The stream (all workshops)
SERRAGLIO
all the noise of living
settles to a whisper
riding sultry breezes
of black satin nights.
perfumed silk curtains
dance around the room
on ocean waves
Murmurs of the day
still lingering in dark alleys
fade away
into Night’s oblivion
your poem also touched me
though I loved my mom
we were never too close,
so I too left at 15
then returned with a blessing,
as all her favourite ones
had ditched,
I alone was left
beside
Since then I have composed
moms’ poems
for so many
an irreplaceable being
not a thing…
moms live forever
in hearts of all
not necessarily to be
a mommy’s child may be
but love of moms is eternal
truly we all miss them
till our own life's end
when my thoughts
drown in debts
and doubts,
too great to count.
when my ills look more,
and endlessly mount,
I take a few moments,
to count the blessings I have,
and find,
they are uncountable too.
performing rhythmic, circled dance each night
respective diamonds all contribute spark
and shine there, each displaying perfect light
within the deep obscurity of dark
while splendour up above, my eyes behold
nocturnal intuition calms the air
wafts softly and I, somehow, am consoled
the glow that lived in eyes abides yet somewhere
when comes the day, they seem to disappear
as potent rays of reason slowly creep
but even so I find I hold no fear
they’ll all return when Sol’s, again, asleep
I didn’t have to let you know who I truly am
I can pretend I don’t care if you laugh at me
I hate being alone is something I don’t admit
See I pretend to keep my face like stone
Truly I search day and night to be happy
My pretty invisible mask lets me hide
From the world keeping all my secrets
It is always the same this feeling
That way there is not regret
But today I make this clear
And I say I am here
Right over here
I AM HERE
Do you see me now
Secreted in a padded cell
Inside silently yells
his secrets he won't tell
there goes the medicine bell
She walks filled with nerves
at every sound she swerves
her bravery he deserves
his medicine she serves
As usual he's at the hatch waiting
his demeanour she's contemplating
the system she's hating
no help for him grating
They only want to keep him quiet
so they can sleep well at night
they don't want to hear his plight
or what makes him such a sorry sight
PORCELAIN SKY
In fragile dress,
where trees like ballet dancers
stress,
decked in beaten cream
and lace,
twigged skeletons.
No green to see
one black crow against
the milky cloud,
his voice the only note
on day's new score.
It is as if
when venturing out
to step in frozen wet,
the scene will shatter in
a thousand stars,
a happening, effect.
A gentle rain kissed moment
The soft touch of a hand.
A whispered word you reach for
And hope to understand.
A sigh a smile that lingers
A lonely sad goodbye.
The instant that your out of sight
I pause to wonder why.
***
And then those words so special
The ones you sometimes say.
How often do we hear them said?
Then blindly cast away.
A moment then a minute
An hour then a day.
Then suddenly you realise
There’s nothing left to say.
***
Ink Heart Scribbles Not I...
I didn’t write this pencilled scribble,
no way, I’d say it’s part dribble.
To scratch on a piece of paper
with a pencil, the embarrassment,
to make your mark with a quill.
To me it’s ridiculous best admit it won’t work,
trying to write about love, don’t be a jerk .
Could not fall in love then picks up a pen,
tries to scribe stories about how he felt then.
Come on how did you feel when you
saw her first time, how dry was your
lips, did you hear a bell chime.
the sanctity of insanity is well revered
when common sense is badly used we fear
all that's strange and doesn't fit the norm
then fall backwards into ignorance
It's seldom that we find a place where
the sanctity of insanity is well revered
and when we do it is a special place
which absence would well be feared
When a neighbour speaks in tongues and sits
beside us with his words most strange
the sanctity of insanity is well revered
if we find it in ourselves
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