Best Cottons Poems
You are the river running through
unfathomable greens
glassy yellows
down in the core of the river
flicker lightness on top
You increase me…swell me…impregnate without word or deed
push me to the fore till my sail fills with your carbon
a deep blue undertow …rip tidian
only moderate and full…like a plate of food...of vegetables …of fruit…of corn
You are the dark brown peat from which I absorb minerals
vitamins … steel ...magnesium…sulfate
the pillow of my essence’s rest in your name …hurricane
You fall on me
Wash off delusion
And I am a small green thing …a fine rooted thing
Small leaves of me stretch for your chloroformian shadows
My roots dig deep
hear your drum beat in the equatorial regions of the flaming core
I bend around the rocks …look under ever beetle’s shimmering skin
in all things you can be found
Amorous and craving …a magma surface of tension and sun
in tree tops …dark places
in the dark alleys
You are the blue jay…the cardinal but also the raven
the oak knows you too well…the west wind too and swells up in my skirts…my cottons
my downy …my linen …my lead
you stand … your hands on your hips
look out over the possibilities
hungry for returns
I echo
Light housing across ….a sound burst
a wave in a vast universe of waves ..so many
too many waves
but you will hear me
Master of my heart
lover of my flesh and bone…my fat ..my thinness…my crispness…my luxury
You will hear …what no one else will ever know
and call it home
Mother India
Each August 15th since 1947, a day of expectant waiting –
Either terror from India’s enemies and frenemies
Or the terror of weather, some natural happening
Or holiday hazards, even hospital tragedies …
This year, 2017, has India and Israel in alliance
Culture and history connects these ancient folk
Different, yet similar, even in religious compliance:
Ritual purity, Hindu and Jew, avoiding beef or pork
For generations now, we have been South Africans
But grandparents loved the movies, famed Bollywood -
And we learned more of music from these films
Names like Nargis, Sunil Dutt, Rajesh Kanna, plus Shah Rukh
The classic movie, “Mother India” – with hard times
With village life, and then those famines
Family sacrifice, especially from Mothers divine
Sad songs tug those chords across miles and times
So now, this August, we say Happy Birthday: Jai Hind
And in sibling magnanimity, Bless Pakistan too:
Politics and language, love and hate, led to partition
Moving on, we seek Shanthi and Shalom, Salaam and Truth
Poor India, rising India, nation of every contradiction
You are still worth admiring, both kurtha tops and sari
Cool cottons and silks for export, along with technicians …
Those deep religious roots siphon truths told by Mahatma Gandhi ....
(c) Anil Deo, 2017Aug15
The roof seems to have come alive
Raindrops now treading softly on tip toes
The skies clouded with cottons full of water
They drip down as though they are squeezed
Black turns white and so they pave way for others
From little pitter-patter to heavy thuds and splashes
They have grown, graciously engulfing everything
I turn over, not wanting to leave my warm covers
I pull up the quilts and try to drift away
But I can’t resist it any longer, the rain tempts me
I’ve always been addicted to rainy days,
Today is no exception…so I jump off my bed
Still encased in my quilt, I settle on the sill
Arms around my knees, I stare at the heavens
Oh! So wonderful, so magical, almost fairy tale like
The line seems broken yet steady, bulky yet graceful
Departed from home, they splash on foreign land
Soon, they seep into the depths exploring the layers
Some fall on silky leaves which make them their own
Some others join their fathers, flowing to the unknown
It all happens with a blink of the eye…
It continues to rain as I shed my warmth
Looking around I realise I am alone,
Except of course for the little raindrops
Who keep me company on lonely days
My only solace on teary mornings
My inspiration when I’m about to let go
My mentors when I need a hand to reach out to
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
My morning cleansed pure with the flowing elixir
The rest of the sun, still awaiting my arrival
I’m full of spirit…I’m alive with fire fed by water
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
After all it is raining…raindrops are falling
What could go wrong?
What lesser mortals?
