These days once treasured
monuments are let
to weather away
or are bullied
and bulldozed to rubble.
Others have small cracks
picked at by compulsive minds
bent on excavating small lesions
into large, gaping wounds.
We are left with sad avenues
lined with inflated puppets
convulsing in weird gyrations
by belly fulls of blown air,
each with a power cord
stuck up you know where.
Petals are jewelled like embroidered frills;
Globes of mirages enwrap the limbs.
The face is flushed with kisses of chills;
With glass ice pearls, the quivering heart brims.
The wintry gust shakes her convulsing self;
Into melting icicle drops they weep.
As though the footfalls of an unseen elf,
Mysteries from sepals and petals peep.
Within the weak physique's softening chime,
The spirit is alive, though choked by frost.
Will winter last beyond its destined time?
Rebellion stirs beneath, though charm seems lost.
Will buried rainbows pierce this frozen shrine,
Or does the frost shroud all that used to shine?
On spewing wave, our departing ride
Crazed currents crack, an azure slide
Freedom mingles in sea foam seethe
Cobra throat coast gulps river relieve
Estuary entry rests, rushing ruthless
Canoe oar dip downtempo soothe us
Convulsing closing, seen from stern
To mayhem mouth we shan’t return
Silver silt filters salt, lake lap littoral
Ranges ahead etch graduating blues
Drift beside reeds, bird pews hymnal
Harp strum seraphim strike chords
Nacreous nematodes writhe towards
Tiny sun centre lace tutus feverfew
Pirouette pirogue wet on dawn dew
Papery apron snapdragon bonnets
Bloom ten a stem syllable sonnets
Cut log capsule covets its heritage
Forested foothills fix ship wreckage
Fir hands welcome hung hammock
Cosy ocean recoil, mountains titanic
Sixth of November
- upstream -
For twelve years, she suffered from incurable bloodletting.
All her wealth, like water, before physicians she had poured
She went near Jesus the incarnate out of fear, sweating.
To touch his garment, the convulsing crowed; she had ignored
Jesus knew her heart. He felt her feelings. He heard her hum.
Her pain-filled existence touched the inner core of his soul.
When grace from his psyche like streams flew, he couldn't be dumb.
Who touched me? He asked. They thought that he'd lost his self-control.
I am caught, the woman thought. What will happen to me now?
Her faith, she felt, was collapsing like a castle on sand.
Her physique and psyche, as though bent trees out of fear, bow.
She felt, amidst these feelings, the healing touch of his hand.
Jesus said this to Veronica: Your faith has healed you.
Like blossoms at the peak of the spring, her life bloomed anew.
“Activity makes my life colorful. To be quiescent is relaxing, but when it prolongs, I feel I am dead.” – By Poet
Day after day passes
With rarely a purpose to fulfill
Thoughts after thoughts flit,
With nothing to hold in memory.
I am stuck on the lonely highway of life.
No addendum!
Up the long path of life,
From joy to pain,
And from pain to joy,
I have been oscillating all these years.
Now my mind is empty.
No exhilarating emotions.
No vexing thoughts
No nagging concerns
No convulsing tidal swaying
Like a placid lake with no ripples
Like a sponge with water squeezed out
Like a kite refusing to soar high,
I am now a bough on a sturdy stem,
Resisting to be touched by the wind!
You might think I have learned,
To look at life with a level brow
And enjoy the stillness of my mind,
When the mad scramble in me dies.
Perhaps you are right.
But I detest this mental hiatus,
This numbing languorousness,
This sickening emotional torpor!
Am I becoming a log over the moving currents?
From this quiescent state, I look for a release.
I found envy
in the windswept field
filled with bright buttercups
and pollen laced gusts.
Tall grass thrashed
where the angels flashed
and flaunted silver wings.
Made of faith,
exuding grace.
I found rage. Eyes
tied to weights, awake
lying next to carrion
a convulsing vulture ripped away
Her ivory dress, caked in gore
the bald bird always needed
more
I sat silent in the grass,
moping. Hoping it would pass.
Needing something to be the bolt
to shock some sense into me.
Lone atop the hill, it was
just my luck.
Lightning struck.
Ann has everyday to plead
That Arthur address her need:
Her wish to on table feed,
Beside Author novels read,
Their three kids move at top speed;
For their first child buy a tweed…
Ann is the plant, Arthur weed,
She can’t shine like a prized steed;
All these cannot True Love breed:
Arthur who won’t counsels heed…
Ann keeps convulsing like reed,
Now taught to kiss him with greed!
This, hence, a matter serious,
Ann’s lover supercilious…
You don’t conclude “Just curious”
For I sense ‘The Injurious.’
