Surge now and again

A sufferer of emotion
a fluid surge
yearning for an escape
a churn
that rides up
along the tail

vent, emptied
I lie hollow
left alone
only to pick
pieces of a wreck

no I can’t move
away from the
fiery shore
a wreath bountiful
tied to my being


penance for truth

The ‘rightful’ thing to do
I m aware
of choices on spur,
for duress’ sake

A retreat from ‘truth’
to seek shelter under
The truth that I see

The understanding is fleeting
transient feelings pushing it to heights
so big that it challenges reality

I relent and flow onto
further with the truth of the moment

the ‘rightful’ far left behind
for the gust of the whim is strong
the truth of the moment
dwarfs the rule, the exception
the rightful, and its ties

the moment, the life
owned by now,

years of the past
surmised by a moment
into now
of a prick precipice

– penance to severance
pain a sign of decay, gives way to the new a fresh beginning. At times, though, the scars do not go away

listening to Nee Nenaindal while I write this. I do not understand the words but it sets a reflective mood.

the downward swing

Long lost in the woods

the stream bicker away

Smoothing stones and

glistening leaves

wither they go on under earth way

Sprinkle from a cloud be

or the steady sun on me

This is all there is whenever

the beast and the prey meet

Feign it or reflect it right

remind me you would

of the cheerful life lived bright


for the reverence of life
i worshipped thee
bearing the pious seed
of the moments you breathe

i thought of life
as a stream of choices
but you have me covering
under the confused voices

you falter to cover
the bleeding incondite hanging off me
alone, down i hide, numb
from the truth i am scared to see

why do i seek
my peace hither in random faces
how i still sense it around
only to hit wrong places