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

Desire, when autumn leaves drop in sudden gusts

Softly
my insides burn
upon the gradual unveiling of want,
its rough religion
which sought to recite itself
as a monologue
knowing that strength is depleted.

Your eyes
swiftly glance and thumb through
like a manuscript,
your hands
touch me in places unnameable
as though
aroused by the thought of corrupting
sweet innocence,
before you
I have never been so conscious of my own body
in my own clothes.

Come
align your soul,
come
align your raring senses
this path
you have set me on will make you redefine urge,
its erotic fragments.
I want to seize your throat
and pin you hard against the wall,
trace my tongue
and kiss along the edge of collarbone
until you give in
and thrust your manliness into my flower zone.

Crimson
is the colour of candour
that rushes to greet my flesh
and blood,
mine is the fire that conquers lust
devours
sootiness of debauchery until its effect
has worn out.
To the bemused corner of bearded lips
I smile
and plant a kiss,
knowing I had awoken something pure
and unfeigned
inside of you that will never sleep again.

 

Photo credits: My Pretty Pink Flower by Jindra Noewi

For Anmol’s Guest Prompt  🙂

Posted for ‘Poetics’ @ dVerse Poets Pub

And on ‘Tuesday Platform’ @ Real Toads

 

November 18th, notes for further study

Spoiling me
with the lightest brush of your lips,
a smile
a parting
and sweet disorder.
I reckon
you know what goes on inside my head
long after
your gaze leaves the room,
aware
that the last strawberry would taste
the best of all.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest 

Posted for ‘Quadrille #69’ @ dVerse Pub

And for Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads