Cut with trepidation,sewn with agitation, worn with dread
Fears and insecurities attached with elastic
Concerns, about families, health, Christmas, jobs, essential workers, school
When will our lives be normal?
Anxiety and anger muffled by material
Clouded by suspicion
Awash with worry and distress
Did I touch my face, where are my wipes?
My glasses keep fogging
I need to get home,
Everyone is suffering
It's the ultimate social distancing
All smiles and interaction have been stifled
Our world can never look the same
From behind a mask
The Roman god of the oceans
seems to emerge at Newhaven harbour
as waves crash over its walls
under a bruised menacing sky.
I am transfixed by the photograph
and for a lengthy spell it holds my stare
as I imagine myself being there
with wind howling and sea roaring
wishing my camera had taken the shot,
an eerie but magical sight,
a glorious painting by nature.
I admire the sombre face
which truly appears to be Neptune's ghost,
transient image on the Sussex coast.
Up in the Wardenclyffe Tower
the wizard spoke the words:
"As above, so below!"
Then Gods gave him
and brain thunderstorms.
To grab that great cosmic offerings
with hands in white gloves,
to change the world
only by the power
of his own will and thoughts.
The wizard was the light.
The light was Tesla.
a midsummer night
flashes of light
fireflies lighting up
a blanket of stars
last night of fireflies
Here is my leash
The fire hydrant, please
Oops-a-daisy, too late
The sweet air on a bright summer day,
Waving my hands over the violet fields,
The summer fragrance, enticing, sweet like honey,
Ah, what a pleasure to be alive, to be surrounded with beauty
I hear the cellos in the distance, magnificent and bold
A pleasant voice, guiding me through the flowery pathway
I see a floral, yellow, flowing, summer hat gliding in a distance
The jet black hair, flowing, majestic, a goddess in disguise
All that glitters is indeed gold; who said otherwise?
The honey is sold, the life’s story being told,
Birds chirping, the sun glancing, insects chittering, and my heart dancing
The lavender smiles at me, live my dear, live!
Hey, you in the distance! Hold my hand; we are free!
The bird sings a song of freedom, the song of summer
A warm feeling engulfs me, pleasantness at its peak
So that’s what it feels like to spend a lifetime in a garden one afternoon
How rare it is to reside outside
on a tropical summer night
away from the oppressive heat
where monsters in the mind seem worse.
Now my ceiling glitters with stars,
alluring in the soporific air
with the city lights as if some had fallen.
Moths and butterflies flicker like ghosts
and the local cat strolls imperiously
as a soft breeze caresses my soul
with a gentle hiss of verdant leaves.
I am loathe to return inside
yet with gratitude for this brief respite
observing stars... on such a wondrous night.
The dragon breathes fire
The flames scorch the countryside
Better stay off your grass
We all have bad days
they circle like sharks
waiting for opportunity
to leave their teeth marks
Down in black water
we sink down below
deep in depression
drowned men say "hello"
When days are long
and rain won't go away
I guess your Shark Day
has just come too stay?
in the morning
he's hungry ...
a paw appears
Flowery words like
Wise words build worlds
Veiled mystery, romance, and so much more -
some old and some somewhat older
Elicit a sensation
Likened to the opposite of savory with sweet
Lo, as complimentary actually
If one truly desired definition
Caressing like no other Shoppe treat -
not fine food, clothing, candy, or lover's lair
However perceived through sight or sound,
through heights of stacks or scattered scents
Old leather bindings, rugs, wall coverings, nooks, crannies,
shadows from light packed just right
Remanding us through stories once discovered, once held,
once shared, once longed for and now replete.
A year’s wait! No beer with my mates!
Well, now I can; we can.
Going down the pub for a few.
The banter, the joking, the rude jokes.
That’s what it’s about.
Good company, good beer and good times.
Let it all roll again!
Raindrops shoot from the sky
in a sense of urgency,
overlapping each other
in their hurry to get
to their destination.
As the common mallow plant
sways in a circular motion,
their leaves brush
each other and tiny butterflies
hide inside pinkish-white striped flowers.
The raindrops nuzzle everything
they come across before
descending on the dry earth.
The monotony daunting, soul-crushing,
Wake up, shower, eat, work, repeat.
The slaves toiling away till the night-time,
The high-rise, a sanctuary, or a prison?
Students work hard and study,
For what, to become a slave or a slave-master?
The sole dream of earning big bucks,
As hollow and inferno-like as the devil’s abyss?
People selling their souls to the devil, compassion on the back burner.
Zombies coming out of their dens on the weekends, like ants emerging from a hive.
Soulless beings walking the nigh-time streets, raving in the clubs,
Booze overflowing, music blaring, humanity non-existent.
The architecture of belief, philosophy, and morality, what the hell is that?
Isn’t happiness our goal, drugs the key, and money the medicine?
Humanity keeps sinking as success is defined by wealth alone,
An angry generation, hamster on a running wheel.
Evil words were daubed on the mural
of a true hero of our time,
we all know how he's helped poor children
and missing a penalty his only crime.
Thirty-one million eyes watched,
what courage it must have required
such disappointment he would have felt
and so he should only be admired.
The artist painted over the wicked words
and soon many messages of love were in sight
as thousands arrived at the scene
and the racist had lost the fight
for this vile person does not understand
diversity makes this a great land.
Two centuries of 'burning times'
carried out with savage elation
"do not suffer a witch to live"
by fire and water ritual purification
the innocent died with the guilty
witchfinders hunted them down
holding, no Lords warrant fielty
sentenced to burn or drown
faggots torched in wilful haste
villagers danced around the stakes
forgetting that they could be next
hurried their blood lust to slake
sisters of the wind, don't ride
upon those besom brooms
most of them mixed potions
in darkened healing rooms..
We are locked down together yet apart.
The end is in sight but so is the start.
Chocolate melts in your mouth
You lick your fingertips
Another piece, please
Stealthily, we navigated switchback trails;
as dark, rain-heavy clouds dissipated,
anemic rays of sodden sunlight
pierced the cedar forest, beckoned
five-point bucks, invited stately bald eagles
to take flight, soar, seek out schools
of chinook salmon spawning up stream
avoiding fish nets, evading natural predators.
Fork-lighting juggernauts followed
by rolling thunder, winds, and rain
faded into my memory’s guarded caverns;
light breezes shook rare remnants of Gaia’s
tears from brush maple leaves, shivering
conifer boughs, lofty Foxglove blossoms,
while we warbled like gregarious starlings
chirping omens, emerging from safe bastions.
Some would comment
About acting one’s age,
There is no need for rage,
For life is a stage,
And players play their parts.
Love being alive,
And have a heart,
For age is a number,
And keep living
Until the ultimate slumber,
Because real life is real life,
And dreams are elements of fantasy
That can help create
The paint isn't dry.
I'm still high from the fumes.
I wonder how long
before a toy
squiggles across my piece...
This is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most.