Category Archives: poetry

Sinister Portents

sinister secrets of
menace foreboding,
unknown, in black night
threatening Continue reading →

Refuge and haven – this is why I write

There’s a secret place within
me, and long well I’ve known it.
A hidden, sheltered space where
light and shadow dance with my Muses.

Only here am I safe, if no Continue reading →

“Flights of Fancy & Plumes for Thought”

First, the inspiration for this poem:

I’ve held a lifelong love of birds. I’ve owned many (among my mother, sister, and me, we’ve had parakeets, lovebirds, cockatiels, an African grey, moluccan cockatoo, double-yellow naped Amazon, and a blue & gold Macaw), my grandfather used to feed and watch the birds around his house (binoculars and the Audubon’s field guide to north American birds (which I inherited) were never Continue reading →

“Yesterday”

I had somewhat of a mental “funk” day yesterday. I don’t realty know why I felt that way, but I just felt so heavy of heart and thought. It led to something good, though.

The final line of this poem, I saw….somewhere, I’m not sure exactly where I read it now. But it festered as I ruminated all night at work, and voilĂ ! It led to this:

“Yesterday”

Yesterday, I
succumbed to misery.
Entrapped by turmoil
of unknown vagary,
I escaped into slumber.
But I found only tainted repose,
dreams with torment embroiled.
Awake, I was yet cumbered
by nameless woes
which delighted my joy to defy.
But that was yesterday….

Moonlit summer night.

A haiku. I wrote this, well, thought it, on my drive to work just a few moments ago. Enjoy:

Moon shrouded by clouds
masking, enhancing beauty
on hot summer night

“Shame”

I lack the courage
To forsake this bondage
Confined by shame
Myself to blame

Scars I won’t expose
Once my pain’s ambrose
Now life’s great inhibitor
Leaving me embittered

Tweet from Poets House (@poetshouse)

Poets House (@poetshouse) tweeted at 0:01 PM on Sat, May 04, 2013: Today is a trumpet to set the hounds baying. / The past is a fox the hunters are flaying. ~Campbell McGrath (https://twitter.com/poetshouse/status/330713908753076225) What a great quote! I had to share it.

“Innocence & Childhood: Reflection & Longing”

Every year I live, growing
older, realizing what I
have yet to learn, recalling
earlier years with fondness:

I miss the innocence of
childhood, I long for the
summers of my youth….

Long-lasting days were filled
with tree-climbing, friends,
and riding our bikes.
Strenuous games of tag,
rounds of epic hide an’ seek.
Creating stories to play
out with our toys: Pound Puppies,
My Little Ponies, Beanie Babies….
Hours lost in play without a care.

Warm summer nights, no
rules, sleepovers and staying up late.
Gathering with our families around
giant, crackling bonfires,
making s’mores til midnight,
filling jars with lightning bugs.

Simple pleasures fueling
childhood joy.
Reality was whatever we wanted.
Life was full and happy;
we were indomitable.
In childhood, we dreamed of bright
futures and where we would go,
the dreams we would reach….

Only twenty years later, and
I barely recognize my reflection.
Happiness and innocence
bowed to tragedy and
responsibility even as
childhood yielded to adulthood.

Long since, my hair began to
grey, calluses formed (both
figurative and literal).
Now fine lines make their
entrance, mirroring those
of heart and soul upon
face and hands.

Such is the wear and
tear of life upon this state of
humanity, of time upon
mortality.

Responsibilities now weigh as
age keeps encroaching.
In adulthood, I remember the
joy of innocence, yearning to
return to a time, a place,
where dreams could come true.
Reality proved harsh and
unexpected; life
is mundane,
and I feel
empty

Note: Lack of ending punctuation is intentional.

Far from my best, but this has wanted out these past several days that I’ve been wallowing in the mire of my funk.

NaPoWriMo: Day 28 –

Yet again, nothing too exciting. Obviously, my head is nowhere pleasant. Sorry. [UPDATE/EDIT] This was supposed to be a “shadorma” (which i originally spelled w an “n”). But i obviously forgot the syllable counts when i began to write. The second lines should be five syllables, not four. Apologies.

I don’t want
to feel like this
anymore.
Back to bed,
let the darkness win again
the fight for my head.

Everything
just seems to be
so futile.
Why bother?
Too much effort when none of
it even matters.

NaPoWriMo Day 27!

Nothing stupendous:

Making the required
responses, and
going through expected
motions.
Tasks are performed by
rote, dutifully as the
ticking of a timepiece.
When did life become
so mundane,
mechanical?