Shifting Seasons – (Quatern poetry form)

(A sixteen line form composed of four quatrains.
The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four).

When summer, steeped, wanes deep and soon,
Chilled north winds have strictly spoken.
Cool night airs steer me to the moon,
Past heat and spells still unbroken.

Autumn waits and plays with colour,
When summer, steeped, wanes deep and soon.
Wintertime, when stark is fuller,
Ice and shrill gusts of white snow swoon.

In between tides, amidst sand dune,
December’s dreams are nature’s will.
When summer, steeped, wanes deep and soon,
I will sleep till then and until.

Wake me up when you are speaking,
And if the rains are warm monsoon,
See past mountains bronzed and sneaking,
When summer, steeped, wanes deep and soon.



Ticking Hearts (Fibonacci poetry form)

(Fibonacci poetry form)

The renowned Italian mathematician Fibonacci (c.1175 – c.1240) provided the inspiration for this poetry form which is based on Fibonacci Numbers. Though long known to Indian mathematicians, Fibonacci (also known as Leonado of Pisa) is responsible for introducing to Western European mathematics the concept of a sequence of numbers produced from the sum of the two previous numbers –

1. 1. 2. 3. 5. 8. 13. 21. 34. syllable counts etc…

now and then,
when collecting dust’s
assorted oddments of life – love’s
cornucopia of paradoxes and half dead
lusty breaths as they sweep along in echoes, dulled until the clock strikes a midnight chime.
Seconds relate to an hour’s arched back as clutching, paired, silhouetted hands count every moment, holding eternally two faces in time.


Wet, Blue Days (Terza Rima form)

(A Terza Rima form
is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern
A-B-A, B-C-B, C-D-C, D-E-D. Anther possible ending is
d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e.)

Gazing, I am mesmerised by topaz sky.
I fear maddening envy is all in vain
As I wipe away tears from each covetous eye.

The tears that dance then merge with the rain,
Fall upon me, ill fitting and incomplete.
Misted hazes halt many reasons to explain.

The old park bench’s damp but dusted seat
Takes the weight of thought and old ideas,
While the sun’s fresh rake runs a rainbow’s treat.

Fresh paint washes over contemplative fears
Hidden well behind walls and their quizzical whys.
I tilt my head to meet the sun’s canvassed sears.

Feeling whole, replenished and for once warm and dry,
Gazing, I am mesmerised by a topaz sky.



It’s the Smoke in my Eyes that Makes Me (Shape poetry)

I want a symphony, play it for me
I want roses to make my day
I want everything come what may
I toss and I turn, night sweats in their turn stroke me gently
Each droplet a shiver, moist dreams my river sending you my way
I want tenderness, play me for you
I want longing to reach the length of you
I want everything come what may
The heat, exhausted sweats roll over us before touching
Explosions grip the flesh that is gripped by our flesh
I want this to never end, keep it for me
I don’t want morning to be the end, make it go away
I want everything always, come what may

this passion,
I give to
you, a light,
a flame,

Shadows dance
to hide heaving
breaths, shallow
thrusts, deepened
lust and hollow
trusts. They are
melded with intensity
in the naked embrace,
pinned against hopes,
face to face, then
thrown onto the wall
silhouetted in night’s
sweats and tears
and desires and it hears
soft moaning, growing
into explicit amber
reaching the heights
of the naked flame’s
want – it wants it all,


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