Best Deciphered Poems
As the sky weeps
in periwinkle petals of
multicolored roses,
rinsed in lemons, and lavender,
the poet within me
releases a bougainvillea
bouquet of unfiltered gratitude,
swaying to the celestial duet
orchestrated by
the angel of raindrops,
adorned in braided
wildflower crowns and
windswept wishes,
echoing dulcet melodies
rendered in whimsical accents.
I ponder, if tears had a tune,
would it be the
sound of drizzling dewdrops?
Would you then feel
the pain I carry,
veiled in smoky silence?
Or would I forever be
the silhouette cloaked
in fogs of charcoal confusion,
too dark to be deciphered
by the fragmented eyes
that eulogize
all that sparkles and glows?
But when stained sunflowers
swirl beneath starless spheres,
scattering seeds of sorrow
to cultivate a garland of grief,
puddled with poignant poems,
I remain throned,
as the goddess of black rain,
riddled with cosmic rituals,
sprinkling kaleidoscopic dust
upon forsaken fields,
while listening to the
drifting leaflets in crisp air,
pleading for the demise
of my unfaltering faith,
oblivious to the truth
that I fear not
mists of melancholy.
I surf through surging seas,
unafraid of twirling torrents
and blazing tides,
piercingly striking
shimmering sapphires
floating in deafening despair.
There in the abyss of obscurities,
I’m nestled within restlessness,
in rooted resilience,
like a perplexed paradox
weaving crippled odes to
the sun that longs to rise and sail,
splashing hues of cinnamon clemency.
Tonight, I’m counting crooning comets,
amidst quivering hailstones,
dancing in cataclysmic rhythm above,
to find my home within
an island of daphne dreams
and singing seashells.
For I hear the flaming flowers
in their solitary stillness
serenade rain rhapsodies,
to awaken the petrichor
soul of heavy horizons,
wrapped in stringed
milky-quartz beads,
bursting forth blooming tomorrows,
illuminated by chamomile water,
concocted from charismatic spring falls…
Yet I think of us, engrossed
in umbrella moments,
Cupid too envied this
symphony of romance
where love conquered all,
and grief but a blurred memory,
in sunlit souvenirs of yesterday.
Warriors of austere adventures,
soldiers for suffering and tribe survival,
children,peasents,women & men,the penny poor & candid criminals,
proud peoples,honest heros,
we marched on all the flesh of earth,
no terrain was forbidden for the fantastic forbearence of the foriegn fighters,
campaigns on the cold clay of Europe's mountain valleys,
the smeltering sands of arid Arabia where the sanctuaries are shadows,
mundane manuevors upon the hot hills of the mutinational Meditterrain,
marching in spread points across Russia's frozen waters,
mildly marching single file through soft dirt along the massive Mississippi,
going above and beyond the shattered rock the Hindu Kush does pile,
forging fanaticaly in columns of two against angry winds that whirl and wail
amid the plateus of Peru where pain is pink and mercy mute,
motives for marching can be exquisitely egregious,or simple and sanctified
like the beating of a boy in order to make a man rather than a brute,
Hannibal climbed the hellish heights of the Alps,
Caeser acquired apotheosis by the grinding of Gaul,
the Khan of Asia killed for culture,
irreproachable rebels like Moses and Boudica fought for posterity,for legends,
Joseph Brant and Alaric broke yokes of the Imperial vulture,
Cincinatus pushed forward the march to ensure the peace with plough,
Tom Paine for freedom of expression,Joan of Arce burned for rapture,
simplicity brings relief,and sometimes joy while on the move,
oddities like bluejays & baccon,
wonders such as hawks & large wildlife,
good things like clean water & a commrades cackle,
mysterious events of improvised spiritual ritual,omens deciphered
unique to each are rife,
in the snow & in the beach,through the mud,grass & crisp leaves we traverse
to bring the battle to the enemy,
to deliver the war with might,
we march so to bring the conflict to ourselves,
we march to meet,compete,and to defeat ourselves,
we march to meet our Maker's light -
J.A.B. %
"Sanskrit"
Tears like pearls of wisdom
crystal diamonds slip salty cool
hour glass down cheeks to lips
purse of gold unzipped
forms exposed vowels and consonants
in the hostage pool
forming ebullient echo words
on moist glowing cupid’s bow
a ripe plumb kissed, then, juicy silence
words tightly bound
all thoughts and unnecessary sounds
cuffed, suspended
tongue licks locked lips
passing key portal bit
softly sparking electric tangent
speaks of sibilant semblance
sensation solitary succulent
seeking sensual sanguine silence
hands between pages
two legs of a chapter, verses read
scent of a journey
puzzles kept as secrets
a treat to be unwoven, deciphered
warm skinned, unknown, token
slippery lover's notes
fingers following the lines
along wet Sanskrit
heart of body
tantric
broached
free
never owned
hot wired
removed
yet responding;
conduit opening
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"I Like It" / Moby
https://youtu.be/TdXLNHWmurM
http://jayarava.blogspot.com/2013/02/emptiness-for-beginners.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Two_truths_doctrine
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Sutra
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantra
These days my home is a disaster where no neatness is mastered.
