shifting with the winds

when he summoned the ghosts
he never expected to find his own mother 
in that mist of shadows shifting with the wind 
which came out of nowhere. 
he reached out, 
shaking as he silently cried, 
to embrace that ghost, 
but he found no flesh nor blood nor bone, ‘
closing his eyes he swam back in timeand reached his home
in his mind, he saw his mother 
thinking how she once she gathered her purse,
looked around, but did not see him. 
she sobbed and cried, where are you, my son?


“son and mother, lost from each other, unaware who is the ghost”

glittering gloom

on a gloomy and windy day
I need an apprentice
(for what you may ask)
someone has to
paint stars in to the gloom, 
fill it with glitters;
rewind the wind
to let it flow above
so as to reach the sky
and make it peerless

“I will towel the ground,
let that stranger watch me,
little knowing he is my apprentice”

inferno

I was calm
amidst the hissing sound
“pardon me,” said Tom T. Urkee,
my nearest neighbor,
“I could only save this journal.”
“thanks, that is all I need,”
I said.

claustrophobia

the train enters that tunnel
I expect it to grab me
my ears ring with muffled sound

in dimmed light
shadows become apparitions when
the train enters that tunnel

coldness seeps into me
inaudible movement scares me
I expect it to grab me

daylight becomes night
each sound resonates
my ears ring with muffled sound
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Cascade Poem is like this:
1st Stanza: line 1, line 2, line 3
2nd Stanza: line a, line b, repeat line 1
3rd Stanza: line c, line d, repeat line 2
4th Stanza: line e, line f, repeat line 3

intriguing walls

at midnight, I hear
a latch fall open
in an attic closet, and then
a profound silence
dark stucco of low clouds
clutch the sky
a branch falls into the street.
a snail travels up a tree-
a long happy journey.
a little water drips with delight
from a tap in the park nearby
I look at the changing walls
stories hidden there intrigue me

“reflections of such proportions 
are more important than sleep”

foregone and forgotten

night hour makes a mockery
of forgotten wisdom
resident death within life
is an ancient inevitability
(we forget that in the quest of immortality)
I pour divine wine
into a receptacle of floating waves
know this…. 
In my younger and more vulnerable years
I also gave my blood
which mingled with the earth

“violet of violence somehow fills the void”

echoing parenthesis

parenthesis meets its match
in apostrophe
I listen to echoes. 

after a drab October, 
the early November sunshine 
cast golden rays on comma

another absurdity

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