Out of So Many

Out of So Many

Funny how just one can find us out.

Out of so many

Fireflies in the night.

So much darkness,

Yet there is some light.

- Sitaram

(Sept. 2005)

Wall-less Is Best

Wall-less Is Best
Current mood: creative
Category: Writing and Poetry

Wall-less is best.

But if walls are a must,
Then second best are walls
Which many seek to enter
And none seek to escape.

- Sitaram

(Friday, July 21, 2006 at 5:30 a.m.)

Transit - by Richard Wilbur

Transit - a poem by Richard Wilbur
Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry

Transit

Transit

A woman I have never seen before
Steps from the darkness of her town-house door
At just that crux of time when she is made
So beautiful that she or time must fade.

What use to claim that as she tugs her gloves
A phantom heraldry of all the loves
Blares from the lintel? That the staggered sun
Forgets, in his confusion, how to run?

Still, nothing changes as her perfect feet
Click down the walk that issues in the street,
Leaving the stations of her body there
As a whip maps the countries of the air.

-- Richard Wilbur

A Blank Page

A Blank Page
Current mood: creative
Category: Writing and Poetry

A blank page is a portal, or
An emptiness, inviting,
A sail to catch imagination's winds
And voyage far from where we now despair.
We drift within, to worlds which would make right
The wrong of being mortal.

Our words are bait to catch your eyes,
The chapters, nets to haul in schools
Of darting, silver, inattention
Glancing off unfathomed, sunlit shoals.

Am I your albatross to weigh you down?
Are you my owl upon this pea-green sea?
Or are we mutinous, alone,
A ghost ship in Sargasso's tight embrace?

A blank page is a flag,
Lowered to half-mast,
To mourn our wonder's passing.
A blank page waves, surrender to the siege,
Or cashes carte blanch to unlimited power.
A servant to quixotic chivalry,
Now bears an invitation:
R.S.V.P.

- Sitaram

Pentacle de la Mere

Pentacle de la Mere
Current mood: romantic
Category: Writing and Poetry

Pentacle de la Mere

(circa 1965)

When I was young
I first reclined
Among the clustered shells and weed and living brine.

I felt the rhythmic swells
As first they fell upon my thighs.
Fall, recede,
They fall, recede,
As always rhythms
Fall, recede;
"To fill a need",
"To fill a need",
Accompanied, as all,
By restless sighs.

I felt, within the din of sand and surf,
The sin of tide and wind in mistful birth,
Erecting beads of skin in wistful mirth.
I, the sun, the sea, were one;
The soothing, moving sea.

Sifting sand upon my toes
In drifting, merging, urging lows,
As grains of sand, desire grows,
Until a ripple flows
And throws it free.
And then I know I have the sea,
I know the sea has me,
I know;
My subtle, supple sea.

Four loves have I,
The first of three,
The earth, the sun, the sky.
But one and only one has me;
My sounding,
Pounding
Sea.

- Sitaram