A flower of the midnight garden,
I am cocooned in dreams and lullabies.

My petals are words opening to the moon
(aching to be born) –

The solitude of night is home,
The silence is sweetness welling
anointing me with its perfume.

Here I am, a thought, a bud
waiting to be
beneath the vast expanse of galaxies.

I am mist that rises
when daybreak comes.


Ah, it’s been a while.

For DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Open Link Night.



Narcissus, hyacinth
snowdrops, tulips -
above the dirt
their little heads poke

Not to be outdone
the dandelions sprout
sure of themselves
they know their worth.

They fill the fields
carefree, unabashed
as bright as sunshine
stretch the golden flood -

a feast for the bees
food for the hungry
relief for the achy

petals to dye for
intoxicating liquor
bane of the lawnmower

a harbinger of wishes
a torrent of sneezes
a child's sweet present -

dandelions and springtime
are one in my mind

beauty unfolding
in simplicity blooming

DVERSE POETS' Weeds Rule, OK? prompt


The hourglass had run out of sand

The attic had been emptied of memories -

Stillness rattles in my bones.

Deer frolic in the yard
turkey feast on the fruits of the vine
all their fear gone

The grass may now grow
seeds could now rise to the heavens
whenever and wherever they please

No more are the eyes watching the buttercup fill up with rain
No more are the hands anxiously tending the garden

The sundial waits in my shadow
as I, myself, am veiled with the shroud of night
My walls shiver at the grandfather clock
- tolling another mourning hour.


A lonesome bird sings the evensong
his frantic wings beating towards home.

I count my treasures in the dark
where suggestible senses hold little sway.

Moments tumbled through my fingers,
flickering shadows danced by candlelight.

Would that I could keep only joyful moments;
somehow laughter and tears look alike in the lens of time.

Could a rose be parted from her thorns
and still be one integrated whole?

This I know -
the sunflower that reigned supreme in summer
is the sunflower bowing her head to autumn

How sweet the night playing rain’s broken symphony -
I am where I should be.



In August, the rain takes a break and gallivants
all over the world, gathering vapor
to complete itself

the yellowed grass sometimes sways in the breeze
like a satellite checking out the weather

ah, poor Zinnia could only bow her head
praying earnestly for a drop of water

while I sit in the shade -
helpless -
while I am squeezed
of all bits of moisture

Sometimes the skies tease
with grey clouds and the rumble of thunder

hope, like hot air, rises
only to dry up -
forecast rain is all fake news

still the garden waits
with baked earth and fat zucchini for her honored guest
A tongue-in-cheek piece inspired by DVERSE POETS' Poetics Prompt - Sometimes August Isn't Recognized - and linked with Open Link Night



Your name was carved in my heart
Long before I fell in love

Its sound rolled as velvet in my tongue
Its form gave art to my hand.

And yet, and yet no one knew
About this spell that turns my day
From gloom to magic in a breath

This secret I buried, deep within,
Lest thoughtless ears spirit it away
Leaving myself exposed
To heartbreak and disdain.

How long can passion be suppressed
Until its steam rises to the surface and overflows
My lips shaped the contours of your name
and engraved them  in the air

that wherever the wind blows

my love will be there.


smurf copy

The days become a giant clock and I,
its moving hand, marking the hour
remembering the time, the same as
what is gone, the same
as what is to come. Days, hours
minutes fold into each other

indistinguishable. Perhaps, it is
all a trick of the mind – the walls
preserve life, the walls take away
life. Outside is as far as an arm stretched out
of the window, so within reach, so out of reach
are all those things I took for granted

in my solitude, everything has meaning
and everything means nothing.
Life seems a dream –
Am I awake or am I sleeping?


No more are the violins  playing
no more music float in the air
Silence is descending
and here I am.


Why do my hands have thorns instead of a song?
my shoulders sag in the weight of memory
Those what-could-have-beens -
If I only could set them in a tune -
could be real
Set into song

Too many doors open
the melody gets lost in the illusions.
Clouds gather, lights fade out
The plaintive voice of night enchants
these shiftless thoughts
and leave them lonelier than before.


Just a random poem written on a rather lazy afternoon.


Between 2 Trees 2


Dahlias stand upright against Autumn skies
long after the sunflowers have fallen;
Flowers have turned to fruits,
empty spaces grow in the garden.


Flowered teapots speak of happy days,
sit pretty in the cupboards
waiting for the day
steeped in friendship and reminiscence.


Voiceless faces roam the wilderness
drowning in words, seeking truth
heavy hearts seek solace in a drifting leaf
their shadows disappear in the mist


weary feet trace the path of meditation
beneath the weight of silence
they go in circles
seeking answers to unknown questions


My heart blooms pink on this October morn
awash with blush in the horizon
The sun rises -
even when the night seemed endless.

Here’s hoping that this piece meets the bar with Dverse’s Poets’ Cadralor poetry form prompt.