Best Prolonging Poems
Its beauty yet again plunders me,
Into magnificent realms that hide
Deep within my every thought
Where I ,like a new tenant,
Seek comfort to reside
In the warm abodes of Winter.
It has come yet again
With its white painted sky
Like a dripping white towel
Whose waters slowly subside
Like a pain that has been eluded,
Avoided, denied
Its gusts that blow across
The many prolonging miles
Bringing all windows to shudder
Like lost whispers and voices
Found and compiled
Into a vague resonance.
Its unmelted snow
That at every corner lies
Lingering for the tepid
Sun of Spring to rise
To melt away
Like an unwanted memory.
And all that it holds
Is but a fraction that glides
Within,
A sheer reflection of the world
Outside
The snow, wind and rain of
The season inside
Most of the days as I buy vegetables
the old woman would move around
close to me like the winter tree
The leaves mostly robbed by the time
tangled age seated in the hair
the freckles painting the drudgery
The unwashed and overused sari
stained by the tears of poverty
Would not speak to beg money
would just move around
with the eloquent wounds
Most of the days but not every time
I would give her small amounts
A faint almost invisible smile
Would come and disappear
The lips lacked tissue
The other day in the late afternoon
when the shadows had started prolonging
under the banyan tree
the afternoon light and the leaves
wove hand in hand a story in the shadow
The very small and irregular shapes
of the pale soft light
sat in such a way that gave the impression
of a woman squatted on the pavement
It looked so from a distance of say thirty feet
As I came close
I found the old woman sprinkling
parched rice to the pigeons
The source of the shadow the afternoon painted
beneath the tree
A little tissue collected in the lips now
The lilac of love doesn't wither
Nor the object
______________________________________
March 2, 2018
Poetry is breathing out
graces of the heart;
for unlike other writing,
such exhalation
transcends words:
whether scented with sulfur
or mint de jour
poetry is the soul’s lure
dangling immortality--
We are tempted to the brink;
whether dreadful fall
or bottomless sink
next step is uncontrollable:
rhyme with time
or proses with glows,
the shell broken
serpents and birds alike
released—poetry a feast
of both our demons
and saints--
So...with pen and pad
we come to the table;
some fable some truth
with manic greed
we plate all obsessions
imbibe the fatal drink;
not a writer dare blink--
both God and the Devil
transfixed, they are watching,
prolonging to eternal
some final call--
so long as the poet
amuses them all….
Every minute, every hour of each day,
my heart entreats you with longing.
I desire your heart trusts what I say
every minute, every hour of each day.
If God exists, I avidly pray
He accords my desire for belonging.
Every minute, every hour of each day
my heart entreats you with longing.
Every minute, every hour of each day,
I desire your heart trusts what I say.
If God exists, I avidly pray
He accords my desire for belonging.
My heart entreats you with longing
accompanied by true love’s prolonging.
In a moment of euphoria
You offered to erase my past
While prolonging the present.
You promised eternal life
Played me for a fool
Deceived me into believing
That time does not count.
Yet, the infinite ticking
Of the clock spells betrayal.
Now you run away from me!
Disillusioned, I struggle
In your wake…breathless.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1. time 2. Moment 3. Clock 4. Ticking
5. Past 6. Present 7. Eternal 8. infinite
Time - 8 Word Challenge Contest
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Placed 3rd
© 5th July 2020
Ronda Rousey just beat me up.
Beat me down would be more appropriate.
She choked me with her left arm over my neck
prolonging a breath to reach my lungs for a refresh.
I went for the elbow to the head, but she kicked out my legs
and I fell, metaphorically of course, on my death bed.
She wasn't done yet,
she had more to prove and less to expect.
I'll never again comment on a women's...
ability.
It tugged at my heart strings
The silent cry
The words you never uttered
The faded marks of tears
You never meant to shed still evident
You never knew I knew
You wanted to be held
But your shields were up
You still felt the need to protect yourself
Against the love on offer
Against the comfort provided
Only because you never experienced
Someone showing they cared
I hope that you realize
That in all these moments of
Seclusion
In all these moments of
Self inflicting pain
It doesn't make it easier
It is only prolonging your rebuff
That you can do this on your own
©120420161317
**A DEDICATION TO
MY FUTURE, TRUE LOVE.**
A moment of bliss
For you and i,
A moment so real
I feel it will never end.
The sound of our kisses
The promises
Of our future,
The absence of heart
Break torture,
The words of our eye
balls
The verdicts of our
hearts...
Builds our walls of bliss.
A moment of bliss
For you and i,
A moment of laughter,
Laughter to last longer,
Prolonging our affair that
Is sealed above.
A moment of bliss.
For you and i,
When you read those
verses,
Slowly and mildly,
Piecing through my soul,
Like mothers words...
