orchestrated autumn

autumn snow
is colored brown
and gold

falling
from the oak tree

the back yard
is leaf-blizzard
before the storm

whipper-wind
flays the branches

cumulo-grumpus
masses
the skies

a lightning fork
from top
to down
a staff
to conduct the show


© Frank Prem, 2017

frog call (ba bonk)

I
was once a frog
you know

home
upon a lily

it seems a foolish time
so far ago
but all of us
were young
then

a croak
is like a call
to love
sent by one
melancholy

a croak is just
a song to sing
on wistful nights
of ripples
on the pond

and I still send
my song of love
though I’m no longer
on the lily

I call out my heart
once so alone
but now
I call to …

we are all just
once-were-frogs
crying on our lilies

sending songs pa-donk
pa-donk
just hoping for
an echoed bonk-ba-bonk
to give the hope
of love


© Frank Prem, 2017

unravelling the code

ahhh
the genie’s lamp

she muttered to herself
knowingly
as though she had found
what she expected

what is it

she glanced at me

that you wish for?

turning back to her work

a bowl

it is filled with fruit

more bounty?

perhaps
perhaps

she grasped my hand

pointed
at a pattern in the markings
down
at the bottom of the square
that only she
could identify

there

she said

a horse

higher up in the square

that

is the rider

is it a fall?
a separation?

what of the gun?

she threw my hand down
discarded
while she mumbled
half under her breath

then turned
looked up at me directly

pronounced

it is you
I see your face

the die is cast

touch your finger
there
on the shadow

the code
will take you
to where you need
to be

she held a thin
deeply lined palm
face up
towards me

waiting for it to be blessed
in silver


© Frank Prem, 2017

between two words

between two words
that rhyme
lies the metaphor

like the magpie
and its song

like a round of firewood
and the blade
of my axe

there
the image
unfolds
in its personal melody

the ballad moves me
to the high country
when I close
my eyes

I sing the mountains
blue
the valleys

my story

so tell it
like a tale
in a song revealed
in the in-between
place and time
of two small words
that rhyme


© Frank Prem, 2017

within the weave

the cloth is spread
black
in all its shades
of darkness
across the table

spread evenly
yet wrinkled
in small spaces

tidy
but occasionally
cratered
by an errant fold

smooth but
here and there
a thread
so slightly
misaligned

the cloth is spread
across an empty table

~

I live
inside a wrinkle
in the smoothness
of a small space
in time

even in the darkness
I
can find some light

I surprise myself
with the unexpected things I do
as they unfold
into the tidiness
of being

smooth smooth
time runs out
before me
to forever
yet
I stumble

and I fall

temporarily
unraveled

I live
this is my cloth
to weave


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #29: 

awkward

the youth
is a look
between child
and man

his mother
is a bun drawn tight
facing the café window

they talk
his voice squeezed
between high
and low
so he keeps it on a rein
nothing
above a murmur

she has a latte
an i-phone
dark glasses
and the paper

he stands beside her
not sure
if he should sit
or leave

another
green embroidered shoulder bag
stops by to chat

hello

as the hands start
to wave animation
he decides
to go


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #27: danced (on the needle) into silence

to dream hospital

somebody wake his family

beep

tell them
he’s sleeping

beep

~

these people
are professionals

they know the signs
to watch for
oneiric-para-medicals
have done all this
before

~

put in a line
insert the canula

beep           beep

let’s feed him
by naso-gastric

beep

strap him down
firm
onto the gurney

beep           beep

you never know
he might just have
a wild one

beep

or he could be
stuck inside
for days

beep

~

they won’t wake
him
not here

they’ll take him
to the slumber ward

~

beep

look
can you see his eyes
move

something’s happening
in there

beep- beep           beep

 beep- beep           beep

now
we just have to wait
for him

beep

did somebody wake
his family

do it now
tell them …

tell them
that he’s fast asleep

all systems are normal
now

beep

beep

beep

~

these people
are professionals

they have done
all this
before


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #26: awkward

the slap

it gathered itself
as wisps
formed in the sky

it grew
tiny

small

larger

wisps became whites
turned into greys

it cannoned around
inside the cloud
as tension rose

and when the light
shot forth

when the roar
had echoed round

when the world around
had shattered
it fell

into the wind
arcs across the sky
pushed
it blew into others
broke down
and then reformed

it fell
with the glee of a flier
until the man
on the ground
looked up
and for just one moment
saw

it fell
until collision
at last
struck like the slap
from an angry storm


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #25: to dream hospital

on the green

in a daydream
gazing outwards
through the window
away
a girl danced
across his meadow

in sunshine
light
billowed her skirt
while she turned
and turned

a pirouette
on flowers
and on the green

as she danced
she stepped closer
he could see her
care-less
care-free
she smiled

a few rounds more
until she reached him
and laughed

took his hand
in her hand
as invitation
so he stepped
through the glass
into his neverland

twirling
around each other
they danced
over the flowers
upon the green


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #24: the slap