Another Setting Sun

Flamingo wings are the clouds touched by the lingering fingertips of another setting sun.
As they funnel into the vanishing horizon the waters of the lake mimic the ruby plumage of the sky.
Softly, softly the shadows deepen the husk of the dusk.
At the water's edge the moored boat rocks itself into a dreamless slumber.
A fitful breeze whispers a lullaby through the leaves of tall trees dissolving into the deepening gloom.
Incandescent lights blink their eyes open one by one by one like pinpricks of amber starlight caught in the tangled tresses of a moonless earth.

A Dreaming Dog

(A poem I wrote when my beloved dog Shulky died of old age)

I am the dog they call Shulky, I’ve never figured quite why. Didn’t matter much anyway. Whenever someone yelled "Shulky" – I went. Running. But that was when I used to be young. A young ‘un with a wag in my tail.

That was some years back.

These days, with my hair sprouting like dry tendrils of grass, I’m more circumspect. When called, I lift my head inquiringly, more often than not. More often than not I find that I had been quite right. In not going running. To the called command. My days of nimble running are over. And done with. As you’ve probably gathered –

I’m getting on in years, some.

These days, I go out, with a lumbering gait, and sit in the corner of the garden – The corner that gets the first cool breeze – Under the stunted Laburnum tree – Spraying the sky with golden yellow sprigs. And I look at the egg yolk moon. And something in my now sluggish blood stirs.

A howl swirls in my throat and dies.

I listen instead to the messages being sung – A crescendo of speaking voices from my kith and my kin. Kinfolk all, with singing voices. Singing a symphony in the great opera house. The moon listens too in a yellow hush – And weaves amongst the stars – And suddenly gets caught in the tangled branches of the stunted Laburnum tree.

And the yolk runs fluid all over the dry ash sky.

Summer is here. I lift my nostrils and sniff the air – Not a whisper of a breeze. All is still. The bald earth throbs below with the heat. The sun has gone down but has left behind his pulsing heartbeat. My eyes close shut.

And I doze in a liquid yellow dream.

From far, far away I hear a voice call – "Shulky" – A well known voice from the liquid yellow room behind. And my heart fills with the dry ash of the night and the quiet. My bones are heavy – My breath labored – My eyes dimmed. It is time to rest.

I try to tell that familiar voice calling me.

I hear again – "Shulky" – And though I feel a presence beside me – The voice sounds as if from far, far away. A long, long distance away. The great journey has begun. And it is time to carry on dreaming the dream.

The never-ending dream of a dreaming dog

My thoughts fly like fluttering feathers
caught in silver clouds that
skid against the horizon where
the sky meets jagged mountain tops
My words scatter like sands flung
in a choking desert storm
where the Sun caresses undulating
ochre dunes with fever fingers
My feet tramp on paths known unknown
that meander across the
face of the Earth -
obliterated footstep by footstep
by the careless dust of Time

Rage... Rage... Rage...

Rage... Rage... Rage...
Burn... Slow... Tear a hole... In my Soul...
Implode... Erode... Corrode... Consume... Me...
From within... Me...

I... Am flotsam... A mote... Remote...
Caught... In the Ebb... And Flow
Of the Monster Tides... Of Life...
Time... An Ocean... Oozing green... Frothing white...
Gnashing teeth... Extinguishing Me...
With every breath... I Inhale... Exhale...

Rage... Devour Me... Subsume Me... Consume Me...
Burn... Burn... Burn... A hole... In my Soul...
Obliterate... Me... From within... Me...

Spilt Purple Wine Sunset

The past, the present, the future
Held in a snapshot moment
As the sun sinks into the horizon
Steeped in spilt purple wine -

Time flowing, disintegrating, regenerating
All that has been, all that is, all that is about to be
Caught in an unending dance of life - inexorably
changing, remaining, becoming, dying
The end of each re-birthing
Steeped in spilt purple wine -

My Mind's Countryside

Lotuslands entwined with dust roads, pot-holed roads,
stony soil, stippled now
with pulsing sap greens turning inexorably into ochre browns,
brushed across pthalo blue hills and violet valleys;
the horizon etched like twisted wire fencing impasto starry nights.
Gnarled banyans with their snarled roots snaking into the subsoil,
glowing gulmohars spray their fiery flowers in unruly bouquets,
prickly thorn-brush pierce through paper thin top soil, un-named weeds,
un-tamed, tumble in the blowing breeze,
their smoky scent infusing silent forests.

Aqua-tinted daubs of dreams
stain Van Dyke brown plateaus where crimson poinsettias spread
their poisoned leaves that pretend to be flowers;
dancing datura, peppery capsicum, narcotic narcissus,
bursting bougainvilleas, writhe, grasp, burrow
in the underbrush.

Shadowy creatures silhouetted against painted memories.
Brittle bones lie strewn across dying river-beds. A path disappears
into the unknown.

A road sign says slow down, sharp turn ahead.

-by Rita Putatunda

Shades Of Grey

In shades of grey, the clouds
Fill the air with a breath caught in the throat
Hide the sky in fogs of silence
Wrap the mountains with tender tendrils of misty veil
Attire the flowering bush, the young sapling, the dead tree stump
surrounded by bursting shoots
In teardrops of pearls, diamonds, rubies and rust
Mirror themselves in shades of grey
On the crinkled face of the opaque lake

I Your Poem

From beyond the edges
Of a dark night
With a question
In his eyes
My poem came to me

And said . . .

Find the words for me
Write a song for me

I am that moon
Which has no sky
I am the Sun
Which has lost his light
I am the flower without fragrance
I am the tree without its roots

I told my poem . . .

Where can I find the words
To write a song for you

Me, I am that song
Which has lost its melody
I am the night
Which cannot find her stars
I am the river which has lost its way
I am the cloud which bears no rain

Said my poem to me . . .

If that be so
You'll be my sky
My fragrance my root
You'll be my Sun
You'll be light
And I'll be your melody
Your stars your rain
And I'll forge the course
For your waters to flow
And together we'll find words
And together we'll write songs

You my Words
I your Poem