Best Plinth Poems
T
A
TAJ J TAJ
MAHAL MAHAL MAHAL
[W] MAUSOLEUM IN [U]
[O] A MARBLE SPLENDOUR [N]
[N] AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL [E]
[D] FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL [S]
[E] T HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED T [C]
[R] A QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE MOGHUL A [O]
J EMPEROR , A MAGNIFICENT MEMORIAL J
[O] MAHAL IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT MAHAL [H]
[F] ******* HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE ******* [E]
BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD [R
[T] IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW [I]
[H] BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT [T]
[E] IVORY WHITE MARBLES LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES [A]
PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
[W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP LOVE FOR DARLING WIFE [E]
[O] STANDS SYMBOL OF ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE
[R] ADORABLE,MAJESTIC REPOSITORY SO ROMANTIC [S]
[L] THE KING AND QUEEN LEFT BEHIND LOVE LEGACY [I]
[D] HISTORY WILL HUM THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER [T]
[E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE.
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!
28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~
Glossary:
Pietra Dura: Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
Categories:
plinth, appreciation, art, husband, love,
Form:
Concrete
(It was 1860 when the English poet Robert Browning
stumbled upon an interesting artefact as he walked
through the city of Florence. It was a file of documents
from an old Italian criminal trial, and he would turn
this material into his masterpiece, "The Ring and the
Book".)
The Old Square Yellow Book
It was the kind of day they call a "stallion"
in Florence, with white sun, surpassing strong.
And it was noon. (In June, to be precise.)
The Englishman came strolling aimlessly
(or was it?) through Piazza San Lorenzo.
And, just as now, a market crammed the square
and foamed around the statue's marble plinth.
Here, plaster busts, there, flaking picture-frames,
and Garibaldi portraits (way back then,
in eighteen-sixty, they were giving birth:
Italian nationhood was in the air).
The tall "inglese", drawn towards the stall
which offered prints and books, picked something up.
He shouted "shop", and put one lira down.
The book was his. He managed to ignore
the girls, a-squabbling over tasseled shawls,
those burly porters, drenching head and neck
in Giovanni's fountain, braying mules,
cacophony and chaos all around,
to read his book. His blood knew, right away.
At last, he'd found the raw material
from which he'd quarry one great masterpiece.
One foot propped on the railing, near the step
which leads down to the fountain by the church,
he read, engrossed. Then, with a sudden laugh,
he threw it in the air, and caught it, safe.
What was it? Well, a book - but more than that.
It was the record of some long-dead trial,
some murder case of many years before,
with statements, pleadings, longhand notes. In this
authentic tangle lay a human tale
of fierce emotion, rich psychology,
if he could tease it out. So off he set,
re-reading as he walked, feeling his way,
along the narrow Giglio, then the broad
Panzani. Via Tornabuoni next,
so long and straight, down to the river.
He passed the Strozzi Palace, crossed the bridge
they call the Trinita. When he reached home,
the cool Felice, there was not a doubt.
His whole life's labour lay there, in his hands.
Categories:
plinth,
Form:
Blank verse
The secrecy of truthfulness is based on the plinth of constructive fairness
Categories:
plinth, feelings, philosophy,
Form:
Monoku
You aren't anybody to the plinth in the workforce.
Of course, I know of your success.
My money does not have anything to do with you; therefore, why negate a
nation’s wealth.
If you just would abide by the Constitution, your achievements are '
insurmountable.
I came via statute of law, but you violated them all.
In these historical times, there will not be a walk.
I will, however, step-to-the-cause.
Your stance is cruelty.
Your voice lacks depth.
You are a mammoth in society through social injustice.
No law has been applied and the freedoms of humanity are threatened.
You were the Judge who did not preserve the Seventh (7th) Amendment.
In these historical times, I am a trailblazer.
I will watch from a skyscraper.
You state emotional distress is the fabrication.
You state the summary of this all is damages made.
You said I am nothing but a Pro-Se Litigator, insofar as your voice means
nothing within this nation,
You are just a native-born child whose life has been negated.
