To The Last Twenty Four Hours Of April

Many an April has ignited the muse
permeated into the skin,
as water
that seeks to mould the intentions of salt,
of sugar and sand
which is the most muted shade of gold,
in twilight the water is darker
as muse adopts its characteristic pattern
and when April ends,
I sigh
as though a lover waiting to be kissed again.

 

Photo credits: Rebloggy

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

The Answer Lies Somewhere Inside Your Heart

Why do white orchids stand alone?
Can we be as naked as them in their purity?
Tell me where did the afternoon sun
learn
to be so unforgiving,
is this a sign that the world is coming to an end?
Lovers are at one with the hovering of night,
I wonder
if their laughter causes the moon to be jealous?
Does heaven
distinguish between mosque, temple and cathedral?
Must nature be victim
to atrocities of war, tears of blood and confusion?
I have walked upon the path
of self-doubt, met a few energy eating monsters
along the way
how does rain know when to deprive me
of candied desperation?
Does the butterfly know weed from flower?
Why are trees insistent upon participating
in conversation?
I have long learned the value of time,
how do you prevent
forever
from slipping out of your hands?
If I am to die the next day
would it matter to you that you can no longer hear
my voice?
Why does music have a calming effect upon the ear?
Tell me,
what does poetry do for you
on days
when the soul yearns
for more?
The answer lies somewhere inside your heart.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

& on Monday Writes @My Blog – Verses

verses

Aubade – When The Wind Is Tossing The Amaryllis

Play for me
unremittingly, leave me a tender moment in a tea cup
a stolen kiss,
a backward glance and I will pledge my heart
my soul,
my undying allegiance and love to you
many an autumn has witnessed the passing of decades
the swirling of smoke,
and broken hopes lying debilitated upon the ground
like a pile of ash,
go on
tell me what you were just about to ask
above the sky
reeks of desolation and dismay,
yet these verses of mine hold hands with resilience
and joy,
what’s the cause of this bravery
my writing does not say,
play for me when the wind is tossing the amaryllis,
when moon refuses to settle
and is bleeding sliver,
I have seen you during the darkest hour,
in times of sorrow,
and in times of disassociation with the mind,
how you blend with the notes of the piano
for feelings
might not always be reachable,
I am rain oblivious to the impression I give,
an echo
bursting into the shades of urban life,
play for me
because no matter how diverse the melody you and I’ll always
unite
in chorus.

 

Photo credits: Ian Dooley, Unsplash

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

Posted on Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Outside The Sky’s Etched In Wild Colours

Like the color yellow
indulge in the soft rays of twilight,
embrace healing,
breathe in the honey scent of double-early tulips,
sit back and relax
cradle a coffee mug,
return to the glossy pages of a magazine
we have managed to reach the end of April
and the mind
as we know it is completely saturated,
rewind, reboot, recharge
savour the taste of brown butter pecan bourbon ice-cream,
the melody
of a Poet’s muse is similar to an Artist’s brush stroke,
to the flickering fate of fireflies,
inhale every detail of your surroundings, the atmosphere
and before you know it,
a poem will emerge sweet as consummating souls
kissing passionately,
I have learned with time that in order to write on diligently,
one must learn to remove all trace of doubt,
trust their instinct and simply let go.

 

Photo credits: Ben Kolde, Unsplash

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

A Poet Paints A Bowl Of Salad

Poem inspired by William Carlos Williams poetic masterpiece, “This Is Just To Say.”

I have tossed strawberries,
rinsed romain lettuce
and torn them into bite size pieces for good measure,
I have topped the bowl
with a generous sprinkling of fresh mint
emerald green in appearance,
I know you prefer raspberry vinegar
so, I went to the market and bought a bottle in advance
along with blueberries
arresting as the April sky, now all that’s left
is feta cheese
without which the salad would be incomplete.
Forgive me
I am rather embarrassed that I didn’t save you any,
it was heavenly.

 

 

Image courtesy: Scrambled Chefs

The salad is just one of the delicacies by my sister ❤️
Like it? Check out more recipes by clicking on the link above.

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads