Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
Sun, swallow me whole. I want to be beautiful to my own accord. I want solitude that does not kill. For once, i want to be the light that permeates and guides someone to liberty. If not sunrise, then sunset at the very least. I am a myriad of flaws. I was told that light could make terror beautiful, too. Come, devour me. I don’t care if you burn my skin or suffocate my lungs—I want to be whole.
Who:
For my love, to make her smile
When a purple blossom makes
Me think of her favorite color.
For my Tumblr followers when
I post proof of my wilderness walks.
For my soul, so I might revisit these
Moments of awe and beauty.
For these,
I take pictures of flowers.
What:
A moment caught in my
Binary bug net,
A digital trace of my travels,
A daily commute or intentional stroll.
And along the way,
I take pictures of flowers.
Where:
My cloud storage fills
To the brim, and I deign to
Empty a single pixel.
Yellow, then red warnings of
Limited space,
But still,
I take pictures of flowers
Why:
To preserve what I cannot
Trust myself to remember.
Every detail, every shimmer on
A petal, every ring of color,
Every fold and roll and pleat.
To replace what I cannot have;
With no box or garden or
Sun-exposed pot,
I can only hold onto these beauties
In digital form.
When:
The golden hours escape me,
But they are probably sour grapes,
A cast of yellow hue on a face,
Not meant for leaf or colored bract.
Nay, whenever the feeling hits,
I pull out my device.
No process or plan in mind,
I snap one or two decent photos
And continue on my way.
Moment by moment
I take pictures of flowers.
How:
Only carefully, gently,
Holding the camera as I would
Carry a basket of down.
Motionless, I hold my breath and
Press the button.
My phone, with the help
Of an AI worth my trust,
Or with my moderately expensive
Camera I would like to buy
A macro attachment for.
I know not the specifics of how
My precious ladies make it onto
Film or image, but even so
I take pictures of flowers.
Under lacey shade and golden rain
Desert cherry blossom trickles
Bright desert light onto a bed of pebbles.
A verdin hops branches, calling all the time
Honeyed warble from blue-green twigs.
Florid sprigs along crooked boughs,
Silken sun-drops flit to the ground.
Bees delight in their bounty,
Bobbing from petals, bringing new life.
Soon, these skirts are traded for
Seeds, their pods forage for locals.
Gifts abound from smooth-barked
Florida, this Parkinsonia blessing
All who alight in and around her
Resplendent wings.
Steeping in cool waters
The saffron sun on the
Bowl of the pond.
Taking my vitamins every
Morning, the C in my veins
Mingling with the salt in my eyes.
I ride two buses to my chapel
Of peace, a set of flowing
Waters, unblessed but holy to me.
Pacing the dusty paths of
The preserve, I ponder the
Wild waterbirds, wandering.
The ducks, unburdened by
Prejudice, finding their ways
Along the tiny beaches.
The spice of life, I infuse my days
With the fine herbs of musical
Birdsong and chords of clouds.
Finalizing my day's work,
I board the buses home, busy days
Ahead, but for now, hallowed, heady harmony.
Rising and setting, back to back
Sunrises and sunsets, two sides of a coin
One watches the world awaken with a “hello”
The other says “goodbye” to the world as it slumbers
A gentle touch of pink,
Spreading across a dull blue sky,
The sun peeps over the horizon,
A glowing gold, shifting across the sky,
Hello, hello
Watching the sun rise from a dormitory roof,
Taking pictures of the quiet world,
A happy memory of the dawn,
Violet shades and periwinkle colours,
Fade away into brighter flames,
Orange, red, pink; set sparks to the west,
The flames are chased by night-time colours,
Goodbye, goodbye,
Gazing into the sunset,
Relaxing, breathing, unwinding,
A new photo added to the album,
Meetings and partings, two sides of a coin
Back to back, the new page uncovered,
Many reunions and blessed memories,
Stored in this little sunrise and little sunset.
- Shinkai
I write this as I sit under a tree, It’s beauty, a specimen of nature, you see; It’s flower, so warm and bright, Like the friend who stays with you, On a summer’s night. Its leaves, so dainty and green, Just like a ballerina’s ‘petit’. The way it sways in the wind, so light and sweet, Reminds me of carolers on New Year’s Eve. It has stories left untold, The rings held in the trunks, old. Its branches like a friendly embrace amidst a crowd, Its tender touch to erase all foul. I bid farewell to thee my tree, My tree of tales, A tale of tree.