For years I did the spic and span scene for a spouse who notices
only the TV screen and our part alien, completely annoying teens.
I eventually deciphered my efforts made none of them nicer or wiser.
I realized that to remain a cleanliness and organizer striver would sooner than later require I take a daily tranquilizer.
In time, I learned my bed was quite a smart desire and the
art of long naps was my perfect mood equalizer. So, why brood
over other family member's feelings when my own felt nicer.
There was a time when dust bunnies reduced me to shame
but, now they’re just fluffy cuties that I individually name.
Whereas I once frequently behaved like a total grump
because all treated our dining table like the local dump,
I now idly ponder when the pile will style a solid ceiling thump.
Home-nest chores of potential upset-tests no longer interest my
new style, but soaking in the tub attracts my delight worthwhile.
My bathroom has become my private, pampering isle.
Magazines to thoroughly savor, tempt me in a dream-flavored pile.
Within that little room I’m managing a pampering cocoon.
Once upon my stress time, I would be cryin’ over clothes
not ironed and family tried neither soothing or inspiring me.
These days my ironing policy is that such is pure folly
and that only laundered attire need be desired. I no longer
grow vacuum sore ‘cause rooms are too trashed for dirt to hit floors.
I am learning to keep my child-like, spontaneous smile
despite any and all house or family trials.
If in this lesson I succeed, that’s all I really, truly and mostly need.
I wish to live and love centered in a state of relaxed
‘cause that’s where my spic and span are truly at.
I came as an unaffected statue
Halloween depiction depicting everything
vaguely-leaving margins for misinterpretations
like hieroglyphics deciphered by illiterates
scawling crayon scratch book reports
Walk in these shoes
Feel the pavement scrape through openings worn through souls
and feel the contours of the Earth ravaging
~merciless~
Take the reigns of this chariot
rambling around on undiscernable tracks often
backwards-hobbling humbly
numbly picking up pieces from a patchwork jigsaw
picture possesing voids in the most beautiful places
Climb this tree and know the shaky footfall limbs
sprawl like weeping willow tendrils on my fathers branch
bare and abandoned like locusts came, fed, and fled
watch the forest flourish and realize
this tree is flawed yet resilient
rooted in the strength of adversity
Stethoscope this heart and enjoy the offbeat beat
thumping in uneven peak and valley arrythmia
loving deeply and loved shallow, coldly
berating every executioner who killed
my adoration quotient with dull unfeeling axes
Leaving tides turned, churning me to hurt
Vengefully....Senselessly
Leaving no paths passing me passively
~~passion is my blessing and curse
Stealth in the dead of night
His advance afloat evanescent waves
Gliding ever so gently
Hovering on a cloud of velvet
Lurking like a thief
His approach on pervading wafts of gardenia
Stealth in the still of night
Under a hazy moon in a starless sky
The brush of his lips on her eyelids
Disturbs her sleep
In the most delectable way
Nudging her senses
As he slips into her dreams
And invades her world
One breath at a time
Shivering whispers
Barely deciphered
And in the morning
Vanishes not a trace
Lest the faint scent of blue gardenia
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on June 25, 2018 for LATE JUNE 2018 PREMIERE CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 10TH
The years have flown by,
Without me realising of all
That I have been missing out in our world
The years, with the speed of light,
Have brought me to stop wanting
To glance into my mirror,
Unable to bear the sight of my wrinkles
My saggy skin and my balding head!
