and cold winds which leave goosebumps.
she’s as dark as the night sky
and as fair as the dawn.
she’s the ocean waves
and the tinge of salt in the air
she’s the song in the wee hours of the mind
and the birds of spring mornings.
she’s a dream yet to come
and a poem that will never be written
she’s the walk back in the rain
and the tobacco in my lungs.
she’s the song,
and she’s thunderstorms.
inspired by an 8tracks playlist – http://8tracks.com/okayobrien/she-s-thunderstorms
pinpricks of light
sprinkled across a dark horizon
like dewdrops in the sky.
gusts of memories
of the rainsmith and the cinders
of times past. Like fireworks.
Like out-of-focus pretty lights.
with a formless tune,
with a glass of forgetfulness.
let’s talk, the night can wait.
let’s drink, satiation can wait.
let’s walk, the future can wait.
let’s stay time and toast this moment.
we sneak into the concourse of clouds,
in skies of blue formed of an ethereal palette.
leave dust storms in our wake while we
move forward with shadowy hills and wily roads
teasing us to our destination. here the wind gives
direction to prayers from tucked-away monasteries.
this is where we come to get lost.
on tiptoes you can touch the sky; pull off
a bit of cloud and set it on its way
like a tuft of cotton; here the world ends.
here begin roads, here you leave a bit of
you behind in wonder at every turn of the road.
it isn’t difficult; find the room with hot coffee
and a guitar and while away
while the winds rattle the windows.
here even time pauses a moment before moving on.
an amalgam of mental images of the breathtaking beauty that i have seen during my trip to the spiti valley. serpentine roads and skies, monasteries atop hills visible from miles away, skies so blue they look photoshopped, and a silence the city living me was completely unaccustomed to. Harsh yet gorgeous, this is easily one of the best trips to the hills i have ever made.
little by little
the memories wash away
into rainbow puddles
and hesitant poems
and every verse about us
takes its leave.
little by little
the rain takes august.
the blue tinted skylight cracks
and the oceans flood in
to bury a silly future
by weight of sheer reason.
dreams so vivid and beautiful
have no business here;
cut them into pieces the size
of a tune and throw them out.
let its sillage be subsumed
by safe and easy instead.
the universe doesn’t care either way.
so tonight i write you, my song,
into a song. leave it there.
keep nothing back. toss the
first smile and the last tear in the
general direction; they have
scaled mountains and crossed oceans
and broken worlds and brought
reality to its feet. once upon.
pointlessly. they will now stand guard
till all that is left of us is the sound
of the waves under a broken sky.
when this moment broke in two
i kept the fragment close, wrapped up
inside the colours of october, lest
it gets drained of the magic it holds.
while the other fragment
has with you been flung across
distances that can be measured only
by galaxies and stars; its tattletale
edges trace out your smile before it
faded; the colour of blue
reflects off its chinks.
i’ll cling along to my fragment,
hoping for space to crumple and
the dimensions wrap around itself
and make the moment whole again.
and we meet
in a garden of words,
separated by a palindrome
which will never come to pass.
reflected on rainbow puddles
and across sing song clouds
in dewdrops and pond side dreams,
scattered syllables of
and sidelong glances.
till the rainsmith is gone
and static fills every empty nook
that rain brushed cobblestones
this one’s totally inspired by the movie Garden of Words. and the rains of course.
summersongs drip from the leaves
and rainbows peek out of puddles
rippling in notes of blue.
while i play my tunes
with little thought
to tomorrow’s hazy dawn.rainsmith, rainsmith
last orders and another song
for the road that will
see you through?————————
i hope at least some can figure out who/what this pays tribute to.
amidst stormy collisions of the soul
in a soliloquy with the rainsmith.
from moonshine puddles
‘twixt silences which make leaves rustle.till reality rings out
and the song voice
tells it all to stop.
this scrap of blank verse was inspired by a late night train ride (something i always find quite inspiring); and this song – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GdqHJqeVy8