On the Pedlar’s Street, there was a pedestalmade out of funny, crooked stone,upon which, stood a bent man’s sculpture-his solemn look quite chilling to the bone.The inscription said he was the first to sellaround those parts, his peddled wares;that he died both hungry and miserable,and with a great many cares...One night, as th' merchants packed… Continue reading The Soul Inside The Statue
Month: June 2025
O GARDENER!
Dear reader, Shelley once wrote, “I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed.” For years, I felt this way too and ended up wallowing in my sorrow. Questions of ‘Why me?’ haunted the dark corners of my mind and kept me from vacating this state for good. It was only in time that the… Continue reading O GARDENER!
Sweet, seductive Sorrow
Sweet, seductive Sorrow, your ivy leaves climb slowly upon me... Intoxicated and charmed I float higher, teasing you to catch up... and you always do. A world of dark mesh, withering red petals, and bold, unrelenting thorns; I wither too, then, fain, into your arms; that my teardrops may touch you in the dewy, laced… Continue reading Sweet, seductive Sorrow
At Sea
Yet, there is a part of me that wants to stop. To give in to the waters and become a stone-cold statue at the bottom of the ocean, but the fear of being one of those ghosts that wander the seas keeps me. Safely afraid. I’ve waded far, yes, but the blood is my own.
Rainy Moonbeam
...milky melancholy glances around, have the stars kept you waiting? Come down, sweet moon, descend in glowing strides, I’ll stay awake with you... forget the stars and tides!
The Mountain Dweller
A true archeress-her shot never missed the marknor fought the unarmedUntil, she met her challenge...in eyes that had her disarmed ©
Chocolate tin-box
Chocolate tin box I spotted one morn ‘fore leaving home. Chocolate tin box, beaming with a halo, angel choirs as background. Unwrapping leaves of gold at the day's end... Oh it's heaven in my mouth
Nārāyaṇī
'Sita in Ashoka Grove' It was called Ashok-the grove of no sorrows...where, she, held by forcedwindled 'tween gloomand the faithful hopeof rescue by her LordSay, O, Tree, she spokein a dusked, despairing hourTo thy name be truelend me a branching handthat my hair may as rope free me in soul, if not in formAs winds,… Continue reading Nārāyaṇī
Poets: But there was a time…
A stranger born in the debris of this turn I step out o' Autumn, to a blank, June sun
An eventide in June
Oh, June, you come with such atrocity and rage and flame and burn all day- yet, spent, you are the epitome of the secret silences that moved my poets
Ishaisms 
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