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wake to drizzle of light
a cold new year
suffused in mists
in distant thought

for all that I want
it melted like snow
on the blank dark face
of street
and joined the other
voices in the stream
singing to the lake

I saw the last year ghosts
mingling amongst tree hosts
gleaming on the limbs

how I loved this cool pause
these pools of puddles
alive in this thaw
thus begins anew
the awe

Editing stage: 


Outstanding! I would expect nothing less from you.

"If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed. " Ben Franklin

So glad your poetry is back, your use of imagery and vocabulary is perfection. As always.


Stand tall, be proud to be who you are, give the world the finger!!!!

Beautifully worded.

You have described the dawn of the New Year, and all the aspirations we have for it, so wonderfully.

I enjoyed this read.


P.S. Incidentally, this one reminded me of another wonderful poem I had read and commented on, on these pages just days before the site went down... that one was a description of dawn creeping up on the city. Dont recall WHO wrote that, but DO recall being very impressed by that too. Thank you for that memory too...

it is a nice experience to read the thoughts and perceptions of many here about bidding adieu to the year gone by and ushering a new one...liked yours too....ofcourse you are so very good at expressions...


raj (sublime_ocean)

Just a couple of days ago, Barry asked if you've returned. I see you have, brilliantly.

And you look well too.


I really liked the flow and subtle rhyme here................scribbler

we get all sorts of weather here
in Ontario Canada
it was drizzling rain
and the snow that had fallen
was like a mood
dissolving and turning into
rivulets collecting in the street
drains running down our long streets
They sound so beautiful when walking
they echo like an underground stream
which they are through the iron grates
running towards the plant and emptying
to the lake
I go listen to the creeks talking too
that beautiful calming voice

and the winds that catch in the trees
bring back memories like ghosts
and stir awake dreams when the house
is brushed with its intentful yearnings

water to me is alive the rain especially
I stare into puddles watching the rain
the patterns the relfections

I try to carry this into poetry

author comment

Bless Canada where
I dwelt in self ordained confinement
woke up each morn,
to the sun,
trying to peek in through the venetian blinds.

I felt like playing mischief,
closed my eyes,
till the sun was up
in the heavens,
only for a brief moment,

Suddenly, snow captured the sight of Canadians,
I rested still wanting to bask,
in the winter sun alas,

But the Almighty my desire did kill.
It helped me through
two years and a half,
to compose over 3500 poems,
the score seeks beyond poetic destiny,
now over seven thousand
Crack my head...

My critiques in disbelief,
as most consider me
an orphan of poetry ,
age not withstanding,
as none know me
the millions of sunrises
I had since seen…


sometimes the icy helios beside the sun
Sun-dogs they call them
brilliant like triple stars
of which our little sun is
Just warm enough
and cool enough
that we may live

and warms us with its healing
and ghosts us with light
beyond dusk in moon times

author comment
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