Ramblings and Paintings of a Mystic Wanderer

No one but thee.

Finally the day has come

when on a sunset afternoon…(in the soft light)

Sun showed its mercy,

revealed the YOU of you

how you speak and how you

...look so old and grey...

so empty and yet full…(of need)

hollow eyed… words flowing

crisply from your tongue.. in sibilance

with lashes hiding the … !look at me! emotion.

 

I saw a shadow of my love

or what I thought it was…it was….

I could not help but gawk… and laugh

at all the sighs I’ve sighed,

and how I yearned to be... your One….

when so long ago…so furious...I loved

 

No one but thee.

Posted October 21, 2012 by oshum 

Here are two paintings I am working on ( rather slowly ) the first one is named "The Inexplicability of Life" and the second one is named "Source Bird".  I know...the quality of the photos is not good, but I took them with my cell phone.

The_inexplicability_of_life
Source_bird

Posted July 7, 2012 by oshum 

His Words

Somewhere…. between the layers of himself…. His words wait to astonish.

They simmer in memory …ferment in passion…. past remembering.

They wait for the hook of feeling.

Snapping for the bait of airing a sentiment…

or…sleeping lightly in a brew of ..long ago.

Those words stir at sounds of sighs…

……tremble at the could have been…. was… and, skinny maybe.

They dance in fingers of storytelling.

Those words…ripple to the page like children,

 … playing hide and seek.

They tumble out … no restraint,

because… they cannot help themselves.

They want to …need to… see the light of day…

this day or that day …it does not matter……………….. and every time!

Those words are read…they take away….. Her air of breath.

They astonish…they force a silence….. in Her heart…….they….

Hover in the air…without sound…they travelled far.

Those words bury themselves inside… Her soul.

 

And there She keeps them… no reason… other than…. they are HIS.

 

Posted February 16, 2012 by oshum 

Lost

Lost...she finds herself

In the wasteland of many years....

dry lakes are mirrors for her Soul...

and

In the distance shimmers

the Oasis of death beckoning.... a resting place...

with palm trees of slumber... softly swaying

to songs of another life..........................where jungles,

green with youth shine on a new horizon,

glowing with dew...drops. of imagination. 

Posted November 21, 2011 by oshum 

Poets words..

Feeding on poets words

the sun sets in your eyes

binds you to moments

ripe and lush glittering

just within reach of…

heartbeats dipped

into poetic ink

flowing rose bloom rusty..

red  wellsprung red

past imagination’s core

where angels live.. and

fairytales  grow..in a garden

fair..with fantasy..and

the burning bush of love....

Posted January 30, 2011 by oshum 

Last supper....

Clandestine they sup

from the lifeblood of each other

behind the veil of words

….their arrows drawn….

with smiles delivered

born deep into the well of heart

where tears of life

form Poems ..from fantasies

there they seek and find

……the heartache sitting……..

in the orchard of possible scenarios

..... contemplating.......

a getaway from the puppeteer

a way to cut the strings

without the knell of death ringing

in the ears of a lost conscience….

at the last supper of their love.

Posted January 27, 2011 by oshum 

Last summer's fairytale

Crackled thoughts heated

by the fire of a lost dream

burn a dulling membraned ache

into the daily grind

where a chill of heart falls

between cracks dark with thunder

rolling to the beat of unsettled longing

the blood still calling upon

memories left unfinished

in the might have been

of last summer’s  fairytale

Posted January 24, 2011 by oshum 

The Lakes of your Eyes

In the lakes of your eyes

I get lost

I dive into

swim to the shore

of love divine..

deep like the depth

... of universes full of life,

I sink and drown

in mysteries revealed..

feeling poetry come

to my rescue…my breath..

recovers  at the glimmer

of Love...in the lakes  of your eyes.

Posted January 19, 2011 by oshum 

Forgetting...

In the light of their melancholy

stars of devotion heave

a curse of longing

while he suckles

the dew of forgetting

from the dish of domestic need …..

and her silent cries echo

in the chambers of his jailed heart

Posted January 17, 2011 by oshum