A moment of bliss,
For you and i,
A moment so sweet like
cherries
And candies.
A moment so smooth
like
The surface of your lips...
Leaving me in a trance,
When i recover,
We will continue from
where
We stopped...
Savoring the bliss for
you and i...
"WHEN
SHE COMES IN, IT WILL BE
ALL BLISS"
North eastern whistling through papyrus banks
Emanating streams are from forest Rwanda
Collecting reserving ever controversial
No propagating ,Lake Victoria real natural source
We are from the source of Nile
Summer rain blessed over mount of Ethiopia
Seasonal worship prolonging to Hapi.
Egyptian farmers awaiting the blue silt
Obscuring barriers , flowing river great
We are from the source of Nile
She will be joining blue hands at Khartoum
Resting reversing , then reaching to Cairo
Looking behind like a responsible mom
Blessing the fertile land again , hats off
We are from the source of Nile
Enchanting caves and all gigantic pyramids
Egyptian mummy an evident civilization
Gentle the flow for the life distribution
Never dispensable such a real contribution
We are from the source of Nile
Padmakumar
The cowboy he rode on out of the hills
Slumped over his good horse Fred.
Covered in dust, the least of his ills,
Both he and the horse half-dead.
He took a long drink to clear his head,
And felt a shutter, then a long wait,
In the motion of poor Fred’s gate.
He looked back and saw no more foe
No sight of old Mad Dog Giles,
Who’d chased him hard, both high and low
For forty frantic and breathless miles,
Across endless, hardened, desert tile.
Giles had chased, determined to slay
The cowboy who loved a girl in his pay.
Over mountain slopes of broken stone,
Through a canyon of red-hued rock,
Through alkali sinks, scattered with bones,
The Mad Dog his prey had stalked.
The cowboy, his foe, could not out-fox.
But the good horse Fred was the best of steads,
And ran till the other dropped of fatigue.
The cowboy he climbed out of the saddle,
Glad to finally move his own feet.
Fred gave a whinny, the cowboy looked down
At a swollen and bulging knee,
It was broken, he could clearly see.
A flash of rage burned in his soul,
To see the chase’s heavy toll.
The cowboy fumed, ranted, and raged
He’d raised good Fred from birth!
This stallion had taken him ‘cross the range,
Through tall mountains and deserts adverse,
And now he was doomed to the Earth…
His only true friend, would soon be gone
Thanks to a mad man’s temper and imagined wrongs.
He saw no use prolonging the end,
He whispered words and stroked Fred’s face.
The gun quivered in shaky hands,
But the barrel, it found the place.
He squeezed, and Fred met his fate.
The cowboy fell down to his knees,
And roared out loud in agony.
When he rose again his stare was cold,
He made no effort to fool himself.
For the love of a horse, both strong and bold,
He’d sent that damn bastard to hell!
And through time the tales would tell:
That a broken cowboy, driven by wrath
Had made the Mad Dog breath his last…
Fieldwork is stellar, sexy, or strenuous and sad
Talking values, prolonging childhood
Is not for the faint hearted among S. Africa's "Coloured"
My "township" boasts about acting backward
Using walls for urination, or there on streets
Many walk all day long with beer in hand (never discreet)
We reward bad for good; kindness is meekness minus Jesus (equals: simple weakness)
Abusing drugs, kids, partners - "street privacy"?
Is the only "rule" respected by all and sundry
II
Shall I report these abuses, "shebeens" next door?
But the policing is poor, revenge usual & more
Or should I show the other cheek, God's love
Shall I continue peacemaking, or reward shove with shove?
Since Middle School I struggled with moochers, "the lazy"
To accept them, help, yet teach a better way
Humans seek peace, routines, "order" in some way
But competition fir resources, conflict
May be the real order of the day
Hence wars are welcome for profits, bottom lines!
My question: Love or lecture "them" is as old as Time
In my "coloured township," there is no "time" for both
I'm more pessimistic about human nature now, sad truth!
