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 grey month with touches of beauty
these pieces seem bitter. Let me know
what you think. Read More
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 A Lament For Their Eyes**
(For my *ULFA brethren who are either dead, dying or will die)
(*The United Liberation Front Of Assam,- a secessionist militant organisation fighting for an independent statehood in the state of Assam, India). Read More
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 This Valentine's Day
has brought my thoughts to softer things...
Free picture was found at...
[link] Read More
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 Gray Mountain
Beyond my window, I see you Gray Mountain, stone-hearted guardian gazing upon this city. Your face is beautifully weathered, lined with deep ridges and a forest of whiskers.
Do not gaze condescendingly upon this valley and its inhabitants.
I hear your long whisper carried by the gentle breeze, “I am proud but weary of the beating winds and rain that blow from the north giants. If you would but climb my peaks, I would speak to you, and dispense wisdom long-forgotten. Fear me not. Do not the children of goats safely leap on my chin, and the children of eagles nest in my nostrils without rebuke? I have caused them no harm.”
I have heard your song, Gray Friend, and will arise onto the border of your shoulder, and whisper in your ear the delight I feel to view sunsets through your parted hairs. Your snow white temples do not diminish your beauty at all. Age has been your friend, and softened your edges.
N Marion Hage © 1/25/06 Read More
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 If in angelic voice I could sing a sonnet of
Windswept rainbows, they would seem mere words,
Rough and ragged, as insufficient as any hacking Cough.
Not for lack of beauty, but for complete inadequacy.
How can I express my love, when
You are to me the sum of every treasure, the
Essence of every gift ever given?
I would be poured out like wine,
Stoked as your coals,
Buried as the seed
Laid in your soul.
I would empty my heart,
To climb through your skies,
And bathe in your thoughts
As a painted sunrise.
For you, a bouquets of stars,
Bows from the moon,
The universe laid down,
In a breathless swoon.
I bid you receive a continuous showers of flowers,
Words of praise and adoration that rise like springs
In my heart, oveflowing my pierced lips, which cannot
Contain the words.
Till there is no breath left, I will express my devotion for you. Read More
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 of the vagaries of love... Read More
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 And yet another poem... Read More
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 of phantoms return us to ourselves for a redefinition, a modern, updated, to the minute, second . . a liveable reality. My dawning occured in a house designed by an architects' architect, above reproach. He suffered cogenitive deafness, like his sister a renowned landscape gardener; they worked together if possible on housing projects with gardens, in central city places.
It was a house sit for 6 weeks, alone. Strong scupltural pieces of half walls and pedestals in the main living room with a cave like recess supporting the staircase up to a level with clerestory windows allowing light and cool but not direct hot strong tropical sun. A small courtyard walled garden extended effortless from the living space grown only with naturally occuring wild plants of the area. The separation of these with a single piece of glass constituted the very best use of this most agressive of all materials, I have ever seen. The word explored here was resonance, and not what they tell you in books. I realised that this person who could not hear (music) had built into all his abodes deep seated resonances which the 3rd ear (the skin) can hear and feel as different tones. A square pedestal, a half wall, a curved thick wall, clay tiles on the floor, no doors visible, it was this bringing relief to a working body. In other words if there is pandemonium outside, the immediate proximity of these forms will override the other distant echoes venturing into the area. Read More
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 poem.. "New Again" Read More
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 ................
a gentle benediction. If the mood fits, claim these whispered words. Read More
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