Sleepy days and
blooming nights —
f i e l d s
drying out
of fine
c o f f e e
A nice, slow sip,
tasting some
fancy b e a n s —
a fragrant future
drawn on my
bitter e s p r e s s o
I stole a puff
blowing some faint
s m o k e verse —
but your tired eyes
wouldn’t read
f u z z y letters
S l o w words, fake rain,
dripping on
h o p e f u l grass —
some shattered glass
Spilling red ink
onto w e t p a g e
On sleepy days,
I write a faint
smoke v e r s e —
Our fragrant future
d r a w n on a
bitter espresso
//We both felt dizzy with verses
Electrified!
Living in orchid
Spaces
Lucid—
All those rhymes
of yore
Such widowed thoughts
Our lonely oasis//
/Moon passages
And wicked faces
Bespoke suits,
Poetic races
Discerning fables and
Fizzy odes/
//We both felt dizzy with verses
Electrified!
Living in orchid
Spaces
Such widowed thoughts
One homely oasis
Lucid—
All the rhymes
Of yore//
He felt like sneezing;
laughing to himself;
or remaining silent
Helplessly searching
for drowsy stories
to put into words
"Finish that page!"
the choir
- w h i l e
h e h u m m e d
a h o p e f u l
t u n e -
kept chanting
And then,
just like that,
he departed
Thankful for the life
he’d lived
loved
l
e
f
t
I tiptoe around
this, my
d r e a m
garden
as you undress
my thoughts
with d e f t
hands
a bright
blue M o o n
just won’t stop
shining
even as
the t i m e
comes to
w a k e u p
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/
/ forgetful
regretful
a mindful path of
multi-storied
v e r s e s /
searching
for liminal
s p a c e s
observing
those pondering
f a c e s
*
. . . o p p o n e n t s
aware
contenders—
beware
of those doubtful
intentions
unspoken
d i s s e n t i o n s . . .
sketched
on damp paper—
and never
aired
*
/ forgetful
regretful
a mindful path of
multi-storied
v e r s e s /
searching
for liminal
s p a c e s
fierce like
assonant
traces
you can
now
view—
though
I n e v e r
b a r e d
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
I read
overread,
skim-read,
d
a
n
c
e
&
r a
e d
.
and,
while
r e a d i n g
b e t w e e n
t h e
l i n e s
I keep losing
my
t r a i n
o f
t o g t
h u h
. .
I don’t wanna
read
overread—
or
misread !
d
r
i
n
k
&
r a
e d
. . .
S o ,
I
w r i t e
***********
It’s been a while since my last post
(Or my last writing activity,
for that matter)
Now,
slooowly,
getting back to
writing mood
Please bear with me -
While I invoke my
Free verse muse
Happy to be back,
beautiful,
naughty,
dark &
clever
WordPress souls !
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 /
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
LannaZee 