In these historical times, I am the biblical generation.
An era of gist that is socio-political and socio-religious predefined by a socio-
economic existence, I attenuate you with strength and know that justice will
prevail.
This will be documented throughout antiquity.
____________________________________________|
PENNED ON OCTOBER 14, 2014!
Categories:
plinth, america, anger, angst, judgement,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
A duet sung alone
I know now how confusing 'twas to find
That I loved my love walking one-way street,
Knowing, she seldom with my love was lit,
Her heart was but with love of friendship lined,
Whilst silent was my love, clueless it came,
Hers, distant, chilled, warm too of a close friend,
An unknown seed still sprouted sans a name,
Love built the nest still, hard to comprehend;
A nest it was by both if strange birds made,
Built by love's sweat, reinforced to last long,
With a plinth-stone precious enough as jade;
And I sang all alone a duet song,
She sensed the same frisson I too had felt,
In hope that long frozen love soon might melt.
Sonnets | 02.10.14 |
Taken from my book, Harvest of the Late Season, published by Penguin (Partridge).
A Brian Strand 1 to 14 Lines Poetry Contest
First Place
Categories:
plinth, friendship, love,
Form:
Sonnet
A young man named Jonas stood at the doors
Of the house that had haunted his dreams
As behind the ornate, hand-carved oak
Its interior was not all it seemed
People entered the doors, then disappeared
It was the last of them anyone would see
So Jonas had made it his mission in life
To put an end to its mystery
Jonas passed through the doors and as he did
The doors locked – he had no way out
He took a deep breath, to calm his nerves
Then he started to look about
He was standing in a square hallway
With a map of the house at one end
A door stood each side, marked ‘IN’ and ‘OUT’
Written above ‘IN’ was a legend
‘Beware all mortals who enter this place
Solve Metis’s riddles or fear you will face’
He wondered what the legend meant
Faltering on going through the door
And what had happened to all the souls
Who had walked through this portal before?
Jonas opened the door, and entered a room
The door then vanished from view
As there was no obvious other way out,
He stopped to think for a moment or too
As he thought, he took in his surroundings
The room was panelled in wood as before
With a large chandelier, providing the light
That shone on a plinth, in the centre of the floor
Seated on the plinth was a creature
That filled Jonas’s bones with dread
Half man, half beast with a bullish face
And which, though seated, towered over his head
With wizened finger, it beckoned to Jonas
And with powerful voice began to speak
“Who dares enter Metis’s House of Fear
And what is it that you seek?”
Categories:
plinth, fantasy, mysteryhouse, house,
Form:
Narrative
In the dark corner of your eyes so faded,
See the life threw a glass of shattered wages.
Using those to create a world with wrong perceptions,
Money, lust… and a whole lot misconceptions.
Trying to reach the standards of those with high titles,
Pretending to be an angel – with demons inside you going viral.
Slowly suspending your suffocated life’s landing,
Crawling, crawling towards graves and endless searching.
You are looking…
You glance over what expectations you need to attain,
Begging for mercy, begging – oh begging for someone to erase your pain.
No identity, no unique value to place you on the pondering plinth,
Just another… you… another cliché… an embryonic triumph.
Circles and corners; they trap you inside that perplexing sequence,
Stroked by greed, lashed by tags and in dispute with gravity and his sense.
Not able to move… no place to belong… just another lost soul in this world of replicating,
Follow their steps, lead into their future and never return as your own being.
You hide…
Oh, my dear, you hide from the good you can be,
My lost soul, rather be you then me.
Sympathy I have for your poor humanity so absent from victory,
You living up to others’ success is truly an unpleasant catastrophe.
Leave, leave now before the clay turns hard on your feet,
Before you and a different head compellingly meet.
Oh, my dear, go now before I shut the door of your imminent,
My lost soul, before the dark corner of your eyes become too confident.
