Best Interstices Poems
These are the spaces I confide
These are the narrow crevices
These are the places I reside
These are the secure refuges
Upstairs attics with small windows
The quiet corners where I go
The hidden chambers no one knows
Downstairs cellars through secret doors
There I have my room for dreaming
Room to create and postulate
Pose questions and probe for meaning
Riddles and rhymes to contemplate
In there the world does not dictate
And there I have less room for hate.
you talk to me.
and i try to hear.
your words would know me
if my mind did not resist.
what do you expect?
that we should conflict?
that we should connect?
or merely titillate?
except we are from different worlds;
or rather you are from a world
and i am from no world at all
but the interstices of many.
my mind can not organize
for you to define in your cosmopolitan ways.
so how am i to speak
for you to see me?
or should i ignore you and recluse?
yet i crave you
and the presence of speech other than my own
to drive away the madness.
Spare me ill-considered thoughts
and tales of the enlightened sage
whose very basis of belief
arose in palpable assemblage
one late summer evening
while listening to his ringing ears,
as he lay soaking naked in a tub.
And holy writ of nether world—
its commands and promises
now in language thrice removed—
misunderstood when first uttered
in scarce remembered ancient tongue,
yet presumptive literal masters
hasten to opine.
Absurdities compound,
interstices of mind—
vacuformed and stolid—
deny calm reason’s abstract,
and flee truth’s sanctum,
dogma in their fond embrace,
awash in its decrepitude.
Humanity thus
in thrall of Mesmer’s haunt
sustains a tortured cadence
of greed, dishonesty and graft,
which now in tawdry bloat ascends,
as if arms of gods on the empyrean sphere
would open wide to greet.
Consider well and ponder such severely,
who would transcend the veil,
for wisdom gained and love prolonged
will surely ease the transit.
And those who favored having over being?
Their cherished worth is fled.
Their hubris now dismissed.
Villanelle: The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
What were once cherished hopes serve only to nag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
All that one once fought for family position place
Lie now trodden by the wayside no sweat nor brag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The once fine psittacine nose at parties shone with grace
Now hangs pudgy a curlicue strawberry smudge a snag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
The ego shifts about the hidden interstices of the maze
Fears of the embattled siege in the psyche’s empty bag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
Sudden moments of anger take all spouse job and lace
Ego stomps out of the house grimacing grudge vowing no lag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
Deserted one sits unwashed on the pavements in disgrace
Eyes avert insatiable molly-coddled egos which drag gag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
THE AIR-OCEAN’S PLANKTON
Snow falls like icy ocean-plankton. The air swarms
With their immense unsullied nebulae swirling in waves,
Tiny immaculate individuals in an innumerable host,
A silver-ivory myriad to be harvested.
Trees taking gulps of air-plankton, great chunks of airy snow,
Stretch lattices of arms and hands skyward to catch them,
Each numb finger and thumb laden to the very nail
With its neat impeccable pile of alabaster fishlets.
Sky-net filigrees, their great interstices seafoamed,
Filled with unblemished air-fish, blank white plankton:
The trees overfill every empty arm with the light white host:
Like women grasp fleamarket bargain necklaces of pearls.
Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an opiate that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
As twilight's shadows light does fade
Dark machinations interstices invade
In deep crevasses, insecurities cascade
In dark corners, fears, doubts parade
Day's, blithe rhythms subconscious channels evade
Night's diabolical inventions the deep recesses pervade
My twittering eyes cannot the bleary apparitions dissuade
As mind's candle flickers, o'er frontal lobes dark minions escalade
As primed marionette's mimicked taunts degrade,
so galvanized, inner demons perform mock charade
Ghoulish forms are imprinted with a sharp spade
Entreating figments as sane ideas masquerade
My nurtured perceptions of reality are staid
Nightmarish delusions all rational outlets blockade
Portentous visions of calamitous peril overlaid
Underpinning, disturbing dreams crack shallow facade
Discordant tremors breach; tone deaf ears serenade
Shock waves pulse down spine; nerve endings frayed
As the night falls from interstices of burning clouds, lumbering through the broad sky like grazing herds of sheep
There comes a great forlornness through the deep forests of Zambia.
Land marked by Withered Tallowwood branches, that once covered the fiery red sun.
The bayou, with dry river beds sleeping all the more calmly than hibernating Owls~
Looking somewhat haggard in their night coats~
waiting for the setting sun.
Summoning nature's obligation that remains oblivious to the break of dawn.
In the suspended time
In the suspended time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve,
I think of you.
Time has passed, much time, and you have said in
Clear words of silence, that you wish me to desist,
Go away, engage with you (and the irrepressible Miss)
No more.
Yet I cannot.
I cannot, any more than I can cease breathing,
Thinking, being.
My thoughts and feelings are hostage to the memories of things past,
And I think of you.
Oysters on Christmas Day, and the unrecognised
Intimacy that passes me by
Because I am disbelieving of your intentions,
And do not respond.
But then my eyes open and I feel your affection,
The warmth of your touch.
I hear you: “Trust me” you say, and I do;
Do you think me now a fool?
And now…and now…betwixt Christmas and New Year,
I think of you;
Unbidden, not yet unwanted though would it not
Be more bearable if it were? I wonder at the thoughts
That fill your mind, though I know they do not
Include me.
