Hudson upon the Hudson

Giant barge sliding by,

Leafless trees bid spring,

An ungloomy farewell. IMG_1101

Winter reflects its glacial face,

In the Hudson,

IMG_1100A Gull rides stilted,

its slowness,

Even as the river displays

Fractions of gray sky,

Lazy waters scroll by.

A mother, her daughter,

Observe, smile, giggle,

Contrasting the solemn geography.

Selfies feigning to mimic,

True photography.


A row of crows lined up,

On an old forgotten

Bungalow’s rooftop.


Torrential rains, dripping chimneys,

The duo’s cosy airbnb,

Gazebos galore,

Church steeples of lore,

Grass both green and brown. IMG_1088.jpg

A discreet native pub,

Sizzlers with Beer,

Surprises with local cheer.


Hudson by the Hudson

Displays stillness in winter,

A perfect getaway,

The routine splinter,

An imagery’s mosaic,

Drawing a collage eclectic,

Befitting the holiday album.



It’s overrated, said a friend,

I do what I do,

When I want to.

No one cares if I live or die,

So honestly, tie me down if you will,

I’m ready for the kill.

Bring it on – I’m dependable,

Nigh ready to sell my soul,

For bondage.

It’s highly addictive,

Said another,

I can’t be bothered,

Trying to be this or that,

Get tied down to a city rat.

Making babies, changing diapers.

Leave me be to tread my own,

Even alone.

I’m addicted- to my freedom.
It’s what it is, for the haves

And the have-nots,

I love my freedom, I love it not.

The sun’s free to rise, to set,

The waves on the moon do rest,

Is the flower free to bloom when it will?

Is the body free to move at will?

The chains of freedom present

A weave of a choice heavy,

Responsibility, culpability,

One way or another,

Add to that, answerability.
So free or not, it’s a choice,

Designed to conceal a hidden format.

Freedom’s overrated my friend,

It’s not a song, tis not a ramble,

Tis a melody all your own,

Intricate or simple, must you hone alone.

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes


An eye here, and an eye there,

A thousand eyes, an eye upon eye,

The mindful eye, observing,

Night's vision

Ingesting whispers,

Eschewing murmurs,

Slicing darkness,

Peeling the shroud,

Sweeping the dust-laden

Prairies of my soul.

The thousand-eyed night,

Undoes the concealed,

Spills every thrill.

No secret lies safe,

Unlocked, exposed, unraveled,

Interspaces of night and day.

Bright, lithe wanderers,

In & out, steadily about.

Yet daylight’s arrival,

Doth steals its march,

Thousand Eyes must rest at last.





A Cold Companion


Forlorn, solitary, empty.

Staring me down, as I sat there,

All my truths to bare.


Up early, today was the day,

A promise to myself made.

A belief aglow, if only I let it flow.

Doubt at my door, stands steadfast,

Unflinching, unasked.

My aching heart, tears cease not,

The pen calls out, as it aught.

Long awaited this morning slot.

Screen, cursor a-blinking,

an enticing corral,

My ruptured heart, craves its Zen.

Carpe Diem, my mind cries,

Seize the day, says the twitching hand.

Dams shatter, throbbing fingers twinge,

A deluge unhinge.

Processor processed, machine absorbs-

precious outpourings on blank white pages,

heartbeats morph, anguish depletes,

Raw clamors cease, mind now at ease.


That vast house there,

Why can it not be mine?

Said the besotted dame,

Whose villa stood tall, lawns, and halls,

Admired, esteemed, a complex being,

Housing an eternal need.


Ah that flowerbed!IMG_20180116_073435

Those Dahlias, those daisies,

Those pansies, and

Those pink Lilies,

Why can’t I be thus?

Asked the Desert Rose.



Me, said the Mongrel,

I’m king of this street,

An alley Cat spied he,

Shudder he did then,

With a quiet woof, bowed on all fours,

Envy sneaked down his tail,

Why can’t I be this Cat, he wailed.





I want, I want, I want,

Swaying, sashaying,

That figure, that face, that Line.

She starved, she binged,

Between these two states,

She did swing, lithe Modelina,

Envy ate her every nerve,

Lined her every swerve.


Here she lies,

Envy of every aspirant,

Joy meager, enemies eager,

To slay, to slaughter,

The lamb she was.

Here she lies,

Beyond Envy’s strife,

An epitaph is all

One earns in the after-life.









Throbbing, immense,

That voice thunders,

I quiver, I hide,

From the bane, recoil.

Bent double,

‘Tis Ego that winces, and cringes.

Has me in its hold.

They say, I am no good,

Loud, hammering, relentless,

Yet I rise, march on,

Head held high.

Ego sustains,

The spine, Ego upholds.


The child,

Abandons home, runs away,

Want more, says he,

It hurts, I bleed,

Askance – why me?

‘Tis the ego that moans,

‘Tis the wounded mother’s ego,

A weary, sublime echo.


The child revisits,

Foibles excused,

Humbled, now timorous.

Relieved love embraces.

Shaken, not forsaken,

Ego without its ism.



Friends stay, they go,

Places arrive, disappear,

There’s sea, there’s sand,

Rivers, their beds,

Iridescent valleys, mountains,

I ride them all, Ego rides along,

Stand by, on a night halt.

Rears its head, every once,

Held aloft, I dance.


Quiet when unneeded,

Restrained when unheeded,

When and where,

I learn, it watches,

I watch, it learns.

This Ego, is it me?

Or often, am I, Ego?

The Quarry – a SafeHouse


Return my love, he pleads.

Tis dark and damp, a Safe House.IMG_20171227_154445

O that summon again-

Perfumed mask, unholy armpits,

Bohemian stubble, vagrant deviant,

Heavens explode,

Drizzling light into this chasm.

Must I stumble, forage,

Somehow graze?

This is my safe house,

This sombre quarry.

A stone heart embittered,

Fears love, its myriad forms.

A Safe house, pity disarmed.

Where it rests sans hope,

No notion of a future,

No past, no forecast.

Let me be, I barely am.

Leeching blood, quarried.

Leaven me when a fossil,

A Specimen, a study docile,

A prize unearthed.