I'd prefer to sit awhile
waiting for the storm to come
the heavens rush and clamour and sing
but the rain is kept hidden
beneath the canopy of this weeping willow tree
I am hollow in this coursing wind, a brightened shell and song within.
I am raging in this ocean sky, the greying light a burning sign.
I am buried in my absent mind, wrapped and beating this blurry sound.
For one gradually passing moment
the swirling mist clears a path
leaving cool crystals grasping
onto each strand of grass
Even in shadow
does nature thrive
a silent spectre
full of bristling sighs
with a glimmer
the light then shows
the blooming tree preserved
alive in its shadow
Black foggy mountains
bow beneath the legacy
of a golden sun
Wednesday, 28th July 2021
Love is more than the dream wistfully painted across torn pages in dripping ink and meadows of wildflowers, by writers and poets huddled by candlelight seeing love written in beloved faces. Seeing love in yearning clouds slowly chasing after the sun's fragile rays. Love is heartache and hurt and pain - a climbing river pushing back against everything you know. It inspires and challenges, it breathes life and ends it. It is everything we want and everything we do not dare to have. Love can bring just as much destruction to the harmony it creates. But it’s never about what love is or what it is not - it is how we shape its destiny within our own lives that counts. Love will always be with you, but will you let it stay? And sometimes we know that we just have to chase it away.
Tuesday, 20th July 2021
At night in quiet solitude of the passing day
I turn the yellowing pages of the waxing moon
Molten in a burning light to show its age
And cast in pooling stains of inky blue
It glows in flickers of a dying candle light
Wrapped in a purple wreath, delicately crowned
An encroaching darkness consuming the night
It dims its eyes to rest amongst the drowned
You can get lost in nature
it entices you into its graceful grasp
luring you into a dream
of eternal sunshine
You walk with stars on your feet
trailing glory in your waking path
rosy fingers grazing smokey clouds to meet
the dawning skies above
Thursday, 8th July 2021
There is freedom in the shadowed storm as the veil-wrapped sky billows in a climbing release. I lay here on the rough strewn ground, a wilderness of rain-kissed grass, tumbled yarn, and loose cut threads. Find me in the running lake carving eyes into the overgrown path, lost to the planted sky now curling into a silver smile.
Freedom is more than just running through the rain on Thursday afternoons.
Wednesday, 7th July 2021
As the thunder roars in such tumultuous pain, the sun singes the rim of every cloud until the whole sky is cloaked in a brightened sadness, a softening grey. And the world will sit in shallow wine while the teardrops of the encroaching night play in ripples across the sun's sleeping face, waiting for the moon blank and ghostly behind the starless sky. It is new tonight but hidden from sight, it bows in heavenly patience.
I feel laden with unsaid dreams
spilling over my hair, my feet
walking through a daylit night
full of sparkling stars and troubled sleep
There are roses in your cheeks
and violets in your eyes --
all devotion to the setting skies
This deafening cacophony
creates a solitary peace
encompassed in small rooms
rippling a quiet release
Hold me over a rainbow
Hold me over the tearful seas
Hear the blackbird calling
Calling through the breeze
You hurt me with your fragile words;
lonely is the new day's speech
and the quiet beholds a solemn time
filled with empty promises, I hear you speak
of nothing more than darkness folding
consuming all to sit and see
a new day filled with quietly spoken
words now absent
of your cruel mind and damning speech
It’s quite nice to spend a while dancing through time
suspended in its ticking hours and days
forever a breath away from endless moments
A lady in the sky, she follows
dawn’s peaceful light
in wait of tomorrow's guilt,
burning beneath a mountain of clouds
each one darker than the last,
and yet she shines
brighter than any sun in any sky,
she wanders near those setting scales
backed by lions in a crow like roar
waiting to feed the passing day
a lady in the sky, she waits
A ghost is perched in the middle of the lane
softly swaying in a dull grey wind;
she has bloomed but now is still
full of ghostly feathers, like cotton
sheets fresh and waiting,
a new woven straw hat
balanced on the crowded brass hook,
pillows of clouds and endless days
with no rain but the grass is dewy eyed
and lost in a trailing book,
flyaways cutting a boundless sight,
some days are long and grey
but then the nights --
-- the blossom tree outside my window
tells me when spring is here
yet it is wasted in a silent darkness
softly perched in the middle of the lane,
feathers orange in the glow of a thousand sunsets
waiting to be seen again
The days are spent in glory and sun
until rain casts its violent shadow;
a storm to herald a setting moon
and bring life again, glory again --
-- it will be here soon
Rain falls on the many and sunshine only a few. In moments of joy, rain sure does feel like sunshine.