Life is…

empty when full
and full when empty.
Like the chaotic symphony
of the colorless cocoon
(no larger than a thimble)
unwinding into a mile long
silken yarn.

Waiting to be woven & inked
with jacquard pots of red & gold
into a scarf that bears artistic witness
to snowy wastelands of icicled mulberry trees.
Underneath which sits a fair maiden shy of her
own reflection in the bubbling brook, spinning delicate
sighs for her lover. And around her Chinese letters
rise up in air like prayer.

Later the same scarf tied around my neck
will get caught in the brooch of your breast
pocket and endure a tiny tear
as you pull away from
my embrace.

Leaving me to wonder how many miles
of unwinding, weaving and dyeing do I have to do,
before my life is fully empty of you?


Time passed, love Lost

Bora Bora 018

Memories haunt the troubled mind,
like Shamans performing a witch dance,
Or northern lights orchestrating their macabre dance;
in shades of red, yellow and green.

Siphoning a melody out of a wordless song lost in time,
Years later, words still hanging on the tip of the tongue unconsummated,
Email still sitting on the keyboard unsent,
So many rights easily undone by one misgiving.

Flights of fancy grapple with sensibilities,
Memory perfected to provide instant gratification,
Yet browsing a photo album of time passed,
Always turns a smile upside down,

Wasteful waking hours followed by
bursts of circadian rhythm offering a surreal vision
of reality in dreams or dream like reality,
What’s real and what’s absurd?

Memories rooted in the past,
Unearthed and replanted they perish fast,
Where language fails, eyes speak volumes,
Where the brain surrenders, heart reconciles.

Richness of color, intensity of experience
A matter of personal preference
Hunt for the perfect Bloody Mary, or blessed Virgin Mary,
a matter of intrinsic spirituality.

A love once lost, Paradise never regained
All that’s left are worn out tatters of
Scattered memories pulled together
Into this unfinished rhyme.


Memories whether sad or happy, always cherish the past. They offer an invaluable landscapic view to our own life and teach us the meaning of our joys and suffering passed. Here is a poem celebrating these memories. Inspired by Daily Post.

Cascading Waterfall


Resplendent moments frozen in time,
happy, sweet, or sour, always fleeting; these memories so sublime,
Green poppy fields, endless waterfalls, ringing chimes,
yes you lived a great life, now you mull, these reveries so divine.

Caressing, cajoling, coddling your heart like a mother’s hand,
soft footed, bushels of musings creep into your heart, playing magic like a sorcerer’s wand,
allusive thoughts remind you of a marching procession in a king’s meadowland,
one follows the other in perfect harmony, yet unchecked, unhindered and unobstructed like grains of sand.

These tidal waves of thoughts, drench your psyche and soul,
life lived, moments savored, these memories now your keep and paramour,
Sowing the tears of your heart, or tearing it apart, teaching you a lesson? What purpose, what goal?
Memories offer a panoramic view to life, a celebration of past, a toast to your life; a profound Skoal.

Fields of Green

Please note:  © All original work on this blog including this poem (unless explicitly stated) is Copyrighted by UbeCute 2014.