Best Spongy Poems
The scent of your soul
a caramalized breeze of fruit odours
reverbrating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back in ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back
Your name resonates gently with my spirit
as thoughts of you dwell in my mind
Carrying me back to the shade
of purple grape orchids in evergreen woods
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind
Such revoked moments of unknown danger and defiant fun
Other moments of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights,sunrise and life
I can still recall the days,months,and years
till our footprints marked seperate paths
Ah,those days,those last hours,How can I forget?
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice-cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the colour of every new dream which haunts me
llike an alluring glance of almond-shaped eyes
This afternoon,like other afternoons I walk to the library
which knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own
That fragrance 's gone now,all that is left is the fading perfume
of forgotten petals between old books and dust
No one here except my silence ,and a rotten sliced apple
vacuum packed,lacking its cinnamon and even its spice.
Back home the mildewed strings of a guitar
await my fingertips to play once more
upon the worn out chords of my vacant heart
What will I play,what will I sing,a song which isn't ours?
Fermented wine I poured into a glass
Yearning to taste its purple grape for what it was
before all it was turned out bitter,acidic and sour
I wondered about where you might be,distant or not as far
Listening to my voice on once upon a record player
Or Wishing on a star ?
A repost (written : 10/15/2014
The scent of your soul
a caramelized breeze of fruit odours
reverberating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back into ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back
Your name resonates gently with my spirit
as thoughts of you dwell in my mind
Carrying me back to the shade
of purple grape orchids in evergreen woods
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind
Such revoked moments of unknown danger and defiant fun
Other moments,of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights,sunrise and life
I can still recall the days,months,and years
till our footprints marked separate paths
Ah,those days,those last hours,How can I forget?
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the colour of your soul, which haunts me
like an alluring glance of almond-shaped eyes
This afternoon , like other afternoons I walk to the library
which knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own
That fragrance 's gone now.All that is left is the fading perfume
of forgotten petals between old books and dust
No one here except my silence,and a rotten sliced apple
vacuum packed ,lacking its cinnamon and even its spice.
Back home,the mildewed strings of a guitar
await my fingertips to play once more
upon the worn out chords of my heart
What will I play,what will I sing ,a song which isn't ours ?
Fermented wine I poured into my glass
Yearning to taste its purple grape for what it was
before all it was turned bitter,acidic and sour
I wondered about where you might be ,distant or not as far
Listening to my voice on once upon a record player
Wishing on a star ?
Not for the contest
But thanks for the inspiration
Contest name-The Scent Of Your Soul
Sacred Gratitude
Rockin and Rollin inside my soul
Beckoning musical notes float within me
My heart surrenders and opens
Expanding
When the world outside dances in tension
Feeling bleak and unforgiving
I am grateful to receive
Simple nuances of pure magic
Breathing into my being
Allowing a journey to the place
Between here and now
Standing in dense forest
I approach one of the gentle giants
Her redwood bark burned and blackened
Fires and history tattooing her skin
Fury red growth emerging
Her new coat of velvet delight
Limey baby branches
Make their way to the air
Thirsty for light
A deep hollow near her base
Where I can walk inside
Blackness..soft spongy bark
Touches my fingertips
A dreamy pause
Almost silent
An internal space
Quiet gratitude as I look up.. up..up
Hundreds of feet to a circle of light
Glimmering above
Sunlight trickles in
Kissing my eyelids
Diamond dust reveals
Her burnt underbelly
I stretch my arms up high above me
Sliding them into the sleeves
Of her gigantic branches
As I become her
Arms...limbs full...stretch.. radiating
Rising up ...my head tall
Viewing nature’s mesmerizing tapestry
Woven yellows and greens
Meadows, springs, water lapping nearby
Echoes of bird calls
A white snowy owl lands on my limb
Quiet gratitude as I see her blink
Her wise old eyes
Rotating her white feathered head
Counterclockwise so she may see
The entire circumference
Of her surroundings
Oh dear owl
Sister of the universe
I hear your silent whispers
Feed my soul with your insight and wisdom
I am grateful for your guidance
As I journey through subtleties
Of acceptance, challenge, and bliss
Arriving at compassion
For life and for others
The scent of your soul
A caramelised breeze of fruit odours
reverberating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back in ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back.
