Lost

Lost

The silent thoughts of a heavy heart

The sadness, as if greater than the weight of the earth

Tamed to follow logic

Lost among the clouds of right and wrong

Forces undeniable tearing at both ends

Killing the life out of every living cell

Besieged by an ever growing silence

Like the clouds moving through the skies, windless

In deep sympathy I lay

Forgetting everything I said and feared to say

The life forms unimaginable

With beauty and callousness beyond comprehension

The sorrow that I cannot express

For fear that it might leave my heart

The sound of thunder I do hear

No denying the outcome

Little pebbles under the water

Expressions lost among the sound of the stream

The heart a magical metamorphosis of emotions

Beating a constant rhythm

Distance thunder yet so near

The leaves of autumn

I wrote this poem on the way to Paris from Boston.  It had been brewing in my mind for quite a while, maybe 2 or 3 weeks but finally found the words.

The leaves of autumn

The leaves of autumn past

Fell all around me

Brownish, yellowish, greenish, tinted

A season had come to pass

Nothing alive in its wake

                Or so it seems

The seasons pass away

Of sleeping and waking

And sleeping and waking

The leaves fall

Swept by the wind

New growth unnatural in beauty

Lasting an hour or so

                Or so it seems

We struggle to reach our destiny

The time passing in a chaotic rhythm

                Or so it seems

Little pieces of gold and silver

Laid in our path full of mud and muck

And more mud and muck

                Or so it seems

The why, the what, the how, the when and the where

Unite in the drudgery of our struggle

                Or so it seems

The struggle of birth,

The challenge of death,

And the agony of resurrection

Three concepts, foreign and unknown to us

Touted by some, mocked by others and still, as if never mentioned

Praises given to the struggle of birth,

And sorrow, deep sorrow given to death

But is the celebrated birth bigger than the feared death

                So it seems

Three passages,

Dark to light,

Light to dark

And then who knows

                Or so it seems

What we leave behind is a memory for a generation or two

Forgotten

Our graves buried deeper

For more graves to cover it

Making room for more dead

Is the challenge of death a seed planted for the agony of resurrection?

As some claim

Or a deep sleep non-existent, unnatural

Our folly leads us to our foolish path

                Or so it seems

All relative to some,

Yet absolute to others

                Or so it seems

The right made wrong

The wrong made right

With a signature of the pen

I did not break any laws

And who cares about morals

When we have laws

                Or so it seems

About morality,

He says

I have none

I follow the laws I enacted

And to morals I say be gone

                Or so it seems

The leaves of autumn fall around me

Brownish, yellowish, greenish, tinted

A season has come to pass

And I look forward to a new beginning

Haiku

I wrote this many years ago when I was in the seventh grade.  One of the few poems I found from back then.  A friend had a copy of the school's literary magazine which had this poem in it.

Haiku

Bulbs in the sky

And I

Walked in the dark

Poetry in Motion 2

This is a recent write, summer of 2014

Poetry in motion,

Imaginations

The mind wondered around the bend

The sound followed clear and monotonous

The image did not make it around the corner

Shielding its true self, showing only particles of light

The mind waited for the image

And growing tired, launched into image imagination

Day dreaming the possible and the impossible

Debating the good and the bad

The real image refused to come around

Governed by laws set in nature

The mind ever so bold

Created a new image, and forgot …

Potentilla

I wrote this many years ago after hiking Mount Washington and experiencing one of the worst storms during summer.  I think a tornado was reported on the mountain, which would be a rare event.  So this was probably in the 1980ies.

Potentilla

A top a mountain I sat, six thousand feet high

On the rocks, as I hung my clothes to dry,

I noticed a beautiful flower nearby

On it, sat a colorful butterfly

It was early in the day

It was spring in late May

I climbed the biggest rock I could find

There was a view that would never leave my mind

On the right, the ravine was steep

In front, was the ridge, that in my mind I would keep

On the left, lay the valley, green and deep

Down the ravine I looked, and smiled with delight

I could be a great eagle in flight

Long I looked, and I was awed by the sight.

The ridge ran mile after mile

It reminded me of the lengthy Nile

Slender and long it stretched with style

The valley was watery and green

A gushing stream ran in between

Such beauty I had never seen

Slowly I sat down and lowered my head

Long ago myself I should have fed

It was noon and the sun was high

Blue as the sea was the clear sky

On a dry piece of bread I chewed

I looked down and I was amused

There, a colony of ants I viewed

They were all for some reason queued.

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Rested and strong I got up on my feet,

Packed my clothes nice and neat

There was the flower exposed to the heat

The butterfly, had left its majestic seat

The sky turned dark and gray

On the mountain side the heavy clouds lay

Beside a rock I had to huddle

Under my feet was already a puddle...

The cold I could no longer bear

In my ears the wind I could hear

The lightning, it was so very near

I wrapped my clothes and my body shivered

Around me the fresh grass had withered

From the wind I tried to hide

It came to me from every side

In my place I did abide

The lightning was strong and bright

I was scared by the flashing light

It turned darkness into daylight

The elements of nature kept me in fear

But with patience the storm I did bear

The sky cleared slowly

The ridge I could see barely

Against the rock I huddled and prayed

Many times my chances of survival I weighed

For a long time there I laid

Finally, the rock goodbye I bade.

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I got up feeling cold and weary

Of the mountain I was afraid and leery

There was the flower, rooted, but looking dreary

The butterfly had flown to a greener prairie

The sky was crawling with the night

The storm had let up, and gave up the fight

I edged my way down the trail

My legs felt cold and frail

My body was wet and weak

The ground with water did leak

The night on the day was about to peak

The storm made me feel small and humbled

Slowly down the path I stumbled

To balance myself, for rocks my hands fumbled

The ground was wet and felt like clay

Many times as I stepped, it gave way

But I trudged on without delay

The night slowly planted its seed

On the day it started to feed

I could see it grow with speed

I reached the bottom of the trail

Feeling small, weak, and frail

But the mountain power I had tamed

And some sort of confidence I had gained

Like the flower, rooted I wanted to be

But stronger, maybe like a tree

How clearly I could see

Like the butterfly, roaming I would be