What memories must the ancient Ganges hold;What rites*, what final wishes, what tales and lores!What tears of those that in white raiment, in rocky boatssail with the urned ashes, to be set afloat...The cremation grounds breathe in smoke, and shiveras night descends upon the mourned and mourner-yet, no one knows, she'll carry them whither...for these… Continue reading Ganges

Ishaisms, Poetry


Little did I expect to be killed with your song... softly like a burning sage sweltering, smouldering, fragrant, in a swirly smoky mist... Prickly pines couldn't kill like your song did, softly... dark forests trodden in quiet evenings... forbidden North Star 'neath shadowy sunset gleaming, glimmering... softly... rhododendrons, red velvet bare branches, and happy valley,… Continue reading Smokin’