Excerpt 2

Right after the rain 

walked with a

wacky brush,

painting

rusty leaves agony

whispering secrets,

the wisdom of life tree

before soul leap -

I follow the color-shift

ceremony -

umbrella closed,

press/cells to the ground

level with earthworm

to absorb the moisture,

decomposing odor on

the first day

of October.

Shared with PU

Purification

Time Warrior 2

The visitor from underground world,

the sneaky mediator of my regime,

redolent from gravity corner

sending grey 2D carton images

into my dreams.

I visualize, play/plan safe

siphoning to suck it in

increment by increment

from the depth/bottom

of the sliding shadowy

reality mine

into the hole of cross stitched

dream catcher net

above my bed.

Rest in peace

Photo by Brooke Shaden

Searching for the lost sense

we cling for squeaky lantern

distantly reminded

the sacred image

ghost reflection

energy spilling

from spirit

to heart.

Read more at d'Verse

the blind lantern: toil, boil, bubble and spit ( lid and parts )...

the blind lantern: toil, boil, bubble and spit ( lid and parts )...



He's channeled the howl of

lonely wolf,

who's been sucked

in the funnel

of black light cloak.



As stumbled and stuck

'cause of vast tense bit,

what he tried to bite -

prohibited,



in the midst of free

art of misery.

My way

Art by Ed Odson

“I’m  always fighting

for the next minute.”

C. Bukowski

Planning to read,

write my reflection,

then I’m pondering:

is this what I want

to do? truly?

instead

maybe

I could sit

in 9-5 cubicle

with tables of numbers

and graphics,

chew on the algorithms

of ‘if-then’

and tired

come home,

grasp

in trance 

the  TV screen…

      

dzzzzzzz….

The mood’s changing

momentarily 

I begin to  appreciate

the free will,

the schedule

that thrill

when I hear

my voice

saying

“I’m always fighting

for the next

minute.”

Stronger than fate

srr.com

Oh, these mousy worries

stalking the shoreline

a force to bend with a fate

tempered strength-

the reward for endurance

thoughts of unbearable challenge:

god would never give any

if he hasn’t known

you able to cope with it…

                      

that special stratum

of human identity

which stronger than fate.

Read more at: Sunday Mini challenge, Imagine garden with real toads

On the nose

Fall always finds me

sorting, collecting,

multitasking

nose along the walls

perimeter counting

with black-shine-mouse

roll

caught in the cage

of cold

the leaves tease

with

vibrancy of possibilities

brainstorming attack,

birds tweet to fly behind

the horizon…

and I stay invisibly stuck

glue to my intermittent

voice,

drinking the transparent liquid,

creating a productive scheme,

barricading books/blocks,

unopened letters,

emails -  for later.

Fall always finds me

talking with a brook

on the shortening walk,

typing/listen to find

the exit

thru ripples of

aspirant forth stream

picked soul up,

cleaning and lighten it,

prepare for next turn.