Categories:
plinth, deep, image, inspirational, motivation,
Form:
Rhyme
Ajanta, Ellora caves HD film capturing paintings and rock-cut sculpture
Caves carved from hills, immaculate top-down orthodox architecture
Modern monuments rise from plinth, CAD down-up structure
Meticulous paintings on dark-at-noon high cave ceilings
Difficult to adjust in one go zoom-click all finer details of paintings
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PS :
~ Ajanta / Ellora - UNESCO World Heritage Sites -
rock-cut caves located in Aurangabad, India
Ajanta - famous for paintings & sculpure of Buddhist religious art
Ellora - famous for Buddhist, Hindu & Jain rock-cut temples & monasteries
~ HD - High Definition
~ CAD - computer aided design
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Hitendra Mehta
May 2011
For Members contest – Ekphrasis painting, sculpture, book, film by Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
plinth, artfilm,
Form:
Ekphrasis
All for one
None for all
A house of cards that will
Bring about a great fall
Only a select few
Can spellbound the masses
Becoming Kings and Queens
With illegitimate claims to fame
We lift them up high
On a plinth made of our backbones
We the new third estate
Glorify them as demigods
Who conquered us all
With just a little bit of gloss
We are their slaves
Enthralled to them
We give them all
Unholy wolves
Swaddled in wool are they
Devouring all with their avaricious mind-set
We pay them tithe
Which they feel is rightly theirs
The public purse is for them alone
Everyone else must get by on their own
Just a few control the building blocks of society
An inbred top heavy hierarchy
That exert undue pressure downwards
Maiming those they lord over
Stymieing their advancement
A limited gene pool of ideas and talent
Hinders the legacy
That today passes to the future
A sure way for eventual extinction
A very sad prophecy
Selfishness and graft
Erode decency in society
Harassing the pillars of unity
Resentment thus festers
Those in the middle
Are full of hyperbole
Their spiel of being undervalued
Naught but insouciant drivel
They craftily forget
The power they wield
And the economic gains they do so
Hard to conceal
Society must benefit if we aim for equality
Those that contribute
Must see their labour bear fruit
All and sundry must get a slice
Of the overburdened public pie
Categories:
plinth, social, society,
Form:
Free verse
Apprehensions in thoughts may form a labyrinth,
and like a cipher open up to become a plinth
but still the belief beholds to achieve what is imagined,
Though in a fog,the wanderer still feels attuned,
Let it be light or the approaching darkness,
but it isn't a mirage showing its absentness...
The people who waded along aren't lost,
As they too were finding a purpose, when their paths had just crossed
So continue the walk to paint the complete picture,
As like the dreams, the clay of life would build a monumental structure.
Categories:
plinth, faith, travel, visionary
Form:
Narrative
birth
death
God's will
Life in between
we live
as per our will
cry marks
arrival
departure
we try hard
to laugh
during stay
love Body
live for Soul
aim salvation
dust Soul
not mirror
Soul reflects true Self
accumulate
good karmas
liberate Soul
Bad Karmas have
Octopus grip
prolong Soul's bondage
let good deeds
in coffin be plinth
for Soul's salvation tower
Gross, Astral, Causal
only Souls encasements
hindering Souls freedom
merger with God
only absolute freedom
rest all illusion
~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
plinth, life
Form:
Free verse
I am Späces
The poet's muse
And I bring something old
And something new
The spirit of the word am I
And I've existed in all places
And all times
Filling the gaps
The empty spaces in between
What we say and mean
Recognize my face?
Familiar, the cast of my eye?
Many faces have I
All spaces to fill
And voices too
The lowest and the high
The light on neck and on my wrist
Like perfume is
Filling up this space
Or maybe a stage light twist
Sweeping these boards
These empty, empty boards
I will more
Filling up this space
All history is a metaphor
Vile word that!
Metaphor
What for?