I’m a glutton for love you know
Yet I’m a sucker for pain
Heart on my sleeve everywhere I go
Not wanting sustenance of refrain
Red on my palms entwined with another
Parading around like a stalking saint
Spreading the word to innocent lovers
In message of insight and finger-paint
Thrown into the renovation trade
Rushing the blood to cheeks of the pale
Lessening trounce of quake’s tailor made
Damaging ratings on life’s Richter scale
Mourning profusely, smile without sound
Inventing new sketchings on solar graphs
Mending cracks in the walls all around
Stopping leaks from pipe burst hearts
Filling back up the tear of the hollow
Then swiftly moving along to the next
Extending hands with pride left to swallow
While keeping rejection within its context
The irony of this whole situation
Almost so vague it kinda begets me
Knowledge from past and foregone conclusion
Prolonging a word called simplicity
I’ve seen this before, I’ve loved and lost
Not sorry for wanting to share what I feel
If pain means healing or trusting at cost
At least then I’ll know of feeling surreal
That’s better than not being able to live
It’s so much better then nothing at all
With bountiful bouquets of love left to give
I listen for rose colored voices to call
The aroma next time around will be such
Allowing mitosis that seeks to enthrall
And stroke the face with a gentle touch
In the aisle to wildflower entrance halls
Reach out the hands forgetful of catching
Pick up the broken shards of metal
Trailing emotions while sympathy snatching
Garden bound barefoot on lying rose petals
Healthy and wholesome food for the soul
A soft patch for landing on feet with grace
Creation arranged in colorful holes
For the next time we fall into love’s embrace
SHOCKING!!!!!!!! WHAT? THAT?
Bad taste?
They know not what is at stake
They do as they please
Then later beg for forgiveness
A right sin
And a dismal business
Nothing is shocking anymore
To thump each other
They go to the extremes of bad taste
The exotic of the past
Is now the mundane of today
To push the boundaries of rascality
Is the new wanton game
Played by trouble makers galore
To shock is to liven up
What a rebellious few
Think is dreary and staid
But is the result of good taste?
Actions we take now do tell
A story to our future
What of our legacy?
Will our avant-garde seem
Nothing but a real shame?
Critics slam with hyperbolic feelings
Prolonging a naturally temporary phase
The rebellion against the norm
Is but a turbulent teenage phase
Desperation for fame
Pushes the tactless
To seek increasingly embarrassing ways
To force our senses to
Confront what is best left private
Books
Art
The stage
All are infiltrated by the listless crew
Who seem hell-bent on defacing decency
Nudity
Crassness
Debauchery
Bad talent
No longer have critics powerful enough to
Cauterize such abject mood swings
Of artiste who feel no shame
Extending the boundaries
Of moral inhibition is not new
Those that claim to be even more shocking
Know not the history of petty rebellion
They are just another transient few
Decency has lost its unsung heroes
Who slash canvasses
And cover up the detritus of artistic license
Those who oppose any act
That does make us think
Examine or
Analyse our existence in new ways
Are deemed too sensitive for modern life
They are accused of bleaching creativity
To be a rogue is best
To impose any limits seems
To rascals as wilful distress but
Trendsetters don’t often know best
Frigid hands of a raven sky
Capture murmurs of a feral lullaby
Terror now awakens to cleave sensation
Dismay now devours thoughts of elation
Lucid black, the void prevails
Grasping the mind into its prolonging trails
Body asunder, shattering with dread
Passionate with fear from toe to head
It is from the night... dark, viscous, and saccharine
Dissolving in sky like honey in wine
That mesmerizes thought, body, and sight
Plundering all into a tale of fright...
Inspired by Dean Koontz's books of terror and beauty
The times are fast changing
The certainty of season is
evading
The sure signs of weather has
for long disappeared
Along with our cultures and
moral values has smeared
Oh Arike! may my eyes not see
the evil the day brings
The scorching sun burns so
hot at day
The chilly cold oppresses no
less at night
The youths and young ones
has missed the way
Groping blindly around with
vain confidence in the light
Oh Arike! may you not be deaf
to the wise words of age
Life in the world now seem
strange
Young men move around
deranged
Treating our words with
hapless disdain.
Basking in their own fooly,
prolonging their pain
Arike my daugther! may you
never miss your way.
Day after day our wise words
are ignored
Seconds in minutes
out;pollution permeates our
atmosphere
Caution is thrown to the wind
And we fail to realise the fact
that the man who eats his cake
will never have it.
Arike!Arike!! Heed my words
Like our elders will say;
If the sun claims to be brighter
than the moon,tell me why
doesn't it shines at night?
If the youth claim to be wiser
Why dont they pull a strand of
grey from their hair
Arike! Its high time our words
are heeded.
No man heeds the wise words
of age and still misses the way.
Experience they say is the
better teacher
Lessons learnt from
experience are treasures to be
guarded jealously
The young man who glorious
foolishly in his strength
Is no sooner consumed by
pride than by an adversary.
Arike my daughter! Heed my
words
Follow the path of destiny and
see where it leads
Follow the creator who set out
your life from the outset we
earnestly plead
Heed our words,the wise
words of age
Even though we know it is not
the grey hairs that makes one
a sage.
Nevertheless,it does matter in
the end,b'cos we have been
there in your shoes.
Arike! Arike!! Arike!!! Let it be
known that we played our part
Before the time finally
changes,and the certainty of
season departs
Heed our words and desist
from your actions
He that has got ears,let him
hear...