Best Hari Poems
"The Moon and the Crow"
Legs of a journey open
along The Road
Black Crow
ruffles his feathers
Moon transforms
White Lily pearly luminescent
Unfurling milky legs and arms
Mata Hari dances naked
Cool emerald eyes
intent that beckons
piercing
heart that levitates
towards
the Other’s dimension
Witness
Lilith’s
Resurrection
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
CocoRosie - The Moon asked the Crow ( with Lyrics)
https://youtu.be/D5C88GrQrsg
Lyrics:
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/cocorosie/themoonaskedthecrow.html
K.I.S.S.
I'm Just Getting Started
I'm just getting started, though I'm not in control,
But I am all dressed and indubitably, very well-composed,
virtuously loved by many, with honored adulation exposed,
so I lie and wait, but ready to go, anew, in my dapper clothes.
A broken watch on a floor, as time ticks onwards as before,
A kiss that's giving--believing, a kiss that's receiving--deceiving,
The moon coasts to attuned hearts that are squabbling on a lane,
Stars twinkle to sparkled wishes pouring from tear ducts of the hopeless,
Night waves surge, tickling the traipsing shoeless of the fully-clothed.
Baby falls to ahhs!--cries--carried, cuddled to coos,
Then wide-eyed to wonders of weird faces of two adult fools,
A writer's measure can be the length of a Tolstoy novel or the brevity of a Haiku,
Mata Hari can read her victims like a book, while Cassanova can undress pages with his looks,
The blessed and the bliss read scriptures from this,
While Cain to the cursed cast spells and do their worst,
From the sublime to the lowly, to the noteworthy and the ordinary,
From Titanic's affluent first-class to her destitute in steerage,
One day we will stand equals, titless bearing none other,
The Book Of Life is read, there stands, once a king next to a pauper.
2019 September 13
*5th Place*
I'm just getting started
~~John Hamilton
Listen listen respected MAA
Forget my all mistakes
If I die for my nation
Open windows all the gates
So that soul of mine could enter
Could see father and you MAA
And sit down on lap MOM
To re feed your milk my MAA
And could ask all you
To forget my all evils
And forget my presence symbol
As I return to crush the perils
I remember early awakening
And remember glassful milk
I remember your calling
To wearing Kurta made of silk
Believe Believe and trust me MAA
I will return to serve the nation
Will rejoin beloved army
I remember milk your taken
* MAA (Hind) = Mother
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
E-MAIL : hari.cfa@gmail.com
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
https://www.facebook.com/hariomsharmapoetry/
Kathang-isip na mapagkunwari
Ginto'y sa dulo raw ng bahag-hari
Sa huling hininga bumabawi
Nasanay lang sa suwail na gawi.
Araw-araw sumasapit ang gabi
Mga tala'y lumayo sa tabi
Ang hangin lang ang madalas bumati
Tadhana'y sadyang mapaghiganti
Kung maari'y sayo ay lumagi
Giliw huwag na sanang tumanggi
Nawa ating kaluluwa'y mag-sapi
Sa daigdig nating mapang-api
Nagsidigmaan na ang mga lahi
Sa puso kong tinastas ang tahi
Sa'yo o sa leeg ba itatali?
Sakaling maitama ang mali.
- PM, 2018 (Filipino poem written in Tagalog)
I can feel MAA within me
How it all began
It's as fast as
Sun rays can run
Everlasting miles
Keep us near and apart
Still your presence
Sitting in heart
As time passes
Love for you find exponent
I have you, feel you
Whatever happened
I feel your presence
Past today tomorrow
I feel my existence
Only because of thou
I'll cherish these times
Till I grow old
As the time will pass
You make me bold
And if it's okay
You bless, to find that time
You will make easy
My VIVEK to shine
* VIVEK (Hindi) = Discretion, Prudence, Wisdom
* MAA (Hind) = Mother
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
E-MAIL : hari.cfa@gmail.com
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
I am Garuda, a vahana of Lord Vishnu
A crown on my head show you my divine
As I soaring high in the air
Vedas chanted out of my red wings
I am Garuda, son of Kasyapa and Vinata
An embodiment of wisdom, one form with many epithets
Mortals knew me as Chirada, Gaganeshvara, Kamayusha
They also named me Kashyapi, Khageshvara, or Vishnuratha
I am Garuda, representations of sacred and holy
My massive golden body can block out the sun
And with my presence I made any creature hesitate
Even the serpent, source of all sins, abide me
I am Garuda, the face of wisdom and courage
I have fought alongside with Krishna, Satyabhama and Hari
My luminous white face and strong beak shrunken the evil
For I am Garuda, the king of all birds.
I am Garuda
I live in the faith of believers.
