After the scorching days and sultry nights,
We are in the cusp between summer and autumn.
Days have grown cooler with nights longer.
Nature, getting ready for the ceremonious Fall.
A sweet change is in the air everywhere.
Trees will soon waltz in cascading colours.
With goodbye kisses, as leaves spiral down in graceful twirl,
We will tell- 'We are in autumn’s tight embrace'.
I know a funeral when I walk into one
I can tell between a funeral and a burial
They are two entirely different artworks
One is done on grand canvas, with drunken strokes
Of sashaying brush and bleeding paints;
The other is done on mere sand, with foot and hand,
Forming sandcastles built by toddlers.
I know too well because I have my senses
Intact after the last funeral I attended on a gambolling coast.
I should know because I participated in the burial of a
Village lout, a wretched lord, so grand with contumely.
Funeral lasts for days and contains the sounds of cannons
And other elements of ceremonies, so loud, so eloquent,
So ceremonious —full of man and illiterate beasts.
A burial, on the other penurious hand,
Reeks of haste, attended by a teething crowd —
And at times comes with thunder that speaks in jest
And a lightning whose light flickers on all things subpar.
A rusted breeze ripens with early frosts
Ill-fated trees wilt begetting their loss
Rich fermented decay's putrified bloom
Bidding farewell to the song of the loon
The belching pond spurts summers spoil
Bird nests crumble leaving traces of toil
Flowers tilling soil with seeds for new growth
All of life is taking a dying oath
The spreading fire of the evening sun
Blazes in drenched horizons faraway
As days get shorter, and stars have more fun
Popping on flashlights in the milky way
Autumn-extraneous-harmonious
Ceremonious-Testimonios
Cosmic chrysalis,
chaotic change;
Pure and positively poisonous,
play with that potential;
Sting or stay a succubus,
stylish and succinct;
Cocoon of ceremonious
unraveling
contemplative chrysalis.
Yesterday, I stroked a horse:
I ran my hand along his back
And watched his every muscle twitch,
So sensitive—what a proud and
Ceremonious beast. He held his head
Lightly—comfortable, with no fear—
And his ears tipped gently forward,
Relaxed. They flicked around at every
Sound, but the horse was not tense.
He rested his weight equally along
All four of his strong yet delicate legs—
So slender you thought you could snap them
Like a twig. But this tall and respected creature
Could run at thirty miles-per-hour on
These legs of his. His kick could kill,
If it had that desired intention. But this horse,
So powerful in all its creation, stood
By my side—unflinching; unmoving:
It made its choice to allow my presence—
To allow my every touch of his body.
I rubbed his nose, and his dark eyes locked
With mine. They told a story, certainly:
He could remember his whole life.
Perhaps, even, he could see mine, but
It looked as though he could see even further
Than just the past and the present.
On a busy Marescaux Road where
No one cared for an injured dog,
Where motorists do not come to a slow,
And honking horns hammer
As impatient traffic competes toe to toe,
There on the asphalted heat
The painful cry of a wounded creature
Pierced through the peak-hour hub of the street.
Out into the throbbing traffic
The Wolmarian girl stepped
Caring none except
for that injured dog– whimpering, pleading,
Fighting with its final breaths.
And the honking swelled and motorists yelled.
From their faces, I could discern
They were void of an iota of concern.
Above the chaos, I heard her whisper
Gentle reassurance to the timid creature.
The Wolmarian girl bent
and slowly lifted her casualty
And walked back to the sidewalk
With ceremonious dignity.
And I have always wished to be as brave as she
Who defied the odds to honour her humanity.
Dear Salacious Crumb, where did you go?
I saw what Luke did to the sail barge,
as Leia jumped off I witnessed the blow;
Echoes of your ceremonious laugh
lingered after that swift disappearance;
Did Skywalker hit you with a Skiff’s staff?
Bib Fortuna cackled ‘He’s no Jedi.’