Thoughts of you dwell in my mind
and your name resonates gently with my spirit
carrying me back to the shade
of purple orchids in evergreen woods.
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee-beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind.
Such revoked moments of unknown danger
Of fearless dreams , and defiant fun.
Other moments of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights ,sunrise and life.
I can still recall those weeks ,months ,years
till footprints marked separate paths
and our shared candles became the past.
Ah those lazy siestas, those days...those nights...
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice -cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the linen of your shirt which haunts me
like an alluring glance of almond - shaped eyes.
This afternoon, like other afternoons, I walk to the library
that knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own.
That fragrance 's gone now . All that is left is a fading perfume
of forgotten petals, between old books and dusty shelves.
Nobody here, except my silence and a rotten sliced apple ,
Vacuum- packed ,lacking both cinnamon and spice.
Back home, the mildewed strings of a guitar await my fingertips
to play once more ,upon the worn out chords of my heart
What willI play , What will I sing , a song that isn't ours ?
Fermented wine I pour into an empty glass
Yearning to taste the grape for what it was
before all it was turned bitter, acidic and sour.
Alone , I wonder where you might be
So far or not so distant ,listening to the mood in my voice
on once upon a record player, Wishing on a star ?
Dear Santa, it’s Looby Loo, I’m still here
It’s a miracle, have been ill all year
I don’t want you to forget to stop by
As this old gal would then break down and cry.
I need decent bloomers, mine are in holes
And us oldies truly do feel the cold
A box of curlers, the soft spongy type
As the old un’s wake me up in the night.
I’d like a dressing gown, size twenty four
I can’t do mine up, it don’t fit no more
Some new fluffy slippers to match it too
Mine are worn out, so I need them it’s true.
I may be old, but I like to look nice
Lipstick and face powder would see me right
Oh, some perfume too as mine has run dry
I wish to smell sweet when passing folk by.
Walking isn’t easy for me these days
A four wheeled walker would make me feel brave
I’d be most grateful if all this I get
I’m sure I will, as you are the best yet.
Try not to wake me as I needs my sleep
I’ll leave you some wine and mince pies to eat
Slam the door shut when you leave Santa please
I don’t want my presents stolen by thieves.
Bless you dear Santa for all that you do
Merry Christmas and may the Lord bless you
Looby Loo.
Cotton And White Clouds
Cotton squeezes spongy soft in sanguine undertows
Flows calmly through the gentle fingers slow
Babies feel them caress their tender skin and sigh
Thin fibers rise to weave a dream of pure new white
Through their tiny minds as they recline to nap
Invisible oceans come and wash thoughts clean
Clouds envy them within the realm of reason
Sleeping on blue skies like baby silent whispers
Marshmallow mountains of ghostly fluff move up above
Over the innocent bundles of pure love
Clean and clear, floating ever slowly
Evaporate as they draw close
Tranquil cotton finds white clouds in heavenly repose
Blissful just like Christmas snow
Before they disappear
"If you need a thesaurus to find the right word, then it's the wrong word." -- a remembered, probably misquoted, old maxim.
A week of rain
has left my yard spongy
but quite lush -- and birds, now,
are again appearing.
A small, strange toad --
here rarely seen --
startled me yesterday
at my threshold.
Inside, my three cats
persistently attacked a lone
long lizard hiding in
an artificial palm.
I mention minutiae,
breathe deeply in and out:
my unremarkable reality,
my routine life...
Too often, words -- and
problematic politics -- intrude.
To you plump puffball,
Squatter of the mushroom fungi.
May your soils be rich
And your spores be many!
Moonstone child of nocturnal reverie
Pride tempts to invite fallacious vanity.
Creamy alabaster skin,
Spongy firm of flesh within.
A saucy lunar face to taunt the sun.
His nomadic gaze leaves no course for fun.
The sun edges off towards autumn skies,
Pragmatically steady; contemplatively wise.
The sun may have kissed her on a whim,
Crazed butterfly flutters; needles to pins.
Translucent skin, her conceit and crown,
Blushes from saffron hue, to Dijon brown.
Physical metamorphosis; transmutations collide,
She becomes a phase converted seasonal bride.