Now, my bones have become weak
And they can crash at any moment
My organs function on some days,
On some others, I require hospitalization
Making it all seem like
My body itself is rejecting life
While this world itself
Is rejecting my body!
Yet, my worn out eyes are sparkling,
Full of expectation for that which is to come;
Yes, though I missed out on some mundane pleasures,
I watered my spiritual well with clean and pure knowledge,
Sought out from religious books and enlightened men
So much that now
I am so eager to meet with that which has been promised
By those sayers of sooth,
From the celestial beings to the unconceivable God!
And when I look back at the life I lived,
I breathe with silent relief at the fact that
I lived according to my own will and to my own choices
Even if these corroborated not with those who surrounded me
I did what I wanted, indulged in what I loved, stayed away
From that which made me uncomfortable, and imprinted
My journey here through thousands of poems,
Set to be deciphered if the world would want to understand
My meaning!
I have come of age,
And knocking on the door is none else
Other than Death
For whom I am preparing to hold
A welcoming party!
Living in the concrete jungle of the city’s thermal island
My five senses were stifled to almost dead and bland.
To perceive if all of them are still alive and working or not
I went from the city to the lap of nature I nearly forgot.
I trekked in the high Himalaya along the deep Tista valley
The floating fragrance of orchid on hill slope greeted me.
The cascading streams on eroded boulders made a murmur
I heard the sound of music created by the pristine nature.
The clumps of cloud curled up the valley soaking the green
My heart mellowed at their soft touch seeping through skin.
Up above the tree canopy the clouds melted in cool rain
The drops were like elixir of heaven my taste buds still retain.
The crimson sun painted gold on peak Kanchajangha at dawn
Enthralled and awed, I saw the Himalayan splendor being born.
I was then floating on the astral air of grand ecstasy
And deciphered my five senses still survived within me.
August 6, 2018
He never once mentioned the pressure of his blood
or his Mam
I found dead on the floor
his Dad’s cancer
or his younger brother
not once, during the best years of my life
he fixed cars
with a pipe slowly smoking
a magician with gauges and valves
he drank small amounts of beer
most nights
talked of governments,
jays, woodpeckers and herbs
and fishing
he once caught a 200lb conger
he threw it back, no big deal
walked his dog over a hundred years old
until she died too
he never once mentioned it, but we noticed
the angle of the briar
the bedraggled churchwarden
the butter in the beans
that one extra potato
the few extra pounds
but not once ever
did he bring up our grumbles
our impoliteness
or our dirty shoes
through fleeting visits
he just smiled, understood us like Buddha
he gave without receipts
or IOUs
would it have mattered
if we’d found the tablets in his drawer
or deciphered the consultant’s scrawl
papered vaguely on the wooden table?
he wasn’t expecting guests, I guess
and then one random Sunday,
memories of mountains
and meadows
and fox cubs
and bullfrogs,
warm summers
and the scent of tobacco
went out
from 'Sawing Fallen Logs For Ladybird Houses' 2011
http://amzn.to/seDv8w
Flamboyant search for a woman who had lost her mind.
Luckily she was outrageous and quite easy to find.
Her rainbow hair and the braided elephant she rode
Were clues easily deciphered, faster than Morse code.
She wore a turquoise hat, with a noisy penguin on the top.
She shopped at every store, and bought every broom and mop.
She was loud and happy, and she sang and danced pure joy.
She was amazing and funny, and she delighted every girl and boy.
They said she was crazy, the naysayers, the means, and the moody.
She was the happiest being in the village, our own delight, Miss Toody.
She was funny and cheerful, and made everybody have a happier day.
We captured her daily, but every night, we let her squirrel herself away.
If this is a woman who has lost her mind
Then more of us need to, for she was truly always kind.
If this is a woman who needs to be put in a cage,
Put me in with her, for to me she is all of the rage.
Forgive me, my love, for I wandered like a lost traveler,
On the enchanted caravel of our lives,
I traveled through blooming fields,
But slipped away like a subtle and enticing melody.
In the garden of your heart, I found shelter and rest,
A haven of tranquility, like stories woven in moonlight,
But I couldn't vigilantly watch over the early buds,
I left, letting them discover their own heights.