In life,
Sometimes
the fire rages
and is so intense
we are certain
that we will be left charred
like seared blackened wood
unable to ever lift our heads again
or ever recover
In the midst of that
fierce emotional blaze
The pain grips us like a vice
refusing to relent
twisting inside of us
as if it too
wants to break free
we clutch our bodies tightly
and rock and sway
in a motion to self soothe
some remembrance
of the comfort found
within our mothers' womb
our bodies crumple
under the enormity of weight
and mental ache
we weep
hot acid rain
that scorch our cheeks
and flow
from only
the most
guarded parts
within us
our heads
droop into our chests
and our bodies fold inwards
convulsing with
uncontrollable heaving
we gasp
to catch our breath
our lungs expand and contract
like a bloated accordion
we can only hope
that our minds
collapse
under the enormous strain
of that which engulfs us
It is the darkest
reckoning
of human anguish
that one
can feel,
in life
Hospitals are designed
(a) to make you appreciate your bed at home
(b) to prompt many unanswerable questions
(c) to facilitate smooth patient care
(d) to never complain about your wife’s cooking again
Referrals to a psychiatrist are made when
(a) you become catatonic after having no sleep for a week
(b) after complaining about a noisy roommate you start convulsing with frustration
(c) you ask the nurse for a sleeping aid and she brings
warm milk
(d) You are all set for discharge but the Dr is delayed in surgery all day
Reflecting on a hospital stay makes you
(a) wonder how you survived the long nights
(b) vow never to eat chicken broth again
(c) appreciate there are no drafts behind when you get up for a walk
(d) note how quiet the house really is
Somebody who had seen Miss Ann
Advised her to just drop her Dan,
Mentioning my own serious plan
To take her to my secure clan
And keep her in a lodge with fan...
And Miss Ann burst into laughter
But did not say a word after,
Yet, did not close the chapter:
A convulsing body apter...
Then, in a voice four times softer
Like takers of Lozenge Cofta
"Does he own a helicopter,
For, then, 'My Yes' will be prompter?"
That was Ann and who she would choose,
So, lover Dan and I should lose!
it was yesterday.
four o'clock in the morning and I woke up.
was convulsing with words.
still lying and though scared
I thought how beautiful they would be
all those words together.
but when i got up later
they were all gone.
at that time they seemed to make sense.
poetic sense.
but they are already gone.
maybe they appeared
to drown some nightmare.
a bad dream
in which the choked words screamed:
look at us here,
struggling to make us poetry.
Why is this place not dry?
Mother must be outside birthing
Beside herself beneath a light
Convulsing to let me out
I wither as others can not
In spite of appearances it would be madness
Not to say good-bye to the womb collapsing
Lapsing back to a more normal form
Mother’s must keep their shape
Pretty is the day
What if I should stir?
Do babies stir outside?
I can’t remember being born
Coming forth from nothing
Living must be nice
It is clear as the gathering night
It is enough to be alive, to be me
When the time comes I will leave
The womb loves little company
I come to my mother once again
Solitary this time with a kiss
Sometime before never I will return
To a joke told by the universe
I have never conceived
But mother has
She is a professional at that
She cried her heart out in the shower this morning
Desperate, anguishing tears
Uncontrollable, convulsing sobs
Anxiety within was strangling her
Clenching and crippling
Incarcerating her into a frozen-like state
All the while
No one heard her cries
No one shared her suffering
No one knew how defeated she felt
How crumpled her courage was
How convoluted her coping skills had become
How much it was consuming her
Porcelain contours cradled her body as she wailed
Powerlessly...
Fearfully...
and...
Alone
July 25, 2021
Imagine a shore stretching to infinity.
A Pale thing upon its sand.
The ocean water is black
Midnight blue depths
Of Oblivion.
Skeletal hands rake
Pale Machinery
Melancholy and full of divinity
Mechanical parts and bloody ruination of hearts
Outer rim of Sapphire Skies
Columns of fires reach, reaching, searching convulsing pyres
Of Melancholy Pale Machinery and Imagery
Across a shore ablaze under a sliver moon waves
Ocean mysteries rise and fall across histories
Then sparkle the eons of creation, universes
Infinite and adrift
A Melancholy divinity pale and wondering
The seas of serenity.
Ripped the letters off my skin
and s
_________________________p
___l______________________________a
____________t______________t_______ __e
________r________________e________d
them on
the convulsing page
Tolerate the ones i notice
never imagined to manage
Loser
Yes sir
kinda be kind
Shouldn't be sound of ear
if you don't mind
i will get to the point
insignificant when i close my eyes
sent my lover a bag off bees legs
She thought it was the bees knees
Relatively bled
if someone where to snatch my hand off
i couldn't give it to them
point to my flaws
inventing the clause
sell my soul to be the devil
Gods omnipotence i belittle
little are my thoughts of you..
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