To celebrate this new found core,
She sends up clouds of dust, and sleepy spores.
Carpe Diem.
Sukhasana – The Easy Pose Step 02
Posture -
Step of the Week
The easy posture to start with. Just sit on any flat comfortable ground (it should not be spongy ground or beds). Fold your legs at the knees that one foot rests inside your knee fold of your opposite leg and the other foot is on the ground beneath the knee ford of the opposite leg. This is the easiest pose to start practicing Yoga till you learn and practice to sit in the next right pose for Yogic breathing we would learn as Padmasana.
Sukhasana – The Easy Pose
In Praise of Sukhasana
When one sits
In this easy pose
To start practicing Yoga
The mild reconditioning
Of your nervous system
Starts to take you
In the realms of
Those shining stars
Which exists in
Tranquility and peace.
Gaining peace of mind
Remains the ultimate goal
Of every human being and
It began to show its
Beauty on your mind
And your heart
As soon as you start Yoga
To get filled with
The inner joy of peace
To feel the light of your God.
This simple posture would
Slowly eliminate
Your exhaustion and fatigue
Giving you
A highly needed relaxation and relief.
Even if you have strained yourself
By hard labor or games
You will feel
A soothing touch
In your mind and body
Which start creating its affects
As soon as you practice Yoga.
Your daily practice would slowly take you
In the realms of peace
And gradually Yoga would start
It’s functioning of rejuvenating
Your vital organs
For a better performance
Which are the key?
To happiness and
Your fitness and love for all.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 08 07 2013 ......... NEXT STEP NEXT WEEK
NOTE: This pose can be practiced any number of time in a day even after meals.
To see the pose of Sukhasana a URL is given below:
http://www.google.co.in/search?q=Photo%20of%20Sukhasana&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&source=hp&channel=np
INTO THE WILD
I dreamed ......
An arboreal wandering into the wild
Creeping in narrow-leaved green herbage
Afraid to be mashed by other wolverines got riled
Their safe abode is now in the siege
The rampage and stampede make a harsh noise
Joining the rumble will stumble into near-death
Swiftly moving away, intend to do a ploy
Taking hold of strength and a grasp of pure breath
Chasing the weak and hear the piercing shriek of pains
The fauna now in a vain attempt to meet and regroup from the maze
A lurking prowler just outside ready to take his aim
A Carnivore’s rendezvous dealing another round of faze
Forays refrain them from regression
Marsupial bearing young is watchful and vigilant
For a hostile entry, a swift run from apprehension
Saving the younglings and safely back to Taiga so verdant
With balsam fir’s magical warming in winter and cooling summer
Tall trees get blown over osiers, shrubs, and miniature spruce
Hear the wind swayed the trees gently just like a hummer
A walk to wet spongy forest ground that has a soft carpet of moss
A truly look at life into the wild is precarious
Feeding on flesh and a quench from trickling stream
Some nocturnal species tending to be gregarious
To survive in this biome is a short-lived dream
Previously posted in voicesnet.com poetry site last 21 October 2009.
HISTORY IS OUR STORY
Has someone rolled aloud a drum in my chest
as I hear the decibel loud: lub-dub so jest crest?
Thousand miles apart but such distance is now bridge
my long frozen heart taken finally from the fridge
I, arrived as planned. His plane too, has land.
Already, our contrived vacation has began.
Though surrounded by the live world theater,
we hugged and smiled, soon as we closed the meters
Within the walled city is a hundred years of history,
in those cobbled roads we walked --we started our own story
Cotton soft clouds watched as blue eyes meet black eyes
cheek to cheek is the wind that fans the blushing guy--
for infront of him is the girl he so long to be with.
Her smile is as spellbinding as like that of a myth.
Old church they view but our hearts search came true,
our first meeting drew our probable break through.
Two days passed, we went to "where magic begins" park
from roller-coaster to merry go round, our chemistry spark
We talk like we've known each other a thousand years
our thoughts quick to bake a spongy cake so sincere.
Day-walks and night-walks: the sun and the stars we outshine
for our togetherness' light willed and wine by our God divine!
Meals -- a delicious treat but our laughter echo a dessert sweet
People who witnessed foretell, our tale is weave without deceit..
