Winds wind well while cold months, worn, weakened, get wound down;
Assailing coldness that has done a lot of wrongs,
Heralding spring, a season as bright as the Sun
As plants beam, flower, making us sing many songs…
Magical was this Sunset
By the Sea
As the art unfolded
Of the masterpiece
Sunset by the Sea at Twilight Time
As many times
That as l have witnessed
Sunsets and Sunrises
Living by the Sea;
Have l seen such
A torrid turbulence beset the evening
As mists swirled and leaves blew amok one cold night
While fearsome frosts gathered at the edge of the kingdom
Their assault by stealth to commence
Slowly forth by degrees they did creep
Under the cloak of darkness when all were abed
Thousand of whirling stars speckle the inscrutable blue curtain
graciously displaying a jubilant dance before the eyes of curious night owls,
accompanied by soul filled, hidden noises,
enveloped by the warm numbing scents of the vegetal creation.
The morning did beam when the sunlight flared,
Awakening worlds then asleep in men;
It made them alight from their homely den
While raging winds clavered, determined, dared.
The waters of the seas are stilled
And the serene moon
Casts its benign regard
Over the placid scene below
Upon the seascape entire
The crashing of the waves
Pummels the sandy beach
And blasts the granite rocks
As the spray swamps the realm
Here’s Pongal, a festival that celebrates the Sun’s glory, might
Observed well by Indians, its epicentre sure being south
In mainly a state that bears those who employ an old tongue to mouth
Their praises and plaudits to yon great and mighty Sun giving light.
As the brute winds merciless
Like a vast river at the realm do rush
For to pick off the feeble and the despairing
As trees and fences fall at the opening salvo
With faces blanched and by much dread afflicted
As to the ground from whence they came
They now far too soon do return
Beneath the impassive regard of the opal moon
Could you behold the setting ball of fire a while?
Could you discourse with each hill that’s adorned by snow?
The path we’re treading on will take us one more mile
So we may touch the clouds that move in that destined row.
Oh, when the sky does gain its charm and glow at night;
We’ll wander each lane that reflects the Moon’s light.
I oft wonder how the ball of light and fire not once reels;
Moving with a wondrous flair, the Sun hardly seems hoary.
Oh! Behold the skewing rays of our majestic Sun that wheels!
Continuous, the landscape coarse
and choked by urbanite decay,
I tried to sing but sounded hoarse;
a tuneless note of dank dismay,
ten thousand trampled daffodils
destroyed by deeds and dollar bills.
We all disappear into a marble crowd.
It’s a pity it has to be strait-laced.
Once our characters were declared out loud.
Now with a chisel symbols are traced
which give little or no clue to character
except to claim that our absence is a cause for grief,
that the life eternal is the victor
though elsewhere if that is your belief.
There’s not much to put the eye at ease
when we pass the abandoned garden;
tangles of string, planks and chicken wire,
a smother of snowdrops in late spring,
a quince tree with lichen, yellow fruit
rotting to brown then a winter black.
Is there a forgotten expression
in the language for which the bleak phrase
‘abandoned garden’ is not enough?
They’ll build a gas station in its place.
I’ll sit with you a while my dear
As I often do
Look across the water clear
Turbulent serenity, blue
I’ll sip a morning coffee with you
Watch the passers by
I’ll hold your time written hands
And watch the flocking birds fly
Peter nodded, then looked back out at the sea. I followed his gaze. Sunshine reflected off the surface of the water, mirroring brilliance. Waves rose and fell with roaring energy. It was scary, beautiful, and oh so wondrous. I needed to come here more often.
As the hour of dawn
Ever more imminent did draw
The lofty celestial expanse
Eschewed the tired robes of night
And discarded the redundant attire
They aver fourteen worlds exist, my friend.
Stories untold, unheard they narrate.
And I look at them with wonder;
To nothing much I relate.
Life never ends I hear;
And that there is fate.
I’ve though no fear,
spite or hate.