gravity rolls around defying physics

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

in the bleak darkness dandelions seem so nebulous
the clouds hover to take away the light
such a vision for someone who is watching from up above

opaque sun is blazing over that mindless thought
lighthouse is not cut out for cheery vegetation
such a perfect timing for the ship to approach

particles hover only to crush the spirit
torch is useless to dig out the weeds underneath the slab
why do I waste my breath over it all?

random flow of the matter within the mind
may not be popular with the crowd
but the lined cloud's moves make it up for a wonderful visual

"open the windows, let the gravity move in"

chants fill the mind rolling down to the heart

Old Couple: photo by Togan Gokbakar 

do they wish to rekindle 
to get that spark back
to get back to that vow made long ago
life now is such a drone
chants are circling around them like a halo

the blinding sun is also binding
they hide in that cave
they do not hold hold hands
but the fist in the crook of her hand
fills all the space in his heart

he knows he cannot be broken 
as long as she is there
he stares at us expressionlessly
challenging us silently
I retreat, let them be

"the music will play on and on for them both, 
as long as they have each other"

ocean within the mind

as if eternally etched there, constant is but
moving around, breaking into serrated edges
of the brain, vastness of those thoughts just

about turn around, hitting at the wedges
of time already passed, nonetheless effect
the convoluted shells in the mind’s ledge-

each crevice fills leaving no space. reflects
of the cogitation left behind, still have power
to mar. conquering the mind does not affect

the spirit, as untamed as it can be, towers
over, looking down with disdain at weakness
of consciousness. bottomless psyche showers

more of intellect, energizing the body. bleakness
disappears, like anything dropped into the ocean
is accepted, returned in some other way, uniqueness

retained yet different. slightest of change within, 
understanding with wisdom to be calmly serene. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a pleasure to write a terza rima after a VERY long time.....

I would rather pick the clouds

Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt

I have to decipher 
the thousands of messages 
hidden in the thunderous clouds

no window dressing 
can hide from me 
the soup of knowledge

I have to be in the front 
when the clouds spit it all out 
pulsing with their importance 

I plan to turn on all my charm 
and collect it all in a red dish

"such fuzzy words evoke no feelings

or do they?"

Only a small party

illustration by Helen Ward 

so transparent
those expressions on their thin faces
joyous now but harrowing a while back

it is so rare to see a newborn in their midst
it hit their marrows hard
no one ever made a guess
they would see such a day
now that they saw it
they want the grubs either in a soil
or in their heart deeply embedded forever
let me borrow the right sentiment
so that I can march towards them
and take an oath for their safety

yes, they will resist interference
but I will make sure that the resistant is liquid
where I will fry munchies for the grand party

in the naked glory, I forget myself

Monhegan's Schoolteacher, 2004 by Jamie Wyeth 

a lifetime spent in the books
sometimes I forget myself
the shock you feel looking at me reading, 
on that bed, naked, while I dry my hair--
only increases my resilience

I thrive in the words of that book
which has taken me to a world filled with infidels 
who bomb the city at their whim. 
I struggle to understand their promise 
to something beyond humanity. 

a land which is not ours any more 
yet a shelter for a shortwhile
until I harden myself and go out 
to be shipped to an unknown place
where I will lie down spent bereft of my books

"wake up, all of you, before twilight strikes
and we all disappear into the night of ignorance"

patterns don't free us

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin 

my words escaped from my thoughts
a few fell on ground
yet some spread their wings flying above the mountains
when they got tired
those word took a ride on the clouds
I waited for them with you on my side

freedom is what they coveted
who was I to curb it?
I also watched the words on the ground
playing gleefully, unaware of my smile at their pranks
the sentences they made worked fine for me
spiraling words from the clouds merged with the grounded ones

escaped words freed me too,
to bring order to a chaotic mind
you don't have to please me
let there be no apology
let me set you free, 
free to go where you desire

I will gather my words soon and you too
(I know that in my heart)
for now you need to go into the world
I see it in your stance, 
I read it in your eyes
because I have found your words

"in the moorings and bearings
our feet have to dance their fill"

paint me in many hues, not just black

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas 

can you hear her sing, O voyeur
or you searching for that smudge
which was made by your inquisitive fingers
each of her nerve ends stand activated
she stands stellar in her langour
delicious feelings permeates from her
you look at her unblinkingly
that urge to merge with her soul is your mantra now
it is not a broadway show
just a woman in love
wrapped in her inherent femininity 
aren't you glad, technology made your project easy
now you watch her from miles away
such beautiful unity of different entities

"sharp emotions will not get dull
may many summer come and go"




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 I am NOT an advocate for voyeurs. It can be interpreted in many ways. Negatives and positives balance out life. I wrote my first thoughts after seeing this painting. I may, yet, re-wite it. Sometimes we need to post our rough drafts. Read this with an open mind and let me know how you feel....

inside that bowl, I see the whole world

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka 

what powders I will find in the jars
the now dry petals are still so freshly scented
in my slumber I am lost to the world
stone is cold but my place is warm
that clutter calls out for order
no words are written on the walls
yet the spoons and ladles read the pit
give me a staff I will break the locks of the drawers
the moon may play a truant after dawn
I will then run after sunshine
seasoned flavors will never fail
it is never curtains for a cat

"alert in the walls, the couple watches 
while I ruminate my dominance"

parallel universe

Not to be Reproduced, 1937, René Magritte

yesterday disguised as you
receded across nothingness
that hidden wound stirred in mind
like abrasive sand in jar of time
forgotten moments
I bury those under a tree

no reflection can compare with this
energy particles collect within the mirror
you must hurry to follow it
before it recedes and congeals in a heap

"that book you see
I had lost it aeon ago
only to find on the other side of a mirror"