To Write Or Not To Write

“What of my standing

Still, here

If my mind heeds not the ink of my pen?

Imagination come to life

By the name in which is mine.

Would it be worthy of a tale so fine

As one I wish to hear?

Would I share the sea of seeing that I’ve gleaned?

Or would they stand not still

Close here

Neither there

Or anywhere

In fear

Of hearing that which I have seen?”


This poem was written on July 12th, 2014.
To Write Or Not To Write by Vannathan Hugh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

At 2:09

“At 2:09

how else but fine

be the word in which I sign

to describe the vine

on which grows to entwine

each and every kind

moment within time?

How do I pluck within my mind

the places you claim love to hide?

It is the you that, if you choose, must look and find,

at 2:09,

these minutes to refine.

You will see just how sweet life is when in line.”


As a way to mellow out my mind I grind the backward thoughts and push them behind.


This poem was written on August 9th, 2014 at 2:12pm.
2:09 by Vannathan Hugh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

We Are So Far Away

” We are so far away

From the way

In which I find

A perfect path

To travel by.

Greenery be

Thy lovely scene

To decorate my memory shy.

Shy from worlds

Run wrought with Linguist’s dye.

Yes, shy from space

Filled with weathered atoms.

My dear friend,

I have found, too,

That a painting previously painted

Is one not meant for you.

A canvas clear and tangible

Is all around.

Take up your lungs and

Exhale colours

Vividly breathing anew.

For you

And I

We’re two

Of a kind.


As you wish.


Already done.

This one time is a place all our own.

It’s a place bred and alone.

Matchmaking the creations

Kept secret between hearts.

‘Tis a shame

That which hides such a fame

Be an elation

Such as art.”

This poem was written on July 21st, 2014 at 9:16pm.

We Are So Far Away by Vannathan Hugh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

When the Clouds Fall as Rain

When the clouds fall as rain,

I see the day differently.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I pretend I can fly through
the fast falling raindrops and ask

When the clouds fall as rain,

I think I know all the answers to every question.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I think I can create all solutions.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I see the day differently.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I remember what it is that clouds do.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I remember that they are spongy nomads.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I try to imagine what it’d be like to live in the sky.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I picture what the ground looks like from so high up.
What do the Earth’s people look like?
I bet pilots know what it’s like!

When the clouds fall as rain,
I realize that clouds have to watch us down here.
They have to watch us run errands, and pay bills.
They have to watch us dress up and pretend.
They have to watch us make mistakes and commit to jobs
that make up frown.
They have to watch us lose our loved ones, and cry.
They have to watch us fight for justice between each other,
and they have to watch us fall as civilizations.

 And even though they get to watch us do some happy things,
like pick flowers in the spring, and break bread with high hopes and smile,
they still have to watch us grow old.

When the clouds fall as rain,
I think of what it must be like to befriend the view of creatures like us,
day in and day out, inhabiting this unfathomable, beautiful place
without any proper care for any of it.

On days like this, when the clouds fall as rain,
I smile bright so to say thank you to our forgotten friends in the sky
who only want to watch happiness but instead only absorb our sorrow.

So, on the next day that the clouds fall as rain remember they are only
trying to wash away all of our frowns to make way for happy, happy smiles!

‘When the Clouds Fall as Rain’ Vannathan Hugh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

An Evening.

There has never been a time in my past when, as a child, I could not positively state how joyful I was to have the ability to sense all of everything surrounding me. My memory is abundantly clear, as I am still able to recall it, with young happiness. My childhood was home to a smaller amount of interrupt than most of those whom I’ve met hence. I am exceedingly grateful for that, may it be known. This evening I happened to be well-in a recently purchased novel when I realized that my gaze had been affixed to what lay beyond my window.


“You know who doesn’t mind posing for ages,

awaiting the final strokes of the painter?

The Trees.


Am I the painter?


Who am I to own the vision of beauty?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yes..


but surely the soil beneath our soles would not be as lush as it stands before me now

if it weren’t for the green hands tipping the long arms of mother nature.


These tall natives give birth world-wide..

and all within a whisper.


If I am not the painter….

[and when my lungs exhale the gift opposite to the one the Trees grant us forms no being such as myself..]

then mustn’t I be the one who observes?”


I am not a creator. I am one who admires, listens, observes, learns and speaks only but of lessons learned. I am made to perform little else. Am I to be blamed for my lack of pride and vanity? I shall think not, and hope not. Especially when I have been a victim of the beauty of this earth more times than the number of people who accept the beauty that exists around them instead of the “beauty” they engross themselves with. We are humans. We are still animals, yes; therefore, we do forget the gifts we have. If we forget our natural beauty, then we certainly would forget how to use them.

