the road

it hurts to traverse that road
in my mind's eye
it is a straight path
but your machinations stop me
I find pieces of glass embedded under my shoes
left all alone in that labyrinth
I need a knife to cut the path

"why do my boots stop me
from following what my heart desires?"

escape

under that tree I kept it hidden
the sheen of your sweat
which had flowed for me in desire.
who dug it out,
along with my sensuality
which I had  packed inside a bubble?
the air evokes you for me,
moving in a lumber way-
now it blows too fast
leaving a wreck behind.

"I will again create a bridge and reach out for you"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Writing another keepsake poem was tough. I don't think I succeeded. Thanks We Write Poem for using my prompt for this week

encircle

a story
I scatter in the wind
I know it will scald
shards will pierce into the ashen urges
but I curb my instinct to run
ignore the whispering sisters
who have the knack to create trouble
when the mind is fertile
I know how to charm out a story
from the debris.
anything is possible
I uncurl and walk free

"a non-smile is harbinger of smile,
don't we know that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Today I struggled to write this. My muse seems to have gone into hiding. I have not been able to write. Come to think of it, I don't want to do ANYTHING! Hope I get over this phase soon enough.

chequered windows

thousands of aeon have passed

I grope the air

thatched huts are just beyond that gate

forgotten splotchy hearth reminds me of

my fluttering heart in a rain laden day

a flash of iridescent stones blinds me

I run out of the gate

breathing into cold air

he watches me from above

I detest that condescending look on his face

"rebuild my a pedestal, I will look down upon you"

frustrating frustum

I see the atmosphere spiral down

the cut shell makes a naughty sound

wonderful tactic to distract me

that rotation is not the zenith

even though I know its importance

what lay on that deserted ground?

why did you look so forlorn

lying with your feet crossed at the ankles;

nonchalance that reached out to my soul

I wanted to hold on to the slices;

to focus onto the unrelenting elements

"the point is broken, I hold the frustum

staring into an unforeseen future"

misty fog

River, Marina Moevs, 2005

I walk in the misty fog

the dust under my feet speaks to me

a tale of mirrored magic

hidden in the mystical fog

pebbles pave the way

branches kiss the sky

bending to the will of the earth

I pick the dust caress it carefully

smiling at its tale

I box it under a tree

the leaves hide me from the magic

in the opaque angles of light

I raise my head

feel an auspicious sign

look up to the sky

see it lined with gold

"I search for solid mass, but find vacuumed dreams"

drifting words

I put the final stitches to that patch

yarn was coming apart

my plum sweater was a gift from the past

the letters had stopped coming

I had not expected the drift

I shovelled that sense of loss

and let the wind stop my thoughts

shouldn't I have spun a tale for friends

change the old to new?

"an image that forms behind the eyes
how do I explain dancing words?"