Wednesday, July 8, 2015

An hour on "Robert Frost Trail".


Tepid madness of life expressed
Squalls for me and thing suppressed
I trembled on each step I took
To stand where the poet stood.

On untouched turf he oft rode
For rhymes in spoors and every nest
Many with endearing hearts appear
As flames within the breadloaf disappear.

Wayside along the winding roads
A thread of Frost, a scribbled trail
Which rode amid the hearts and words
As spirited horses in autumn woods.

Through rusting leaves an hour spent
Chuckles of gnomes hushed in breeze
While riotous cicadas on crickets rode
The spell of this wayside shrine.  

Winged dreams from a poetic crest
Will always find a branch to rest
The Road not taken poignant though
Stood speechless on a paths so known.

Only an untouched forest does know
Its way to shine in limericks though
New born leaves with a dream so new
Was caught in age old poesy though.

What if I walked the forest breeze
Into the woods with broken trees
Will rhymes of breaths weave a trail
Though winters cover it with snow.

~ A





Sunday, June 21, 2015

be a companion in my mind...

Come
And be a companion
In my mind
For the nights are listless
And the days do not leave
Memories in a name
To which I belong.

Come
And be a companion
In my mind
For my body only obeys
Nature's instinct imbued
In the trenches o' my heart
For me to war or follow.

Come
And be in unity
In my anonymity
For names stir expectation
And the cycle of Love is drawn
To destinations all known
Pain peace and solitude.

Come
And let your youth ascertain
The demeanor of my age
My path into silent times
And a caducity where
Passions free forever flee
To many breaths.

Come
And let's shine for no reason
for stars cover the helpless night
Beyond the beings forever.
~ A.






Friday, June 19, 2015

The REAL me....

The Real ME...

I am not, the Complete me,
The Truth of me is past,
Firmed in the Breeze,
Chiding clock's stutter, 
And the Real is yet to be.
But am told the Real you,
Is drifting in the passing too.
Layers of  time, 
In chambers of certitude contain
An incognito in the present
Decoy of past and Yet to be.
~ A



Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Bench Press

Brash gust of music
on languid mornings pour
chiseling somnolent breaths to a sigh.

Eyes closed
grips awake to your touch.
Hoary memories
in tense calculated controlled
pectoralis excitement reside.

I feel you through your cold seams
your sheen
fine crafted metallic sleepy cold.

Clasps firm on the holds
the carnal within
awakens to a hold- a press and a lift.

You are racked again
probably ready for another try.

But I am done
glistening in sweat
I heave a sight.

~ A