~ Indonesia, 06/10/2013 07.01 Am
For Shadow Hamilton "Mythological Animals or Birds" Contest
The thorns-in-sides are various
which mar incumbents’ slumber.
Could Belgium bear Lumumba?
Would Britain brook Makarios?
There’s Bolsheviks or Mensheviks,
Parnell or De Valera:
Marat had Robespierre, or
the Romans, Vercingetorix.
There’s Che Guevara, Spartakists,
the Mau Mau, Mata Hari,
the Contras, Carbonari,
Hamas, Harmonious Fists.
The song that stops the show?
“It Ain’t Necessarily So”.
I was-
suicidal when my baby died-
possessed with death
when my love left
a name engraved buried deep
and went into a dark pit
running from life happiness was gone
self-murder
thoughts filled my days
I was locked in what was and not reality
the devil
whispered wicked plots in my head
diabolic hellish hari-kiri plans
then God spoke and calmed my soul
so I crawled
into the light embraced the world again
and vowed to help those lost as I was-
with no path but death in their future
I am a listener giver of hope a friend
when they are full of nothingness-
________________________
September 8, 2017
Free Verse/Suicide Prevention
Copyright Protected, ID 938275
Written for the contest, Suicide Prevention Month
sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
Perihal kebaikan yang datang
Kebaikan itu pantas menyentuh aku
Sentuhan yang membuat aku terhutang
Sentuhan itu juga mengusik kalbu
Barangkali ia kebaikan yang sedikit
Namun besar nilainya di sisi aku
Resah, gusar, pedih dan sakit
Lantas aku tenang, hanya kerna kebaikan yang sedikit itu
Maka masakan mampu aku lupa
Pada kebaikan yang sifatnya sebegitu
Tak terbeli walau digadai dunia seisinya
Tak tertebus meski sampai hujung waktu
Kerana itu aku menjual janji
Selalu aku berdoa semoga sentiasa dipelihara Ilahi
Juga segala kudrat yang ada bila dipinta akan aku beri
Moga dengannya terbayar kebaikan yang pernah aku rasai
Masih panas rasanya di dalam dada
Walau hari-hari itu sudah lama berlalu
Kesan tangan peribadi yang baik dan mulia
Kekal ia dalam ingatan tak lekang oleh waktu.
Akarima katera erega kera ibibanza
Kahanama kakeza amashyamba
Ntabuye yrabuze icyo rimaze
Buyra yrazize uwaritoye
Ubwishongozi buyra ntabwenge burimo.
Kanyarwanda kuba intwari biranze c ?
Cyera yarayirwanye erega biranandikwa,
Agahinda ke kabaye kamwe kabyara kenshi,
Banze guhiga umunwa usimbura ubwenge
Yari inshuti nziza arko c arko c iki
Mbwira umbwize ukuri niba waba ucyihicaye
Njya mpicara da ka gaciro iyo nakibajyiwe
Nkubeshyeri iki ariko uzonjyere umbone ukundi
Ndasezeye byacyirara nkuko wanyise gusa siwandemye ntiwanambohoje
Intwaro yanjye ninjye iyawe ubwo uzambwira njye nzi ibyo ndimo
Ntuzafunge akayira utakoreye umuganda
Ishyamba yrishyari ritera umwotsi
Uwanze kuba umugabo yabaye kagabo
Hari abitwa bakagabo babikoze neza tububahe
I used to fancy that I was punctual.
But on two occasions, I happened
To be late—to my lectures.
I was a latecomer, in other words.
I promptly granted the organizers and the audience
The liberty to call me “the late Mr. So and so!”
Thus, I escaped.
But I no longer entertain the fancy!
I wanted to be innovative in Practical Psychology;
Looked at Johari window.
I found out soon that no fifth panel
Could be added to the window;
And moreover, that Jo and Hari were two people.
How could I, as a single man,
Do anything about it?
So I dropped the idea!
Next I explored the domain of Education.
Benjamin Bloom’s taxonomy seemed
To appeal to my fancy.
But the great man had listed all the possible Objectives:
From Knowledge through Analysis to Evaluation.
And it seems he worked with a band of Educationists;
But still could not finish his project.
Then, how could I pursue it?
I quit!
Then I switched to Paul Ricouer’s Taxonomy of Hermeneutics—
Of Love and Suspicion.
A third category I couldn’t find—
For the life of me.
Good bye, Ricouer!
Suddenly, Roman Jakobson caught my attention.
His schema of six functions of language was impressive.
I carefully studied it and desperately tried
To add a seventh and—miserably failed!
As a last resort, I turned to Harold Bloom,
Who offers an exotic taxonomy—
Of six ‘Revisionary Ratios’
Or six authorial swerves—from the original.
I fought, this time, for more than ten years,
Trying to add a seventh ratio—
And finally surrendered.
But this time not without surrender value!