What lesser mortals
than Rimbaud
claim themselves
a poet within
another self,
for there is more
than just one self
depending on the
time and day
and nothing
is as it seems
at first,
we are born
from abstract
firmament to the
Infirmament
arriving
planned and unplanned
in the in-between
swaddled in skin,
a nude shade of blue
turning pink
and revolutionary
the most sincere
we've ever been
we are slapped to
make loud noises
to prove we are alive;
we are small noises
for the most part
of our continuum
as we evolve
we reveal our
true colours
our different dimensions
bleed like water pastels
we are shades
and shadow of each,
easily morphing into
the will of others
less than
and more than likely
just to keep the peace
or challenge
subterranean night crawlers
from their obligatory big sleep
silent scarabs
black hats wearing
white hats
guarding gates
of ruined castles
like red caps
pacing the watchtowers
like laughing hyenas
for their better
bleached masters
who are small noises
for the most part
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“As I was going down impassive Rivers,
I no longer felt myself guided by haulers:
Yelping redskins had taken them as targets
And had nailed them naked to colored stakes.
I was indifferent to all crews,
The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons
When with my haulers this uproar stopped
The Rivers let me go where I wanted.”
“And from then on I bathed in the Poem
Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,
Devouring the azure verses; where, like a pale elated
Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks”
I’ve traded my final smiles for a rock and a rush..
Shooting my veins for death at thirty five.
last chance to steal a detox from the county cause
Everyone knows government checks don’t bounce.
Instead I wanna follow the needles of street lights all the way to winter haven Fla.
Pittsburgh Dirt tells me the sun there melts your skin
Maybe I can drip on top of a burnt spoon,
And all the sick junkies can draw me through their cottons..
I’d do it you know, be a martyr,
No more mom’s dreaming, then touching caskets.
I wish I knew who crawled through my ear and blanketed my conscience.
Sarah R couldn’t uncover it, and she was 5-7 with C’s and a fastball.
Her prays linger, bounce off the ceiling fans arms.
Expectations hang framed on my bedroom wall, It reads university of Pittsburgh.
My four cornered nightmare. Do they still believe I can stop, forever, I cant; fathom a
month..
Blood actually runs clean through me today, but that doesn’t change desire
My purpose is to fade into my bed, cautionary tale.
The only question left is who will write the end.
beautiful, cinderella, crazy, growing up, humor, word play,
Gold Plated Ideals©
The ice-white-capped teeth
Smile and beguile the contacted eye
‘Java’ white-bright tee shirts dazzle
Plastic letters ironed on right-side in
Shoulders the body making a statement?
Speaks to me of this century’s impurities
Air fresheners smelling of ‘spice’
Coats the hazy circulating sun
Press-on nails make a statement
All this is in the name of ‘add-ons’!
Linens yellow with age and crinkle fine
Woolens shrink if washed in hot water
Cottons now stretch with added spandex
Silks colourful and light, billow with mirth
Brighten the day to darken the night!
Vitamins and creams make the skin turn young
Micro-wave quickens re-packaged (fake-foods) ‘boxed’
Time ‘replays’ when circling the moon-beamed skies!
More than a man, the south made.
Black and white, south one started,
great oaks refused no man a child
to hang about it, call dark christmas.
Hallow was a name, old now hollow.
Stigma inside wears grey cotton
memories, alive die uncompensated.
Here, electricity has that sick sweet
smell about it, as if it were once alive.
While morality, debates in pockets
of isolated votes packed together.
Is It Poetry
As little child walked in the field of flowers,
Picking and smelling them as she grows,
The pervading air fragrance of Guava
The majestic mellow Mangoes too in wet season,
The atmosphere of green garden eggs,
Caressing melody of crunchy carrots cracker,
The hidden colours of pineapples,
Bulb of yellow oranges lighted the line green trees,
Would be in season all year, including rags to
riches filling Maize
And pods shelled nourishing beans,
Surging umbrella leaves of papaya,
Shallow rooted coco-yam,the variegated
lettuce that brightens everyday,
With the crowded bananas are growing everyday,
But now,they are in wet tins and dry cartons
For that very busy mankind.
The landscapes within are beautifully measureless,
The Jacaranda and Tamarind trees had cast
Their shadows on the plain, and not forgetting,
The Silk-cottons and the wilderness of palm fruits
That grow tall and sure,
And under them we played cracking out nuts and
eating them,
But now, elevated long balcony, we have
That you stand and weep of the passing phases.
