In Fall Remember to Forget

 

With spring came the beginnings of new

For the winter’s coldness had left bereft guise-

 

While the richness of the greening eyes

Brought along a sense of summer’s skies

And memories of sentiments we once knew-

 

Fall forgives nothing and yet,  it is a bless

For the colors that will confess

That appearances are a transgress

Of skin left naked of redress-

 

Sins and pleasures left alone

Like specters against the frost’s atone.

Transposing Strings

Playing the night’s strings to the sun

All the turns were right

    Along the way towards light

Fissures marking time’s deft

Bending of temporal and celestial forms

    With a counterpointing cleft

Against the fibers of the symmetric matrix.

 

A metaphor between pure edge basics

And dark points of complex transforms

    Where closed timelike curves spin left.

 

The event expanse collapses upon its horizon.

Malala Yousufsai

 

 

 I chose to quench my thirst.

I will step up to drink from the fountain.

I grasp at freedom first

And shun away ignorance’s profane

Piercing upon all that is humane.

 

I will climb the highest cerebral mountain

To stand against impious wind’s cursed say

And when I descend to the warm fen

I will sing of a girl’s way

To find a woman named Malala Yousufsai.

The Calusa’s Breath

 

The sea moves and sways

Across the vastness - caressing the sands

Where neither footprints nor dreams shore strays

For only eternal time remains unchanging –

Yet, Mother’s hands continually change

And so... we are drawn by the calling sounds;

Held still by our vulnerability – so strange.

 

The secretive manatee seeks out the Ibis

And wonders to the curious bird,

Where the Calusa’s breath is...

 

The Ibis replies with poetic words,

“Listen... the Calusa sleep within the sea’s shells.”

Gathering Flowers for Sister

Little girls are suppose to gather flowers

And run with them unto their mothers

Holding sacred fathoms of the wellspring  –

Listen, the chapel’s golden bells ring

Three and three and three...  times three.

 

Fate too,  notes time’s decree

That numbered seasons shall not come free

And so begins the slow attrition

Of youth’s steps stolen of their fruition

And adolescent spires  - ravaged forms.

 

A young maiden sets upon the storms

So to cross the twisted deforms

Her sweet nature contorted by pains

Prepubertal limbs twisted into chains

And yet, the beast could not have her grace.

 

While death stole away her place;

Her flower’s petals keep a lovely face

Always at the edge of the horizon’s sunrise

And the end of the day - across the night skies

When now a little girl gathers eternity’s hours.

Inextricable Silence

 

The inextricable silence

Feasts upon the lamb’s bleats

Gorging the entropic cold

As time and space interlace into fold

Of poetic entreats

That neither cast upon past tense

Nor forecast future sense.

 

Screaming faces in the windows

Framed by the consuming shadows...

 

A wistful ending in silent repletes.

Seminal in the Final

Sunrise upon event;

Sunset against content

Holds neither place

Nor redeems grace.

Hold me close

Before ends prose

And entropy

Finds atrophy.





 

Butterfly in Crisis

The squared physiology

Of the jaw line

Belied the psychotic  morphology

Entwined within the rampaging mind.

Unfocused eyes jingling to find

Purpose and direction in misalign;

Words rambled out disconnected;

Thoughts of loss and waste;  disaffected.

Time and distance weighed their toll

Upon the weathered wings fractured

and defeated-

Prone on the ground; outside control

Over context; nor defined by any structured

Cocoon so to  emerge – as beautiful and completed.

She, Lost In the Found Bin

She, dressed with the street’s soils

Explained with words strained of insights

And wondered whether fate’s spoils

Awaited her;  lost circles around the straits

Of lucidity

 And punished deep within the dark waters

Of obscurity.

She, slumped over on the corner of Dickensian squatters

Complained of the sovereign frights

And of the degradations of fear

That brought us all here

Into the harrows of insanity

Where the days are mired in the nights

And in the inhumanity.

Book of Retire

And with the door’s closing

The eyes withdrew from all views

Relinquishing time’s stay to reposing

Upon the bed of memories

Resigned to being in abandon black hues

While sitting alone lighting cold dreams

Like old candles of wickless beams

Waiting to read the last chapter of retire

Yielding to the flickering embers of life’s fire.

Sunshine

Sunshine visits in many a way -

Demons and angels need not profess each a new day

Nor state regrets for a final night;

Each sunrise brings a  touch of whimsy

And is pursued into a quiet by the moon beam’s light.

The morning horizon breaks open for all to see

Where friends and family gather

And that the stillness in the air is all that will matter

If one rises to find that the dawn transforms

And that Sunshine comes in many forms

For all to warm with - before or after the storms.

A Point in Point

What is the point-

If reason is pointless

If no one stands on point-

Then is the matter pointless

When the point is obvious-

Then is the point less vague

If the painting's pointillism

Is beyond the frame's prism-

Then is that reality

A conform within or beyond duality.