Changing Hues

No shortage of colour
Coloured petals splayed by the sun
Sun seeking purchase in a grey sky
Sky bleeding melancholy hues
Hues changing the direction of winds
Winds moving bleeding red hearts oN

©Entirety 2016

photo found on Pinterest

Paint Brush

An Oriental Moon found on tumblr


His hand

Dipped into

The pale reflection

As shimmering glass

Gave way to fractured light

And the picture painted

Glowed of opalescent tears

On the remainder

Of the convalescent night

©Entirety 2016

Baby Blues

Thoughts that never belonged

To these eyes

Of innocence before

But now they are hers

To own

In all their deviance

Blazing hues of fire

Under those baby blues

©Entirety 2016

photo portrait found on Pinterest

Jade Green Sea

~Chasing the sun

Under the beckoning tide

Come sweet child

Float into the sea of jade

Let me hold your fears

You will not sink

The sun does not part

For good

The stars of night

Will be our home

And I will keep you warm

Until the tide goes out

At tomorrow’s turn

And the sea of jade

Will turn a crystal blue

And you will see

The dance you are called to

Held inside my arms 

©Entirety 2016

~Photo from Pinterest

words by Entirety

Happy Birthday Dad.

Today my dad would have turned 75. That sounds old. But he didn’t look old to me. Not until I saw him, sitting at the edge of his bed, weak, frail, drooling water down his chin did I see him as even possibly old. Never mind even capable of dying. It wasn’t until he lay in that bed, his laboured breathing gurgling digested blood from a stomach eating away at itself, that I thought, he may actually die. I was so dense, some health care provider I was or am to not even see how close he was. How I sat literally, on deaths door step with him those last hours. I had no clue. At least consciously.
He wore a suit everyday. He built a company from scratch with my mother and a friend. He grew a garden I saw as more trouble than worth, but I never turned down a bouquet of Brown Eyed Susan’s or tulips. I listened to him antagonize my mother about how much butter she put on her bread, or how much syrup she put on her pancakes. And I watched him worry when she went through chemo and surgery for her cancers.  
We all dealt with his antagonism to some degree, he would press me about my swearing when I went to Bible College, asking me what my profs would think. He would get frustrated with my second oldest, when he’d cry or whine. He pushed our buttons, and sometimes…that was just the right thing to do.

“Why don’t we just let the president be the president forever?” I asked him as an 8 year old child. “What is pragmatism dad?” I asked him as an 18 year old. “What happens to the words, to inspiration if you don’t have a place to express it dad?” I asked him as a 40 year old woman.
He may have pushed buttons, but he always made me ask questions, and then helped me to explore some of those answers.
He sat through piano lessons with my oldest, took his grandkids for walks through the same woods as he took me as a child. He even took them to McDonalds despite an enormous amount of complaining about how crappy the food was.  
He was a failure in a 100 ways and a success in another 100 more. But he was never old. Just a pain in the ass. And I think I may take after him. This worries me a little to be honest. Except for the part that he was good with words, knew how to speak with people (that weren’t family members anyways) and mediated some very difficult problems through his work in public relations. I hope I take after him in some of those ways anyways. And not just the antagonist parts.
No matter what though, I will never remember my dad as being old. He was a bunch of things but never that.  At least not until the day he died. 

my dad with my daughter after her birth

This Quiet #SenseWrds

Only whispers

Of delicious thoughts

And incredulous unknowns

Play through her mind

In this quiet

While this woman’s fears slide

In acquiescence 

Until finally suppressed

In the descent

Of her lovers touch

And his bite

©Entirety 2016

photo from tumblr

Reaching Out

She reached out

To touch the stars

That flew past

Each one

Leaving a mark

Upon her hand

A reminder

Of every want

She’s never had

©Entirety 2015


photo found on Pinterest

Old Wounds

photo by Nirav Patel


She picks at old wounds

Peeking in

Teasing away the dressing

Testing the strength

Of the healthy growth

But unable

To leave the rest alone

At first it stings

Then the edges begin to bleed

Until all the hurt returns

With her insecurities

To not trust

This path of healing

So one more day

She’ll redress the wound

More slowly

And painfully than need be

And for now

This is all she knows 

©Entirety 2016

For more of Nirav Patel’s photos find them here