The sepulcher we all grew up in,
Might not be the same dungeon now,
And the cradle you are born in
Could well be the same abode now,
Thatched roof has given birth
To corrugated reflections,
Likewise the fragile asbestos fight for space with concretizing flat,
The mud debris has turned to bricks and plaster erect;
New galaxies of dwelling and scattered
About in a festival of designs;
Some are like an octagonal
A cone, a triangle and spec angular façade yet unseen;
All glasses, cupped and straight down
Like the eccentric mansions in heaven,
The spec tropic clime had turned suddenly,
The wind blows and smell of change,
The sun blaze down on man and space and warned,
Of great consequent yet in the
Outer-atmosphere would burst,
As we are cuddly warm
The poles wildly discharged their zillion captured
Water in a spasm of deluge right upon us…I think,
Like urchins, we fumble forgetting the next hour,
But what would happen is nature’s raison d’etre;
Man and his environ scope both have shibboleth gone pathways
And fast we are turning into artificial humankind.
Flipping Heck! - they're at it again!
There's a shuffling noise from the drawer
It's clear they're having a promiscuous party
And swapping their partners once more
I'd paired them up with duty and care
Matching them as they should be
But I left them alone for 10 ruddy minutes
And now they're loose and free
The reds are sleeping with the blues
The greens pair with the brown
The stripes are getting together with spots
To make me look like a clown
The cottons are getting friendly with wool
I hope they don't breed like livestock
There's enough of the blighters already, I think
Treating my drawer like Woodstock
I swear I can hear music in there
That they're dancing to every song
Can't tell if it's "The Who" or Jimi Hendrix
But that party is sure going strong
Their rumbles and fumbles are driving me mad
They really are running amok;
I can never find a matching pair -
I'm becoming a laughing stock
"What's going on?!" - I shout their way
"Go figure it out, Sherlock!"
They're laughing darkly, while going psycho
Like characters by Alfred Hitchcock
One day, I'll get the better of them
One day, I'll win the war
But I know too well, it'll never happen
They know how to even the score
So what can I do? - I could sit and stew
Or just let them get on with their lot
If I was left in a drawer all day
I would surely be losing the plot
They bring me comfort, keep my feet warm
And protect from the rub of the shoe
Though boisterous and brash some of the time
I know just what I should do
I shall leave them be, to have their fun
And play all their days away
I'll live with wearing odd socks, for I know
It's not such a high price to pay
Cottons in the clouds –
Children having pillow fights
Jumping up and down.
7/27/14
goodbye to white skies grey clouds leave as fair cottons fluff into the blue
Ambling and ankling on red brick and cobblestone
gone are your cottons and calicoes.
Factory skeletons repurposed,
phantom workers operate
Ghost looms in condo kitchens.
The sun sets like a watermelon dashed
off the Moody Street Bridge.
** I went outside and watched the summer sky....
Cotton in the clouds –
If I cling on these softness,
Will the wind find you?
Slabs in the clouds –
If I hop from cloud to cloud,
Will it lead to you? .
Ladder in the clouds –
If I climb the swirling stairs,
Will you be up there?
Bus in the clouds –
If I ride on it, will it
Drop me off your path?
Pillows in the clouds –
If I lay my head on it,
Will you lie down with me?
** Hmm...
Floating in the clouds -
Meryl Streep dancing with Clint*
in the kitchen floor.
**I went inside...Oops...
Cottons in the clouds –
Children having pillow fights
I need you at home.
*(You & I)
7/27/14
Have you not looked upon horizons pink,
Outstretched from dreary skies of yesternight,
That vanquish tearful blue as cottons blink
And gray reflects the glow of lunar light?
Are stargazed lilies grown for one alone -
A selfish king who chains the royal moon?
Defiant highness knows, despite his throne,
That petals plucked tomorrow wilt too soon.
Don’t claim your wretched sonnets poetry
Because all lines adhere to rules defined;
No beauty breathes where vibrant imagery
Has fallen victim of the poet’s mind.
Your broken records spin in days gone by
While you refuse the right of time to die.
Wow!Its winter now
It is time for some snow
Indeed a beautiful show
From morning till night
Every moment a delight!
Infront of the Fireplace
Life becomes a chilly place
We put on cashmeres and cottons
So comfortable and always so very warm
Gods heavenly light reaches us each dawn!
It is winter now
So lets renounce
War and hate
Lets polish our world
With peace and love
Until Laughter and happiness
Envelops each and every place!