Forgive me, my love, for the long and deep nights,
When our dreams intertwined like threads of gold,
On the sky of your life, I unfurled like a celestial traveler,
But disappeared into the timeless mist of silence.
In your eyes, I deciphered unspoken secrets and hidden mysteries,
On your lips, I tasted the essence of eternal love,
But as a pilgrim of infinity, I didn't know how to stay,
To share the heavy and unwavering burden of our existence.
Forgive me, my love, for leaving the labyrinth of your soul,
Leaving your heart to weep in bitter isolation,
But even as a traveler through the twists and turns of your life,
I loved passionately, like a sunrise ablaze in fiery flames.
Now, as a memory, you will carry within you the echo of my pilgrim,
A traveler who sowed seeds of love on the untrodden path,
And perhaps, in another spring, on another day of grace,
You will forgive the traveler who passed through your magical and mysterious world.
IN THE DEMEANOR OF GOD
We deployed military to Afghanistan to fight terrorism, but nothing has curtailed.
Today we are up against ISIS in Islamic worlds whose cipher can be deciphered.
One of these old days not so long to come righteousness will transform.
There is poverty yet known of mind-sets and/or of hunger.
We as a world should be concerned with that that affects our home front.
We as the universe know that the influence of poverty as a mind-set henceforward a famine state.
But oh, one of these old days not long to come righteousness will unleash amidst mammoths.
In a Biblical presence, do we coexist?
We are the ideology and the historical eras.
As the sun rises in the East, our daily lives become the idiom.
We are diverse in dialect.
Our world is the Unites States of America.
The sun shines on the righteous.
Humanitarianism is our cause.
We want universal peace for one and for all.
But oh, these are the precarious times.
A righteous mien is the will of the Almighty God.
The philosophical tenet is that a man (or woman) that does not fix his (or her) own problems, God will help resolve them.
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written April 10, 2016!
Technology is matter built to mind our fusions and confessions of relaxation, tie up the man who believe not what you believe, and praises those like you, and pay homage to the one who makes you believe
Name the shame and project it in reason, seasoning the wounds with lies and killing the truth so much that question of dreams are reality of answers, in noise of poverty, earring of gold and riches, touches of slavery and vision of desires.
I sit, in a sited position thought consuming the mind, silence at its dept, and emotion at brinks of uncertainty, call me what you but never call me a reader of this encrypted life, deciphered by the same person who is clueless too.
Some say we create our own fate, some say we born to with a purpose, some say we are in search of a destination that has no map,
Some people are followers like those who live inside the barriers of lawful codes, and some are prisoners to it,
But some are what they are
So i ask again in aged time of seconds gone by,
Are you a creator or computer?
Lebron Spirits
The spectacles of any poem
Shall be deciphered through
A flurry of lights, flying
Like loose Boron particles
That you ride without rockets
Into old and new worlds alike.
Here are faces chiseled into canyons,
Here you hear the moments swaying, swaying.
Your dreams have dreams of their own.
Then everything invisible rises,
And you feel the rising.
And the rising is good.
And you are good.
And so is the poem.
3rd march2012, by: Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Form: rhyming couplets
Sandy tracks, still and dormant, lie await for us,
Virgin sands of Malvan beach, its breeze my body salty caress.
Through the grooves of coconut palms swaying tall,
We trudge to the sandy shores backpack and all.
Green thatched leaves. Crowns of glory, shade it extorts,
Swinging hammock to nest me in my denim blues shorts.
A strong breeze blows saline pelagic scented odor across,
Blue waves melt to foam, kiss shores, hued shells emboss.
Lonely eagle soar virgin blue skies,
More of the brood join in and glide past fishing boats floating by.
A murder of crows feast on our eaten table,
As in the warm waters we dip, the crows our food they garble.
The waves sound gushing rhapsody repeat,
Us jovious beach bums in water enjoy the sunny heat.
Dry fishing boats on logs they are on the sands to park,
Lie along akin, like silent serpents, waiting for dusk to embark.
Sea gulls they glide over silver wavy waters,
Food seeking dives perform, for them that’s what matters.
A pack of dogs they frolic with glee,
As the fisher folk heave coir ropes dogs from there flee.
Golden sunlight darts out of stagnant clouds formless,
Group of lads, beach volley ball they play tireless
As I sit ten meters away from wet sandy shores,
Melody erupts as waves repeat encore.