Yet metaphor it is
An arcing, ranging beam
Upon whose plinth I sit
Poets & priests foretell
The common bond between all things
How the grandest designs are writ
In the meanest things
Patterns repeat, expand, breathe out
Until they are full blown
And then no more
Recede & quite fade into oblivion
Or at least a scale which we note not
And that's my job
The tiniest atom, the galaxy is, if only in model
The same force which makes it and the forest primeval
Makes us too
And therefore is beauty but a reflection of that recognition
A mirror unto ourselves, both fair & fell
Which once was lost
Cities rise and fall, armies amass and disperse
Family fortunes have their uséd patterns too
Each one a metaphor for the other
A children's toy from Russia
Matryosha doll you know so well
Many painted, self-containéd shells
Crack open the large, therein the smaller lies
Same face, same charming peasant red cheeks
And again & again
There is no heart.
The heart is the pattern itself
And thus are we all but shells
Nay, less than shells, for did you know
Seven times each cell's replaced within your life?
That's seven new bodies -- more or less
More in childhood, fewer with time
The brain less so for thence proceeds the pattern
Each cell has a memory of all its former lives
Tending to which, like a magnet, it will return
Our body's but a beggar's coat
A patchwork hand-me-down
Bound by a silvery thread of life
Or a mere funnel for food and water
Food goes in, serves its seven-year sentence
Released from the cell is expelled
You are pinching earth, water, and a plan
Nothing more
(Continued in Part 2)
Categories:
plinth, art, introspection, philosophy, poems,
Form:
Didactic
The breath of the north savages the lands.
A cold that singes my bones to their core.
The air contracts while the night expands.
Sunset foreshadows of what is in store.
With the clouds compressed into flecks of ice.
The purple of the shadow surrounds the earth.
An elegant vision; This would suffice.
I stop, listen, to the suns daily dearth.
A column of Rome abruptly appears:
Sun pillar of awe burnt orange and gold.
Slicing the night and dividing the spheres.
Upon a plinth of onyx rests old sol
That moment is gone, I lower my head.
I think: Life and time are both fragile threads.
Categories:
plinth, mystery, nature, night, night,
Form:
Sonnet
You're messed up but im broken
Drowned in denial
Was every thing but alice's wonderland
Took us long to come up with the unspoken
Reality ... too cruel to understand
I'm guilty for wanting to hang loose and breathe
Promises turned into filth
Intuition feels wrong to have felt jus right
Karma, come back before i murder my night
Daytime not so sweet either
.. made me break my own plinth
Challenges we faced, too many we stopped feelin each other
Standing in between whispering words we scream to one another
I know im strong enough to cry it out...
So much to do..
Yet too little to give
Love, you might wanna stop foolin me
Just because you're aware of how much I'm in need of you
Talk is nothin but a scurvy pitiful waste..
News flash you fell flat on you're face
I still have my doves
what do you have..
Categories:
plinth, friendship, loss, love,
Form:
On an insignificant shore during,
An insignificant afternoon,
A moment of pause within a frenzied day,
On this plinth I rest with you.
After all the climbing efforts to capture,
An elusive view of that starfish,
You speak of the beauty around us,
This is it, the sense of place.
Here, I find.
A common outcrop of rock,
One step up from the dirty sandy beach,
A sudden void in the folds of time,
The bay of Arauco around us,
With littered wasted shells of humanity.
My heart aligns with the to and fro,
Your soft tone looses against the splash,
As waves rhythm us into the horizon
Here, I sit.
My memories sweet and disturbing,
As clear as the seagulls sweeping before us,
Blow away in the soft flowing breeze of the afternoon.
The reply to my question that lingered, in a second
The answer comes into me with the spray of the ocean.
Frozen in pose together, lively in conversation
You reveal the innermost nature of your soul, and
I feel the change come over me,
Here, I know.
A grain of truth in this insignificant place,
while explorations continue around us,
It took me three decades and a second,
An obvious quest for a new beginning.
Around us they climb and observe, all having their own,
A photograph, a particle of sun, a moment.
You, my student, exposed and open, and I,
Safe with you, accepted my new duties,
Here, I am.
On an insignificant shore during,
An insignificant afternoon,
Time released me from the flight.
I cleaned the sand between my toes,
And stepped down launched anew,
No more entanglements and dispersals.
You spoke of that moment between us,
I smiled. That was the moment, my new beginning,
There, I forgave all.
Categories:
plinth, lifeme, me,
Form:
Romanticism