Our senses do not exist for no reason at all. This is the balance of humanism. Everything is balanced. For those of us who know, we have ears. If a blind man can not see the leaves change colour, he may hear them fall. For, those of us who know, we have eyes. If a deaf man can not hear the whirling air, he may see the invisible force moving the colours around him. For, those of us who know, we have nostrils. If a man can not smell the ever-changing air, he may taste all other nourishment surpassingly. I find this next equation the second most sorrowful loss ever to befall upon a man. For those of us who know, we have nerves. If a man can not feel, he may only learn through trust. Lastly, if a man can not accept truth through only his mind, than he may not see, hear, smell, taste, or feel substance of any depth, and therefore, he may not know himself as man.

In summary, I experienced a beautiful day. The coming Autumn is here and I swear to learn the every molecule of its pattern, so as to commit it to memory, and worship the fact of it throughout my whole being. I am blessed, shall I say on a limb, to be rooted in such a beautiful area of the world. I extend that statement with no ignorance. I know far more than my fellow friends, that what exists beyond my understanding may be far more beautiful than I know beauty to be. I hope one day to experience that.

In the meantime, here is a photograph of the sunset I saw from my second-story porch; As well, I captured a video to accompany the photograph. I am uncertain as to the colour. I apologize for the unrealistic look it has, I assure you I intended the video for entirely more surreal effects. None the less, I hope I am not the only one who was blessed with a picturesque vision tonight, or any night. May all your eyes be opened, and may all of what you see be truth.

with appreciation,


An Evening. Vannathan Hugh Light is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Laura’s Simplicity Edifies


” There’s a suit case.

One that holds samples of tid-bits

of memories

and of adventures of one’s life.

“Set it aside.”

the smile in your eyes tells me,

“dive into the pureness of life’s breathing laughter.. and smile.”

There are tracks,

consisting of those melodies that match

to explain the sounds of nature,

in which is our home,

and how we find the truths

behind why we’ve been allowed access to such a beautiful place.

We are human.

Oh, we.


Humans are we.


All.. living,

with breath in our lungs..

we survive.


sweet tender happiness in our voice.

I beg..

never vanish.

Will you?


You’re a thief!

Our voices fly through our times,

and you care less.


Oh Spirit,

the beauty we convey.

Hold it tight to the purpose,

and never let loose our secrets.

Live under your skin with the truth of things.

Listen to knowledge.

Hear his wisdom.


tell of his journeys to every ear which will welcome your voice.

Soften your words.

Speak clearly.

In harmony.

with love,

your keeper.  “

All of life coincides

With the light we wake. Like running into stone we run into the light.

This is how the truth in the air finds us and I love it.

If it takes stone in my eyes to show me knowledge

so I’ll have it.

Warm is learning on our teeth and lips.

Through these we spread ourselves.


Written on April 29th, 2011

Laura’s Simplicity breaths and I know Care Vannathan Light is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Stirring my late lunch with tremors

“…at a magnitude of 5.8, it was the largest trembler to hit Virginia since 1897, when the largest quake on record, a 5.9 quake, struck.”  says Liz Halloran from in her blog titled “Why a quake in Virginia isn’t as rare as it sounds” – on today’s earthquake. And what about the snow fall we had a couple of years back? It was the largest snow fall here in VA since 1996. Am I the only one with a gut feeling that says major things are happening and have been happening? This might not be positive. Our Earth is always changing, and as much as we’d love to keep it at a function of somewhat copacetic, we may not.

I am rarely stirring about at home around two in the afternoon on any given weekday, therefore my experiencing this was a gift indeed. I sat at our kitchen table chatting with my father, funnily enough, about my job when we heard a deep rattling from the basement. Once this wicked noise rose to our level of the house and spread above our heads my father sternly exhaled the phrase, “What the hell?” and we proceeded to bolt out our front door to find almost all of our neighbours hanging outside of their doors hoping for evidence that they weren’t losing their minds. My neighbourhood consists of elderly ladies whom keep company, quite often, with one or two family members. The cater corner home to mine is home to a lovely woman whom, sadly enough, does not leave her home. The granddaughter of this woman, I am presuming, approached me to make certain we had experienced the same heart wrenching, mind twisted disaster. I am new to my neighbourhood, and therefore we exchanged little chitchat. I minded not. The thought I was deeply stricken with firstly was, ‘I hope Mrs. Almond, and the other ladies of Forbes St. haven’t woken to find any broken antiques.’ For, if they are anything like my great-grandmother, they would have plenty of gorgeous glass-ware decorating shelves after shelves of memories and Time.