All that I learnt from Bloom is this:
Every poet is a latecomer—in fact or fantasy.
So, I started writing—poetry!
***
Oooh, foxy lady!...You make me:
Woozy,
Guzzi
(Will you be my Valentine?)
And OH, how you use me, Ms Tams!...Gettin tired of being mere eye:
Candy,
Mandy
Well, SORRY if that got you angry and stressed...Relax! Have a warm glass of:
Brandy,
Mandy
Again, Ms Richards: As a movie buff, I'm sure you've seen the 1962 Japanese classic:
Hari
Carrie
What? You haven't seen it?...Well go down and rent it! Why do you:
Tarry,
Carrie?
No wheels, huh? (Sigh) Looks like once again I'm gonna have to drop by and:
Carry
Carrie
(to town to rent her movie...Lord!)
Daver's last name reminds me of a recent trip to Texas where I got hoplessly:
Lost in
Austin
As for the English chap across the pond who invented this form, I can just hear:
Brian
Sighin'
(and shaking his head in disgust)
You're still an amateur-O!...You're poetry remains un:
Proven,
Ruben
YES, you're talanted Ms MacMillan but you DO go on at times and can be rather:
Windy,
Cyndi
(You're not gonna hurt me AGAIN, are you Cyndi?...Ruben has already severely injured me and now you too?)
A rumor is circulating that Team PS has (perhaps justifiably) been accused of being:
Souper
Snoopers
(Ouch!...et tu Brute?)
Okay! That's it and why are y'all so GROUCHY today?..
Far off the beaten track and trail
on quest for music’s Holy Grail
led pilgrims on biblical scale
more than can be counted.
With midsummer sun on our cheek
in tents to shelter we did seek
and pitched them at its highest peak
on a hilltop mounted
As we climbed the lean of the hill
my beer I would try not to spill
and sat with the great unwashed till
olé and adios.
It was I, El Skeet, amigo,
in my poncho and sombrero
half-cut like a loco gringo
who waved “vaya con dios!”
We lit yet another hash bong
all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong
and passed it to each one along
under the cop radars.
Till late as wasted brain cells flag
with every mind trip headfu-ck drag
I tucked in to my sleeping bag
on the hill ‘neath the stars
As music and mayhem did rage
back in next summer’s youthful age
we camped closer to the big stage
by a shallow hollow.
I’d sit and watch the crowds go by
in the hot sun and dust and dry
under a big Waikato sky
from our camp on tent row
And as I ripped in with the guys
to our grog trailer of supplies
we made a hanging chain of ties
with every pull tab rent.
Waiting for Cold Chisel that night
with a superdoob glowing bright
I was fuc-kin’ high as a kite
and lurched back to my tent
The next day I woke in a daze
and walked off my drunken malaise
when I heard singing songs of praise
in some weird sh-it I saw.
Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks
and chanting Hari Krishna freaks
burnt incense in clay painted cheeks
so I got high some more
Yet in a hot wet and wild hour
stoned in the unisex shower
I gazed many a sweet flower
in their naked splendour.
We bathed too in waters that flowed
down where the lazy river bowed
lest my head spontaneous explode
on my three day bender
That night by the stars we were led
as above a smoky sky bled
when out The Enz rocked “I See Red”
and fired a burning flare.
In the spirit of Sweetwaters
we lived among at close quarters
sons of Bacchus and his daughters
and I so revelled there
Written: November 2009
Sweetwaters was an annual three
day music festival back in 1980s.
First day on the job,
you took an oath to only tell lies
Had to sign a non-disclosure agreement,
before you got the Company suit-and-tie
You're CIA now,
sworn to secrecy
You're in the world of espionage,
living a 007 reality
Illegal arms dealers,
Mata Hari babes
Foreign rogue generals,
dark net cyber caches
Toss in a few drug cartels,
and everybody's getting paid
Everybody's getting spied on too,
electronic whispers homemade
You love your job,
truth be told, yet only under oath
But you dislike the party politics of it all,
though you like the sound
of hearing corrupt governments fall
You're CIA bred,
sworn to secrecy
You're in a world of covert spies,
living a James Bond reality
Illicit black market trade,
femme fatale operatives
Pandemic pathogens made,
secret outlawed experiments
Toss in a few psychotic terrorists,
and everybody's getting death video feed
Everybody's getting propaganda-ed too,
hacked disinformation makes liberty bleed
But you didn't reveal this publicly,
because of course,
you're sworn to secrecy
Ole kero fridge went om om om,
like the Hari Krishna chanting chums,
a portal opened in the room,
3rd eye of a child in tune,
at 4 i saw 40 grey of dead,
boogyman.
Don
The grey bastards filled my room,
I'm insane you'll assume,
watch them Kero fridges snide....
Don
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xc_mMeIZTzQ