Gaia’s Memoirs No.17
Ripples in the sand
In iambic pentameter.
A mindscape steak
on suburbia’s grill
concrete elements fuse
but no juices flow.
Gaia’s Memoirs No.16
Selene, moves me to write
Poetry in sand.
Gaia’s Memoirs No.15
When you’re gone, I freeze.
To see the swallows return,
Gives me butterflies…
Gaia’s Memoirs No.14
Time for a shower.
Who needs Reckitt and Colman…
Interred within the soil of youthful prime
A willow seed lies sown in dormancy,
That with the daily watering of time
Grows old and dies, a withered, weeping tree.
And years are petals on the bud of life
That when she blossoms unfold to display
A sapless flower; her petals, passed and rife,
Hang virtueless, bereft of sweet bouquet.
Yet what possesses virtue, worth or reason
Save framed within this frail mortality?
Or whence derives one’s passion for the season
If not from this temporal symmetry?
And if in life I find a love to cherish,
Then I shall gladly live and love, and perish.
Gaia’s Memoirs No.11
Fell trees leaning East
In alliteration’s wind—
My poetry rhymes.
A Letter to Albert
Dear Albert, your resolve was well disposed
To conquer knowledge thitherto divine,
By which prophetic insight you disclosed
Deep secrets that our science could not define;
For only relative extrapolation
Can reconcile with objectivity,
Conflicting views—to give an illustration,
How time can march and fly, yet be a sea;
For while the poet’s verse portrays in reverie
Envisioning existence’s transpose,
Time flows and flies and marches the most verily
As visualized in your numeric prose;
For General Relativity decrees,
Time’s wings beat to the flow of marching seas!
The bottle, to the wine, is of small matter;
Can pewter not conserve as well as glass?
The wine will either disappoint or flatter,
Fine crystal makes cheap fare taste no less crass;
But when I pressed the rarest of my vinery
In your exquisite vessel to ferment,
My cup (befitting, gem-encrusted finery)
Brimmed acrimonious quaff to my lament!
For bitter is the cup served with deceit
When poured from cherished vessels of affection,
To penalize the heart’s naive conceit
And taint love’s sweet bouquet with rank deception.
By this, dear Catador, you are forewarned:
Keep fine reserves well-corked and unadorned!
A craftless ship afloat ill-tempered waters
With neither star nor compass to avail,
Blown on those wintry gales far from safe quarters,
Caught-fast upon a reef my yawl did flail;
For tempests of the heart will hard pursue
On passion’s tides that run love’s ocean deep,
Those ships of lovers seeking harbours new
In ports where love’s rare booty they would reap;
And wisdom’s compass is no guide for lovers,
Infatuation’s stars do but deceive,
To foil intrepid sailors, like all others,
And dash them on those ragged rocks to grieve.
Lament no more my barcarola triste,
For love is least where doleful tears persist!
Lone orb, that in imagination’s vision
Ploughs silver wake through cobalt seas on high,
Your solitude enkindles passion’s fission,
Love’s avatar eternal in the sky;
What ocean could contain those endless tears
Or valley ring the cries of sorrows torn,
Or tome contain the words of countless fears
Borne up to you on winds of sighs forlorn;
On every heart a sonnet you have written
And every heart in you has sought solace,
Though you can never cry for lover’s smitten
Too arid is your ancient dusty face;
Yet still you bear the scar of every trace,
Of wounds on tender hearts love’s scorn did chase.
The rabbit’s gaze,
On hawk that swoops to catch
A mouse. Poor rabbit thinks he’s safe,
Life in a Tree
Of willow sown
In soil of youthful prime
Is water’d by the rain of time,
Life in a Flower
Fresh bud of life
Each petal is a year
She blooms, and opens to reveal,
On throne of stone
You watch the hunt progress
Yes, let the she-lions do the work
Not so much tears
Touch-up that grin. Don’t smile
Stay on the ball—don’t spoil the show