Grapellish mountains way up in the sky

surrounding these tint-shadowed towns,

marmalade-cheese colored steps merely try

raising all up above cry-stained sounds.

The sob-colored bay leaks each lie that dissolves

every fence that this party has made

out of government rules, which quickly involves

auditions for the All Fools Parade!

It's tin-silent free to enter by choice

should the government ask you, be there;

color all thoughts with the hues of your voice

but, they'll take both your eyes if you stare!

Home-Thoughts, from Abroad a poem by Robert Browning.
It was written in 1845 while Browning was on a visit to northern Italy,

OH, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

At times I seek out solitude.
Those who know me understand
that spirit with which I'm imbued
oft seeks to roam through silent land.

Well, this was just such a day
mid-winter cold with hint of breeze.
So I got into my old red truck
and went to set my soul at ease.

I drove past many bustling towns;
past people crowded far too close
who walked the walks with worried frowns.
Yes, I drove past all of those.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I am not anymore
cute and smiley
that's the least of it
the rest may be too gruesome to tell

I'll tell it anyway

a disjointed
and disappointing
tale of social and cultural deafness

I did whatever I wanted
whenever
without counsel
of elders of peers

rejecting appeals to "think about what you are doing"
I chose rather, to meditate on being "stuck in the Now"
no five year plan,
no what if's
no backups
or net

Married men, married men
Always looking out the pen
Desperate not to leave the fold
Seeking cos they're growing old
Wondering bout their fading looks
Not thinking who'll be the cook,
do the washing, be the cleaner
Men grow older, they get meaner

Females seeking men on net
Will eventually hunt and get
Stupid married searching men
Hoping life will come again
In the form of twelve years younger
Than the current aging mother
Of their children and of them
thoughtless silly married men

BRAVO… that's what spirit is all about

a challenge to those who know
that this way they shan't walk again
even alone….

so be thyself
let the world go to hell ,
we have to live
the life ordained
so let it not be by our weakness stained

for tomorrow is definitely preordained
how….
none can that say
but heart within does display,
a desire that's what Loved can now say..

the hour appointed
has not yet been anointed
time has a time of its own

Thinking that everything is fine
and then your told to check online
He’s looking for female company
and that company’s not me

If I tell him that I know
there’s no way back he has to go
I’ve hinted and skirted around the issue
but not ready yet, to lose me and you

I can’t compete against a computer screen
they can say what they like, not what they mean
Maybe it’s just fantasy
and he knows its not reality

My garden's blushing with colorful smiles
lively pink, yellow, red and fresher green
all mirror greatness that no one denies.

No more gray clouds to reign the blue skies
as spring only shows more delightful scenes
in gardens' blushing with colorful smiles.

No need to wish now for a warm sunrise
no more winter winds shall blow a serene
to mirror greatness that no one denies.

This is when love persists, it never dies,
but holds life in every corner and seen
in gardens' blushing with colorful smiles.

it is a place of grief and masochistic pleasure,
ghosts of Kafka,
haunted manuscripts
and burnt canvases

It bespeaks life,
death,
the caterpillar
and the snake
the moon
and her menses
things washed up by the tide
and things washed away

Nothing is created or lost in this universe.