Poetry

  Halt thy ascent on the granite sky Stem thy hand shooing the sun Let the crimson of my wounds Bleed more on the far horizon Let it seep on into the sunset For my heart keens.   In the darkness of the eventide Leave me be, let me be …

In the bustling ado of my life, chaos reigns The ambling morn picks up pace, it trots by, Often meshing into a rushed afternoon. That too brings no respite, no succor; it spills Forth into the twilight of the dusky evening And then night descends, veiling my efforts. Try as …

The night lifts its veil and like a new bride The morning peeks from the horizon Holding promises of hope. Shy and timid, it decks itself up in hues of Red, gold and orange ochre, splashed With the merest of yellow. Image – Federico Respini via unsplash

A missive to you my love, from a shore far Let it travel on the water, under the lit star Ah! Be still my mourning heart, shush! Heal Even though time and fate did our love seal.   I pine evermore for you, in the long eventide I often seek, …

  he placed a single rose, a pink blossom, on the swing where they used to meet, hold hands back when the days were carefree, gay and filled with friendship and laughter. Their love was platonic, innocent just like the free wind and the butterflies but alas! what seemed was …

  I am done being who you want me to be I am done seeing what you want me to see I am done doing what you want me to do I am done with regrets so I no longer rue!   I am done agreeing to everything you say …

It is the eyes that give her away In them are the shadows that seem to haunt In them is a masked pain, a veil that descends Yes, her eyes give her away   Behind the smile that captivates Her eyes hold mysteries that are unfathomable Her eyes delve into …

I will survive, like I always do… I’m down and out but still about My silent wounds still do shout My energy is sapped but will lives I may be tired yet ask, ‘what gives?’ In adverse tides, I learned to lay low In kinder instances, I learned to grow …

On A rain sodden morn Under stormy overcast grey skies the winds are ominous, moaning, yelping, and shrieking their path through the statuesque pines howling and unleashing their onslaught Image – Will Swann via unsplash This poem has been written in a reverse nonet format. A nonet is a relatively …

  If I speak now, would you hear me? Would you really listen, cock an ear And put down your paper, turn to me And ask, ‘what is it? I’m all ears.’ If I speak now, would you look at me? Would you look at me, raise an eyebrow Smile …