas 
p a l a c e

My hands 
all dirty 
with
old
p a i n t 
 
What’s the colour 
of your 
dreams?        
              I   d  a  r  e 
               a   s   k

  Yet you 
  never 
          utter
    a single 
w o r d

So I strive to
find my
answer
in ink
s k e t c h e s

*
I often 
get lost
in your 
canvas 
p a l a c e

My hands 
all dirty 
with
old
p a i n t 

What’s the colour 
of your 
dreams?        
              I   d  a  r  e 
               a   s   k

Those 
undecipherable
ink 
 
        s
      t
       r 
        o
         k
        e
     s

Paint 
pirouettes
that won't
tell any
t a l e s

*
My dreams 
are
sometimes 
coloured
y e l l o w 

— with 
a 
dash
of 
b l u e —

Your eyes closed,
while I get lost
in the true opacity
of those abstract
i m a g e s

So I let 
all shades sink in—
colouring your reverie
back to 
r e a l i t y

the raconteur

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Raining feathers
misty light
the sound 
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep

Vigilant feelings
bleeding into
free-wheeling
thoughts,
a window about 
to swing open—
one I didn’t want to
see through

The widowed tales
of nighttime 
dreams,
the ones I tried 
to tell by heart—
with the worldly
decorum 
of the 
raconteur

Raining feathers
misty light
the sound 
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep

spy

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She yearned to 
become a spy
yet she failed 
so miserably

She walked 
the long walk
and dressed
in hued tones

She hushed the
sharp tongues
and asked for
bad karma

For those
that would 
play her—
the good ones
obeyed her

Lila yearned to 
become a spy
yet she failed 
so miserably

She wore her 
dark shades,
unravelled
dark plots

/ with feline intention
and birdlike precision /

Yet her wings
she did not
want to
get
w
e
t

So she’d run
under cover
on rainy 
days

It was always
warmer
by that
fireplace

She yearned
to become a spy—
Yet she failed
so miserably