After my sorrowful thoughts on my late grandmother, I returned to the modern age of an unfortunately virtual world; I checked Facebook. I am ashamed of this, to be frank. I am not one to spend loads of Time sifting through the lives of my peers for fun. I even have been questioned, and complimented by the mouths of elders on this fact. I appreciate what is no longer in use by society, and I am sad to see the dishonour placed upon said items simply for the date they were invented. I’d much rather enjoy the voices of those passed, than those of the ones making use of their vocal chords to gain power in vanity. I find that shameful and needless. That, however, is beside my point.

Because I had not my phone, nor access to the internet, exactly by my side, or in my hand, I was not the first to post about this earthquake. Others in the county and surrounding cities have already felt it and had made others known prior to my knowledge. I was more concerned with my friendly neighbours, than making sure my ‘cool’ points were up.

Non the wiser, I went to the internet to seek others’ knowledge and opinion. Perhaps there had been damage nearby? Perhaps others were in trouble? Where in the tri-state area had this began? Why here? Might this not be the first? Where has this stretched to? The previous questions were only the first to roll about in my brain.

Luckily the damage was slim to none tangibly. That is not to say that the minds of the locals all about the east coast haven’t been twisted, or harmed at all. I know that for most, this is the very first earthquake ever felt; I know this to be true for most in my town and surrounding cities. The people populating the areas in which I travel weekly do not live as people who travel lively. I felt an earthquake back in the early two-thousands. It lasted for mere seconds and my mother hadn’t felt it at all from her place in the house. If it hadn’t been for my love of the grass in the spring time, I would have been none the wiser myself. Thank you for the sunshine in my vision and the honeydew in my nostrils air. I might not have grown to keep the memories of my childhood, if it hadn’t been for those ways of experiencing life at its finest.

Despite the lack of seriousness this awakening holds, I certainly find quite a percentage of positive, nostalgic aromas mixed with the local air, as a result from the mental shake of today’s list of events. Might you sit down your handheld life and open your senses to the pure and True air of Life around you. If you look up and see Life to be only but too bright for your timid eyes, then I apologize for those who’ve kept you behind in your past and left you to become ignorant. Brutal as the world of Truth and Light may be, it is but Truth, and Truth only. Why deny what exists purely? If only you might understand that what you are making excuses for is not for yourself alone, but is for your denial of your inability to be human and nothing more.

Thank Earth for jolting your rut – to make you remove the roots from your feet- and shifting you to another frame of mind. I know that I quite like the intrigue. Don’t you?

Stirring my late luck with tremors Vannathan Light is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Valentine’s Valentine

Yellow, Red, and green,

the colour of her eyes,

His mind tries

to wean,

from the memories

of her disguise.


Jane was her name.

She was anything but plain.

Oh, he tries focus again.

But to his surprise she looked away.

These colours escaped her eyes..

they changed too soon..


Poor Jane’s mind did go wasted.

Fear. It pasted.

Upon my heart it bloomed.

For, my eyes did catch the moment my love’s gaze

made haze.


Then my face..

I turned it back,

to check for hope,

where hope did lack..

My heart’s fear did no deceiving.

Two lights were indeed approaching.


A wind; it blew.

I do declare!

It lifted these lights into my Jane’s hair.



The scene my legs did leave.

As for my love?

She flew!


Her epilogue reads:

“My darling loved,

loved me so.

I am sorry my missed,

it’s go!

For now, your side, it lacks me so.


Careless human I once was.

Winged angel my spirit now be.


I am thankful for my he.

For even now, he lay with me.


His feet plotted,

and my feet are buried.

All because my eyes, they spoke,

with child-like precision.

My poor vision.


I am thankful for my he.”



My tears water.

Baby blue.

The flowers that sparkle my love’s soil.

This time it is my vision making fog.


Every February, I visit the theatre.

I know my love.

She meets me there.

She falls.. with every tear.


And now I am forever filled with fear,

that my vision,

blurred by my tears,

will shoo away hues..

of yellow, red and green..

the colour of her eyes.


My mind has pasted,

with child-like precision,

her vision.

A life with endless light.


I will always be thankful for my she.

Written on March 15th, 2011.

Valentine’s Valentine Vannathan Light is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Yesterday went with, when..

You were, was , with,


within a dream.


my poet’s mouth


for the ocean’s silver


lingers over the


of thy mystery’s thickening


Unforgettably, I forgot to date this when I originally wrote it. I do know the date must have been in 2010.

Yesterday went with, when by Vannathan Light is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.