Sleeping deep is this volcano lying in the middle of the lake
and so we urged our aching past to melt in ten days break.
This vacation is filled with so much good memories,
so surreal, I dream of this always in my reverie.
______________________________________________________
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name Memorable Vacations
Placed 2nd...
10:30 pm. April 14, 2015
You must take a fat dead man’s corpse
Ideally smooth skin on the back,
Not too rotten, hopefully white,
Then you must take a small device,
Like a small metal ice cream scoop,
The edges must be razor sharp,
Then begin to scoop perfect holes,
Out of the pale, cold, soft back flesh,
There will be a small sucking noise,
As you turn the spoon and gouge,
Make perfect hollowed, concave, bowl
Holes, uniform across the back,
many clusters of deep depressions,
When the back is full of punctures,
Take ripe spider eggs and place them
Inside the holes ready to hatch,
Next take a decapitated,
fresh, three year old infants head,
Behind the cheeks of a child’s face,
There are cavity like chambers
In the soft bone, that house teeth,
Waiting in these bony hollows
Ready to replace baby teeth,
So you must remove the cheek flesh,
And reveal these horrific pits,
Take out the teeth from the sockets,
This makes a series of smooth holes,
You must procure botfly maggots,
Ordinary maggots won’t do.
Carefully insert the maggots,
In the holes of the pitted skull.
Now run your hands along the back,
And your tongue across the skull bone,
As your tongue passes the hollows
A small vacuum will be created
And a suction noise will be heard,
The dry wriggling maggots will,
Gently and briefly touch your tongue.
As your hands cross over the back,
Passing over the spongy holes,
Your fingers will encounter the,
Small, soft, warm spider eggs inside.
As the skull and torso decay,
The whole scene will attack reason,
This hideous alarming sight,
The stench of decomposing flesh,
The sound of the hatching spiders
And newly formed swarming black flies,
Spilling out of their putrid holes,
Will stun your mind into a state,
Of confused and nauseous shock.
It has come into question
My love for the Croc
Whether it be in bare twinkle toes
Or with knee high socks
Rubber on rubber
From top end to sole
Soft spongy comfort
To take on the road
Yes they're here for the comfort
Not here for the speed
Certainly not for the fashion
If that's what you seek
You might have already guessed
That left long ago
Trying hard to impress
Those in the know
The older you get
The less that you care
Hence my love for the Croc
And fur underwear
But back to my Crocs
Like it or not
It's all that I wear
They're all that I've got
Ask me which style
That I mostly own
(Inquiring minds want to know)
I'd have to say
Why, "The Original"
It's streamlined to date
With the perfect number of holes
I even wear them on dates
These Crocs got it going on
So let me be the first
To let you all in on this
My love for Crocs
Is just what it is
Be it in the bare feet
Or with paisley socks
You need to get over it
Cause I love my Crocs
Wrinkled, but beautiful still
Even in decrepit apparel and uncombed;
Jagged skin and sensual fragrance lost
But still spongy her touch is and the smell
Only thing I’d miss the most in the universe.
Toiled through hardship and still indebted,
Altruistic she- uncared and unattended her own needs,
But protected her offspring despite dearth
From cold and famine, the fatal scourge,
And well-groomed into esteemed mortals.
In spite piercing pang and pain within
Beautiful soul, still smile on the parched lips,
For bold but tender my darling is,
So kind at heart and divinely soft in speech,
She is, perhaps the surrogate of Goddess.
Aged and hoary now appears my hero,
But conversant, cultured and well-versed,
The fount of worldly wisdom she is
Who speaks of art of living and greatness-
The lessons from myriad mistakes of her past.
Dearest and my favorite, still the one I so adore,
And now Silver Jubilee of our intimacy,
Fonder my heart becomes of her, my love,
Indubitably the most desired and undeniable,
Only is she the joy and ecstasy of my life.
Best friend she is to me since infancy
With whom I played and quarreled often,
And my sweetheart, indeed my first love,
With whom I had my first kiss and shared a quilt-
My beloved mother- the creator of this poet.
I love you, mom.
Brought my car to an auto shop,
to discuss auto with a Mom and Pop,
motor good and ran,
had thin spongy pads,
happy I am now braking glad.
10-12-16