Letter composed on the corner of 26th Street

I have seen white blossoms
fall into the lake
regardless of political storm 
that surrounds it,
witnessed men build dreams
conscious 
of suspicion that destroys it.
This is not anywhere else 
but here
in our heart that we find conviction,
I won’t tell you 
because
you already know how to do it.

And when the night darkens, 
both moon and lovers go silent 
knowing
that art of pleasing won’t always solve
everything,
I won’t disclose
sheets soiled with regret
a water jug,
a magazine
and roses 
stripped of colour
in a hotel room
where opinions are muffled under covers.

This, I am writing to a friend
who on several occasions is caught by surprise,
we can not go back and start
from the beginning,

nor can we hope to undo grief
and change the person we were yesterday,
I won’t tell you how to feel
offer age old cures that only half believe
I won’t tell you
how to let go of buried thoughts
because
even the wind echoes what foolish sing
I won’t tell you how to go on
because
you are already doing a beautiful job of it.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United

 

& on the tuesday platform @ Real Toads

December, as hope enters softly

Winter,
the red fading slowly from petals
each day
and though foliage sleeps
a smile
forms upon despairing lips.
I used to believe
one could never be cheerful
while dealing with an uncertain future,
believed
before you stepped into my world
and instilled hope.

 

Photo credits: Kai Oberhauser, Unsplash 

Posted for ‘Quadrille #70’ @dVerse Pub 

And for Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads

Between the sun and cloud

A smile,
a dialogue
and gentle tap on the shoulder
is all we need
to unravel the pain
swirling in a smoke behind silent eyes.
I can feel words
watching,
wanting
and just waiting to spill out,
I can feel moments
which lie between the sun and cloud,
calling
for me to save a life.

 

#smalltalksaveslives to read full post click here

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for ‘Camera Flash 55’ @ Real Toads 

Also on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United 

Lavender Sky

Poem inspired by the title of Richard Wilbur’s poem, ‘Love calls us to the things of this world.’

This morning wasn’t grey 
rather
it was dipped into soothing lavender 
as silence 
is replaced by sounds of early traffic.
Carefully,
the white-heaven bound birds 
glide down 
bringing with them freshly baked hope,
as I manage
to pull myself out of bed.

Feeling 
then calls me to the things of this world
to madness
to chaos 
and to the dark intentions of disquiet,
my mind 
ponders over political salad dressing 
where vegetable bits
turn one against something as relevant 
as kosher salt;
is verity
merely a word lost in translation? 

I greet the day 
with fire in my soul 
and determination raging in my breast,
let there be a breeze of change
let tranquility ripen slowly,
in the midst of life we encounter death
come
let there be development of tenderness,
let us stare
into the eyes of time, the unthinkable
let the young, old and restless
step into the field, come
let us plough peace as our new principle.

 

Photo credits: Sunny Day by Joseph Zbukvic

Posted on Midweek Motif @ Poets United

Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Pub

Deep is the song that echoes on a winter night

Inspired by the poem “and the days are not full enough,” by Ezra Pound 

If ever the sky above is grey, and memory
along with wisteria
compels our understanding, then
it must be December.

Hardly 
do I await the rising sun
hardly
do I remember
the last time 
my heart had sung
when daily chores finish
and a welcoming
fire begins to burn,
what good is time 
that trembles at mere arrival of dusk?

At first you coalesce with guile 
plunging my soul
with yours 
deep into the abyss of lawlessness
and lust
if only I could persuade you
to catch hold 
of inner light,
of each moment
as it tiptoes around us
and flies–
You
with your bowl of perjury and 
world of lies, 
what good is time
when lips are sautéed with long despair?

And the days are not full enough
nor 
nights sufficient, beloved
mine
yet I sought to hear the voice of conscience
knowing
outside it’s dark and the snow

is falling. 

 

Photo credits: Annie Spratt, Unsplash

Posted for Weekend Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads

 

And Posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United