Poem | |
Running through my mind,
Running through my veins,
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night,
Cool air beneath and above the sea.
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand.
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing.
Up ahead in a virtue distance,
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods.
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality.
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again.
Twilight, rain stranger than strange.
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture.
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"
Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow.
If I accept, and then decline.
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways.
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?
When I no longer value the values of the young.
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart.
They're the voices give and take from our health.
Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me.
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria….
YES UNITY! Fantabulously-fantastic!
Always, wanting more than love can touch.
We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup.
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips.
Prisoners and doers;
All night…. Too late for a treatment.
Lungs, decaying, evil rats.
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation.
Running through my lungs,
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________
Poem | |
Gullies scar brown earth
Hurricanes bring erosion
Of both soil and lives
Poem | |
Many times the ocean
has saved Nippon, pearl of the sea,
an oceanic symbiosis a speck in a fecund see.
The dikes of man such miniscule plans to hold back the tide.
The throngs, each and all crawl across the thin skin of volcanic soil
or rise with in the hump-backed alps of remnant cones.
Yet, the sea rises to reclaim its own
scour the pallet of man, refine, burnish melt, reform.
With pen and sword kanji drawn, samurai born
with knife and bone entrails torn, honor tested
tested by the hand of He,
tested and found worthy.
The children of the Divine Wind
rise above the tsunami, as one, unbowed.
Poem | |
tempest stomps her feet
as she shakes her liquid skirt
knee deep in N'awlins
Poem | |
They poured in, before the deluge
To surpass the natives in numbers
folks in their cribs -through-hearse stages,
trusting like kids, a burnished sky, blue-white,
a cocktail of the wrong and right,
and the mountains, inwardly grumbling ,
Snaking it up to the high spots of primeval Gods,
thro roads, loosely wrapping the giant, like gray ribbons,
sleeping in structures disputed by the rivers
on questions of right of way ,
they milled about, haggled and honeymooned,
peed and pilgrimaged, at Badri and Kedar,
belonging to the likes of Sankaras, long before
touts and tours stirred their sequestered worlds .
And the super giant suddenly fancied a good shower,
with unusually heavy cloudbursts , landslides
And down flowed
decades of filth with silt settling to ceiling heights.
The crowds, local and visiting, clung on to life like limpets
watching their kin, their life’s bearings, settings and links,
uprooted, tossed and broken,
Escapees from being buried in debris,
now cornered in hell, bereaved and battered,
famished and plundered, living and dying from moment to moment
on nothing, save air laced with fumes of rotting death
at the tipping points of sanity , pondering
their turn of fates;
development vis-a-vis disasters ;
disasters vis-à-vis puny mitigation measures
tragedies-in-the-making vis-a-vis remedies forsaken;
freak instances vis-à-vis climate changes.
They remain stranded , for days on end,
despite the IAF, army men and their copters
( not the other services or their detractors)
risking their lives on a huge rescuing effort.
The natives, rescued or not, stranded for life, though.
@24 jun 2013. By :S.Jagathsimhan Nair
* This is about the thousands of tourists and locals remaining stranded in the Himalayan heights for about a week now, with dwellings, roads and bridges washed away/ blocked by heavy rains , landslides and floods.
Sankara refers to Adi Sankara, the saint of the 8th Cy AD.
Badri and Kedar mean Badrinath and Kedarnath, two important places of pilgrimage in the Himalayan heights.
IAF : Indian Air Force
For Deb’s 'Referential' contest , referring to the loss engendered by the Himalayan geography which finds expression, different, though, in the metaphors of Kash's poem, 'My emotional geography', with ref to expressions like valley of pain, ocean of sorrow, tearful rivers,foggy mountains etc.
For Giorgio Veneto's Impress me
Poem | |
Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years
And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....
Poem | |
St Helens, volatile lady,
Is letting off some steam.
She is seething now with anger.
We know not to what extreme.
I remember the eruption in
The year of ninety-eighty.
That fierce outburst proved her to be
A quite hot-headed lady.
She will not tell what ticked her off.
She gets her satisfaction,
Not from talk or boastfulness.
She articulates with action.
So take your puny instruments
And foolish speculations.
She well may have surprise in store
Beyond all expectations.
Don't tramp on her abundant skirts;
That tends to irritate her.
This lady's incensed enough now,
You're foolish if you bait her.
She's given you fair warning
And if you take her dare
You can't run far enough to get
Her ash out of your hair.
Poem | |
Watching the trees
get whipped by wind and rain,
I thought of the birds
of falling nests
why are there none
at my window today?
Yesterday they were here,
when the liquid curtains fell
Let them seek shelter here.
I hear them distantly,
and pray they are well,
braving gust and water,
far, far stronger
Poem | |
O, boisterous clouds,
Why do you pout on high?
With friction so among you,
Will lightening too,
Not soon cross the sky?
In bumping heads,
You cause the thunders burst
Then in your sorrow weep
And once again your tears,
Quench earth's thirst.
I stand alone surveying aloft,
Your strength and might.
But then like curtains,
You're parting once again,
For God's sunlight.
Seeing a rainbow hanging,
In a distant portion of your sky.
I need not ask the question,
Where do you go
When not in sight,. or why?
Poem | |
Hard earned wages
Burned as income tax
Cash gone like blowing wind
Tax is not like sweet vermouth
This is just like pulling hen’s tooth
Tax going up, paycheck going down
Tax man leave us alone—we need a break!
Won Honorable Mention
Etheree Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietirch
June 20, 2010