Poets In Their Melancholy: Poem

Poets In Their Melancholy

Poets, with troubled lives and secret thoughts
Have often stood and looked this way
And in this half light, strong and secret
What they thought, nobody can say

As dusk fell, and windows would close
Some words from soft songs would drift in
And take root in the present; some lines
Would nestle in a stranger's heart and brain.

Poets, lost in their melancholy
Lost in the muddle of their lives
Weave verse and rhyme: and thus it is
That their work their lives suvives.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Whispers Into The Brick Wall: Poem

WHISPERS INTO THE BRICK WALL


Who else will listen silently while I speak of my love for you
Who else will stand still while I whisper my secrets
Those deep, hidden secrets buried in my heart
Except this rough, brick wall
Standing so tough and so tall
While I whisper all I have to say;
Nobody would remain as stoic and immobile.
No, nobody could or would. I ,myself
Knowing myself so well, can hardly believe all
That I pour out into this ready wall’s ear
I , myself, can hardly listen to my own words
Speaking out my barely avowed hesitations
And uncommitted love’s crimes; I , myself softly touch
This rugged wall and it’s surface
As though it is the skin of my loved one’s face.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Whenever My Soul, Like A Shrunken Dream: Poem

Whenever, My Soul Like A Shrunken Dream


Whenever, my soul like a shrunken dream
Wonders and waits with wasted breath
Destiny beckons on but the road is long
And at the end lies only, only death


Now and then a diamond in the dust
Sparkles with quiet passion
Blossoms colour my dreams
Life is far from all it seems


Paltry rhymes, simple songs, hasty verses
Coming from God knows where
And going on to rocky streams and a pebbled shore
Surely living meant far, far more.


Far away, waves crash in the misty cold
A flagging swimmer, a hallucinating teenager
A tired woman wait for their lives to unfold.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Blazing Suns Once Burnt Me: Poem

BLAZING SUNS ONCE BLACKENED ME

Blazing suns once blackened me
My soul was bright
I watched the moon dancing
With the clouds at night

Cold winter wind bleached me
That was my misery
My soul became dark
A sad lonely destiny

I whispered and moaned
My life seemed thus sealed
My mind fled thither
Into wounds never healed

Copyright: Rani Turton

This Week, Empty Benches Beckon

This Week, Empty Benches Beckon

This week, empty benches beckon
Speak to me of betrayal
Some trust that turned astray
Some feelings that walked away.

And thus comes the day
Of facing problems and solutions:
Of waiting it out and wanting
It all; of wanting it all.

I am the remnant of my dreams and aspirations.
I asked, received and fought.

There are weeks when empty benches beckon,
Beckon to trust gone astray.


Copyright: Rani Turton

A Clock, A Street, A Tower: Poem

A CLOCK, A STREET, A TOWER

There is a clock on a city street
These pavings that have often known my feet
There is a clock, a street and a tower
That is the mystery of love's power.

That stones alone can intense emotion retain
That you can walk forlorn in the pouring rain
That, whatever may happen, years ahead
For me these streets will never, never be dead.

The pain in my heart stops me now:
My faltering steps even begin to slow;
The mist from these mountains stings;
Memories, moments, melancholy and things.

Now behold the time for resolutions
Time can often bring its own solutions;
How do I walk away when familiar voices call
Me back; let me sit on that stone bench and recall.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Talking To Nobody: Poem

TALKING TO NOBODY

When the sun dips and bows goodbye
I, at the window, watching the cityscape,
Admiring the dusk
Talking to nobody.

A cosmic dance, unpatented
Patiently the sun prepares its solitary revolution
Or so it seems: the sun, the window and I
Talking to nobody.

Footsteps down below
The fundamental alliance between
The sun, the lonely one and I
Is that we excel, at this exquisite art of talking to

Nobody.

Copyright: Rani Turton