Angliholic 2023

Rusty Lamppost


It's already late June
and I didn't remember
that water lilies are now in full swing
until running upon a pond of summer glamour.
While young girls
are all dressing themselves up in tune
with the season of passion
and gazing admiringly at the pink petals,
what concerns me most
is the old worn and rusty lamppost
sighing in an obscure corner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Call It a Night


Let's call it a night,
but that doesn't seem right.
After devouring numerous grilled clams,
white shrimps, oysters and ice creams
at a grill house for hours,
I still can't conjure up a ravishing poem or two,
which absolutely makes me blue.
How should I stay in a good mood
after wasting so much seafood?
How should I, sooner or later,
meet my maker
if I'm nothing but a fertilizer maker?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unrequited Love


The early summer morning's bright,
and the vibe of a mini park's right,
so I gaze amorously
at a pink daisy nearby.
Regrettably,
she turns her goo-goo eyes
towards the nonchalant sunlight
in the distant skies.

When a little stream's gurgling or rippling
over rocks and stones,
that's the music I love best.
When it's meandering
through the woods or meadows,
that's the scenery I appreciate best.
But when the journey of my life is long and winding,
that's the challenge I fear most.

Beautiful scenic journey and it's counterpoint reflection on life.

My favorite lines: "When a little stream's gurgling or rippling / over rocks and stones, / that's the music I love best."

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tailor STATELY

Beautiful scenic journey and it's counterpoint reflection on life.

My favorite lines: "When a little stream's gurgling or rippling / over rocks and stones, / that's the music I love best."

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

---

Thanks, Tailor, for your kindness and time as usual.

Supposing
penning a poem without inspiration
is like crafting an artificial carnation,
emitting no sweet fragrance,
I'd rush to a plain and listen to the rain
rather than rack my brain
trying to create an air of romance.
Supposing
my muse has gone astray,
I would rather pray and hit the hay
than look through the window pane
trying to ease my pain.

Enjoyed :) "Supposing / penning a poem without inspiration / is like crafting an artificial carnation, / emitting no sweet fragrance,"... lol to what follows; been there done that all too often.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Thanks, Tailor, for reading and the been there feedback.

It's so cool and refreshing
in the early morning
in mid summer,
and my mind's perfectly sober,
so I sit still in the shade,
trying to meditate
about the meaning of this journey.
Frustratingly,
the cicadas are screaming
like there's no tomorrow,
and the wind's howling like a lobo,
rustling the leaves of a pine,
and rippling this heart of mine.

Love the moods in these.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tonywalt

Love the moods in these.

---

Thanks, Tony, for dropping by and the kind words. But what are the moods in these poems? Could you be more specific so that I can know my strong points and keep on writing more?

As long as you keep winding
and serenading
like a graceful woman,
I don't mind,
in the long run,
whether you throw yourself
into the arms of an inland sea
or an immense ocean.
If living without you,
where could I
find the fountain of joy
and the source of inspiration
especially in this sizzling
hot season?

Isn't it funny
that I'm not longing for a thundershower
but thinking of you
in this sultry summer?
I guess
you've been eloping with the mayflower
and disappearing without a trace.
Where could I,
in the scorching hot July,
find my peace?
I should've missed Rosemary or Daisy
but not you
because missing you
always makes me dizzy and dozy.

If you hadn't forgot to wear a smile
and bloom like a yellow bell,
I wouldn't have been under this dry spell.
Here comes a thundershower pouring
cats and dogs of rain
on this lazy summer afternoon,
quenching the thirst of the cracked dry land,
but I reckon
it's very tricky
to erase the poetry of melancholy
from my window pane.

"sit still in the shade,
trying to meditate
about the meaning of this journey.
Frustratingly,
the cicadas are screaming" - I can relate on the level where I carry my own cicadas in my thoughts due to severe tinnitus.

Dreamy, somber, & metaphorical pieces: "it's very tricky / to erase the poetry of melancholy / from my window pane."

Enjoying very much :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tailor STATELY

"sit still in the shade,
trying to meditate
about the meaning of this journey.
Frustratingly,
the cicadas are screaming" - I can relate on the level where I carry my own cicadas in my thoughts due to severe tinnitus.

Dreamy, somber, & metaphorical pieces: "it's very tricky / to erase the poetry of melancholy / from my window pane."

Enjoying very much :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

---

Thanks, Tailor, for dropping by again and the kind comments.

Much to my surprise
and delight,
the breeze is so cool and refreshing
on this summer night.
If, in the beginning,
I hadn't taken a stroll in the woods,
how could I know
the trees are humming and waltzing
like joyful lasses?
If I didn't turn this euphoric feeling
into words,
how could you know
there still is a beautiful mind
somewhere or
in the mystery of the night?

:)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tailor STATELY

:)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

---

Thanks, Tailor, for dropping by and the happy smiley.

If you guess
the reason why I stay awake
until the wee hours
and my mind's a mess
is that I've been missing the lake
where Athena used to play
on this stifling summer night,
I might say yes,
at first sight.
Nevertheless,
after having thought twice,
it's the pink roses
that used to glow on your face
that I used to languish for
but now come forth
lamentably blurry and listless.