Do you not wonder what might have been? Do you explore,
In the interstices of your mind, the possibility of a future,
However brief, in which you are bathed in love?
My mind wanders, to the past; your past, the childhood
That you hinted at but did not unfold in painful detail,
That I might understand. And your words “I know nothing of you”,
Yet you did not ask, and thus know nothing of my growing up.
The memories of confrontation that haunt me still…
Raised voices, the crash of violence and the soft murmurings
Of placation; nights where sleep is suspended,
And anxiety creeps into my bed.
And still, the new year yet an infant,
I think of you.
There is a calmness within, the thoughts hurt no more;
Though a chance remark on Facebook brings an
Inner somersault.
More time passes –
Acceptance of an ending grows within; though
I resist, my thoughts ever refreshing my grief.
Now and then, anger ignites a moment of despair
And yearning.
I know that means resolution lies ahead: why me
Gives way to it’s unfair, to be dampened by resignation.
And time passes, and acceptance comes,
To my relief.
But in those moments of suspended time,
I will always
Think of you.
Fallowed mind on barren ground toils
Winter's cold streams radiant beams foil
No incubating current cuts through the dense soil
Muses' bright glint the dark, thick clouds roil
Blipping sparks can't light my sensory console
A dormant seed sprouts on a rocky knoll
Promising strands on frozen surface stroll
Chilling winds over shallow-rooted thoughts troll
Vapid ideas from stagnant un-imaginative threads loll
Without depth, the promising figments spoil
In due course, Spring's thawing tides do roll
On horizon's mount, azure panels scroll
The brighter patches degenerated conduits parole
Fecund spores with soaring visions cajole
Wispy tufts of dander blow into cranial hole
Into thawing seams, germinating inspiration bowls
Enervating muse, implanted seeds into interstices dole
Granules of wisdom brim from gilded boll
Leaving pod, enthralling, pearly grains silt the soul
The congealed fabric spins around each, sensory pole
Ginned fibers into imagination's colorful tapestry burrow
in the far fringe of a woody island
with a river slithering along in gentle leaps
and a mud road stretching behind
there is a solitary hut
visible through the patches
of light and shadow
with its precincts lapped by the waves
and the rich alluvial soil
engendering trees of robust growth
in it, live a man and wife
a pair made for each other!
their likes and longings
blend and bleed into oneness
they grow in the joy of a living love
making life a celebration in a rare way
their humble hut is always blessed
by seasonal fruits from trees of tropical kind
where giant trees stand watch over
loaded with jack fruits and tangy mangoes
with creepers in greener leaves
and their foliage, ever in a merry dance
latching and intertwining their tendrils
their dinner, rich with fresh fish
caught through angling
in which both engage in the evenings
in the air, there is a subdued roar
made by the swish and swirls of life
but in the silent interstices
between the rush and blur
there descends a heavenly peace
when their souls go on a dance
making theirs a happy home
sweeter than all mansions of gold
A Strand (1047) Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Brian Strand
Subconcious streams flitter through my silty porthole
Ebb and flow through my consciences' filtering scroll
Clogging the interstices and my formative, fragile mind doth control
Perceptions of self flood my sensory console
Pent-up desires breach mind's, shallow levee and over carefree banks roll
Carnal instincts bleach and, over time, corrode my chaste compass's steady pole
My soul's rudder listlessly through the choppy waters doth stroll
Delusions of grandeur and trite fantasies o'er my wayward ship troll
Teetering sails are blown about by truant winds so droll
Faulty navigation beaches my tattered psche on a barren shoal
Battered by the waves of inconstancy paying a penitent toll
Tunneling through the brackish bilge; a frenetic mole
Seeking to escape frollicking tidal waves that my froward, youthful mind did cajole
Sifting through the rancid seaweed that years of cresting tides did dole
Cloaked with guilt, shame stranded on a rocky, desolate atoll
Still vainly trying to justify my hopeless condition; my fleeting worth extoll
asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical
impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity
whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff
quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milk
maids, or rather pressing said resources,
sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous,
and horrendous self destructive antics,
where ballistic charges drugged eminent
domain former nerve cell size occupants,
thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility
with pride fullness and prejudice on par
with dousing one with opiate completely
upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly,
and managing productively versus expending
precious time and energy self absorbed
into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions,
manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality
got embedded within the neurological interstices,
even as of this moment hound me
akin to wild beasts circling ever closer
to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
What was left in our hands
after risk and awards were given to seekers ?
Sign of grace at hairpin bends
was absent.Nobody was speaking.
A moratorium was announced.
Somebody will have a glimpse of the moon
through the interstices of pain. Not
a word will be uttered for the elite
ravines of truth. Blessings of facts
will interact with amnesias. The bribery
of bleeding will extract a price. I
am moving the wheels of doubt. The
vulture of time throws a shadow.
Satish Verma
Form:
life on the edge
of a thread
suspended from a network
of interlocking filaments
bound by triangulated interstices
woven by a master of deception
integrated into his lair
lying in wait
patient vigilant and aware
of what disturbs motion
intersects light
ever ready to ensnare the unaware
who venture into the transparent maze
suspended mid-air