I have a feeling you saw through all that;
You know all the smugglers who stop by;
Personal sidekick of Jabba The Hutt,
it’s logical you’d know how to escape
right out of a hidden palace shortcut;
Could have traveled to another planet,
or hidden with those wild desert Jawas;
You’re known for being such a sly bandit;
If not on Tatooine where have you been?
Where in a galaxy far far away?
I gotta know; Sincerely, a Star Wars fan.
My idealistic mind dies on the vine
Day after day I worthlessly define
The rightful place for the needle
The steady decay of idealistic people
Illusions of hope in murky pools rippled
Visions of idealism effectively crippled
Convening in ceremonious empty vessels
Idealists left as outcasts with notions to wrestle
The vine’s journey is not completely clear
Strategical route marred with ignorance and fear
They say culture will eat strategy for breakfast
I’ve experienced nothing more firmly steadfast
With the last glimmer of sunset
When the shadows chase the light
As the rivers flow back into the skies
Dotted with silver specks, twinkling
In time with the clock ticking by
Onto a dark drape stretched across
This beautiful earths face!
The arrival of the night a spectacular sight
Cicadas and crickets welcome her
With their ceremonious band
And street lights blink to get
A better view from their stands!
Starry, starry nights send
The sky into raptures
The sparkling stars
Exploding like foaming wine!
Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.
Life is happiness embodied;
Happiness evolves from celebration;
Celebration presupposes glory;
Glory is an epitome of hard work;
Hard work is foundation of human life;
Encompassing these, Life becomes a
FESTIVAL
Yeah…
Life is a Festival—
Rejoice and celebrate
Toil and earn
Achieve and accomplish—
Certainly NOT an Occasion to be elapsed.
Every day is ceremonious;
Go with a smile and
Success is certain.
Oh Amazonian tea
A demonic stigma precedes you
Your evil is in your wonderous healing
You adept unmasker
Ceremonious enlightener
Purging our torso to allow cleansing of our souls
Unbarring portals we've kept forcibly sealed
Transporting us to a realm where our recollection still breathes
Disentombing memories
We've spent a lifetime encapsulating
So that even our souls forget
Awakening questions we didn't conceive we possessed
Solving unanswerable mysteries
You hellaciously beautiful mirror
Exposing our vile ugliness
Clearing our selfish deceptively blurred vision
To definitively see
Liberating our murky minds
Exposing the vibration's worthlessness
To manifest the brightest darkness
Embodying authentic love
Allowing us to find us
By casting off selves feigned
And be nakedly unbound
Terminating the deception
Baring the overt essence
Pure, whole
And free
This is why I dare not taste
Because of the hidden evil
The monster who resides hides
With his darkest of secrets
Cloaked skillfully from the light
Never to be exposed
Again
I refuse to be contented
No, not with the deceptive fluffy garment of the coconut fruit
I dare to reach to the skull-breaking shield within
That discouraging thin sheet that reminds me the wall of Jericho
I know my resilience will pay off when I taste the white crunchy delicious cake of the gods and wash it down with that cool sweetened mystery water trapped within.
Then i will have a proof to make you know that curiosity, hard work, resilience and faith all have a ceremonious reward
Don't get it twisted
This is beyond fruit fantasy.
The fanning of an eagle feather,
Gently carries away dark waves of the ether
Created from our tribe's battle-cryers,
The warriors whom are transformed into dancers.
The falling of the sacred willow tree,
Shows the weight of the powers that be:
The energy of souls which fill a wooden shelter,
The people whom find healing through one another.
Exultant excitability chase
Leaving a bad taste
A faux-pas of a celebration
In place of jubilation
Camera smiles full of lies
All the party in disguise
Veiled in ceremonious style
Triumphant distractions to beguile
Hush-hush in a clamorous hilarity
A dressed-up gaiety
Revelling with wine and in consternation
Addled and unable to form an illation
The after-truth hurt multiplied
Feelings of exclusion intensified
The devil has been sold a soul through the back door
Of someone I adore
Related Poems