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.

 

 

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I Want to Be That Person

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I want to be that Person who

Is affected not,

By gale nor storm, thrills nor curse;

Aggrieved not by mislaid treasures,

Or an empty bag, devoid of coins.

I want to be that Soul,

Who sees wealth as but a means,

To see Peru or

The Great Barrier Reef,

To travel distant lands unseen.

Oh I so want to claim that Being,

Every merchant’s dream:

Gullible, wide-eyed, foolish,

Reasons not, easy to sway,

Quick to purchase, and cherish,

Most wares on display.

 

Knows she is not unique, 

Yet bearer of a force,

 Isolated from the feeble, 

That none can annul. 

 

That Presence who,

Is both ready, and startled,

When hurt, weeps-vulnerable, exposed,

Yet is neither defenseless nor weak.

And is so much more.

That whole person within,

Is who I seek. 

Missing Mother

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She sang out to me, that youthful mother,

Sweet melodies, ‘twas alchemy.

Bought me lollies, many dollies,

For laughter-filled playtimes.

She drove me here, she drove me there.

The parks were full of mothers like her.

The seesaws, those jungle gyms,

Abounded with little hymns such as me.

 

Those days, they were,

More presence than absence,

And moments, days, and years,

Dripping in youthful bounty,

Like two gladiators we rode them,

Striking friendship with

A million joys, a few fake tears.

 

Now rests but a muse,

A shadow reminder of missing mother,

An aging symphony, missing harmonies.

Her world is dark, its beauty all but gone,

More absence than presence,

And moments, days, and years,

Must be lived, with unknown fears,

Laboured breath, strange voices,

Streaming out of a robot box,

More familiar now than those that were,

Once deeply beloved.

 

The missing mother’s adrift,

In by-lanes of her own making,

I contend with the defaulter,

Straining, trembling,

I cremate the absentee.

 

 

 

 

 

Lost Childhood

IMG_5496I loved, and I birthed,

A child, a childhood.

The child, he is, forever I thought.

I dreamed, I sang, I breathed,

This child, he grew, and sang along.

He played, he cried, he hurt, he longed.

Then, from child to adolescent,

He stood, swaying hither, thither

A threshold of sorts, a line to be crossed.

The mother- a woman who saw,

A childhood aside cast,

Emerged a lad, whose strength lay,

Not in me, not the universe,

But a tempest that held his sway,

For himself he created a turbulent ocean,

Tossed here, tossed there,

Became the name of the game,

Preferred the rush, the high tides,

To a tranquil home, and gentle rides.

A lost childhood, an end I daresay,

To times that were sweet,

Innocent, blameless fair play.

Matters not, cause all childhood must stay,

Where they belong – so long.

Replaced with matters that shatter, yet

A need arises for order to sustain,

A future of memory that doesn’t stain,

This lost childhood.

Tozhi, the Turtle

 

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Refusing to let go, talons out on force,

Building bonds with friends galore,

Gold, Sword and Angel fish abound,

In the reaches of your fluid ground.

 

Sweet face upon the glass door,

You, ma turtle mate, are just a little off course,

Daily fare,  a mini ally needs small portions,

 

You scamper not, gentle wader you are,

A scintillating brown, in casual motion.

What more can I offer, instead,

But a cheerful face, one that contemplates,

Your comfort, your space, in this water-bed,

Providing a ledge, a throne for you to bask.

Layers of fresh air, sunlight, upon your casque.

You splash toward me,

Hoping for tasty bits, I disappoint I know,

But you need little much, just enough,

Overfed, my reach you would outgrow.

Bereft of you, sweet Tozhi, a life I’d deplore,

Stay, leave not for wider, faraway shores,

You’ll outlive me, future through,

I’ll have done right by you.

Aimless

What now? Aims I have none, routine nigh done

The nine to five, back & forth, kids, left none.

IMG_5468And what of her, my betrothed, only beloved,

A croup, a someone, an Other, far removed,

Strangers, we live on, under one roof.

What must I think now, action-inaction,

The days ahead, whither now?

I roam, chamber to chamber, lantern in hand,

Is this my crossroad, or a crossing mere?

Strange are these paths, known unknown,

Straight, long, narrow and square.

While I re-search a semblance of sanity,

There sits she, upright, soaking in my light,

Who is this? Who am i? O what a strange plight.

An aim, a goal must I find.

Even a shadow of grace, to end this phase.

My grief to dust grind, seek my place.

A brief insanity – an aimless man,

even the Earth would ban.

 

Portrait

Grey saltshaker,

Peppery wisdom sprinkle,

Whisking away all sorrows,

Evoking  songs unique,

Waltzing jowl to cheek.

Wrinkly edges chronicled,

Gift-wrap recycled,

Two hairs on her chin,

Bind yesterday to the morrow.

 

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Mouth too large,

Twin lips smile, awhile,

Barges on an endless sea.

Torch eyes that urge,

In vain search,

For that which isn’t,

For that which never was.

‘Tis half-mast now,

No crew, but then she knew,

To gather forces anew,

She must sleep sound,

all grace-bound,

Bedecked bamboo casket

A fine resting place.