Two carbon entities
exhale green miasmas
and throttle white throats
in a noose of iron.
The cored captives
diaphanous and rasping
plummet to frightful circles
where sardonic wraiths
gnarl wingèd flesh
in screeching packs
as time loops reverberate
manic and mindless.
My Pooja samagri
1 cock alive
2 loban
3 15 pats of madira
4 bold head and shave
5 lemon 9
6 three eggs
7 Karpoor and New colour gulaal
8 sandal wood etar
9 dakshina 5678 rupees
10 shishya 501.
The amount should be 5 thousand 56 lakhs or cored depending on problem and for moksha how much you earned Dear
Aghori mhabharamnad
Dr. Jagdish bajantri
Remember where you came from
And what you had to do
To achieve your present outcome
Before your life was through.
Your life has reached duality,
Rumor is now the known,
And your stereotyped personality
Has assumed a life of its own.
Now that you are famous,
Your private life is through,
Your flame of fame is flickering,
But it’s cored by a tinge of blue.
Oh Monchielle of Love
thou fittest me like glove
inside His palm, His child,
aiming up like a dove
of love, truthful and wild.
Oh Monchielle of Love
unnotched from up above
ye knowest when to heal,
without the earthly shove
of sheltered, human creel.
Oh Monchielle of Love
your written word thereof
tells me I am worthy
Thou shalt be my ringdove
in my lonesome journey
Oh Monchielle of Love
receptacle of love
pannikin of my soul
thou fittest me like glove
cored inside, heaven's cove.
Brined voids surround my already bounded vision, throwing me headlong into confusion and disarray.
Hesitation in what may be the next correct course is what has landed me, and with much despair, in this current crisis of identity.
It is also what keeps me still.
This sea of doubt, once touched by the poet Alighieri, drowns my senses, casts my sails of logic askew and all at once sends my fluttering mind into a turmoil so grand as to take the attentive and oblivious alike.
Oft in mesmeric trance, the soaked foundation upon which I stumble offers none but fleeting moments of blessed relief. The rotten cored planks creak and shudder with the shifts and contemplations of my psyche, and I feel as though one misstep or overreach will drop me into a depth not easily realized.
And, I fear.
Oh do I fear.
I fear that will be the end. The end of a great many precious jewels which have hitherto been forgotten, discarded, and altogether scorned.
I fear that I will not be mourned, or that I will but be it with half of heart.
I am surrounded by unknown terrain.
Quack quack
I have a story
Hold the sit
One man one army
One house three children
One suside two'left
Education of children guts to hold the time
Ages going one man one cored
Four people
One man one cored one wife half
Both of the children need to be started own as per as there qualification
One man spend money on boy for his habits
One'man one cored told to the children then also don't have teeth to eath or remove there quak quak
Because that one man never
Sail into the water nope his ego
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
How long can you emotionally spin on an axis?
Before you physically feel like you're against the wall and dodging axes?
How long can your feelings wait?
Before they are crushed by a life's ton of emotional weight?
How long can your signals be missed?
Before the tears in your eyes dry to less than a mist.
How long can you feed someone's affections that's already ate?
Six years seven or possibly eight?
How long can you listen to a Sorrow songs chord?
Before your heart feels like an apple that's been physically cored.
A narrative account of what loves loss can weave.
Or a personal revelation of what we've.
The barnyard was filled with the most notorious cliques.
I was tired of trying to out-think these cheap little chicks.
They were forever making trouble with their feed and chews.
Wringing their necks might make them sit up and choose…..
Something better to do with their time, for they were cheap.
I followed one around who was bullied into losing his cheep.
I followed him into garden rows where there was a pink rose.
He tried to hide underneath it, but you know how that goes.
Don’t be a wretch I told that chick. Ignore the bully ring.
He did not understand and was arguing. His neck I wanted to wring.
An apple left by a deer was lying there, smoothly cored.
Ants were wound all around it like a ebony cord.
The chick began pecking the long black ring of the ants.
His throat began to retch as his beak did this dance.
Bury my ideas, I told him, but you better not be less merry.
The next thing that chick found to eat was a fallen rasp-berry.
It's jus something about the Word MOTHER
Could never be compared to Another
Its a Cored & Heart Held Bond
That's like No Other
The Love,The Joy, The Pride ,The Pain.
Isn't Given its Gained
Cause MOTHER is Love ??
Not always Blood.
MOTHER is Sacrifice
MOTHER is
Life...
And to Be Her,
To have Her
Is a
"Gift "
That's can never be Replaced jus Cherished & "Missed"
So this Day is for US..
""""QUEENS""""
THE ONES WE CAN STILL TOUCH AND TO THE ONES WE ONLY SEE IN OUR DREAMS...
Happy Mommies Day Ladies AKA Queens.
By. Mz Green
The Distance Between
Far to the east, pale moonlight
Admonishes thoughts yet to be born
To the west, where yesterday is spry
The lighthouse awaits
Her flare quenched by Nature’s cry
Hag-ridden planks of an ancient pier
Weathered and grayer than what lies on top
Scarred scent-laden green
Sway with the rhythm of the briny sea
Revealed in the distance between
Where copper coins and hooks silver cored
Fall to a forever resting place
Held by the sea’s lonesome loam
A pauper’s treasure
Buried by sea foam
Will memories of you once beset
Slip through the distance between
I ponder, salty pearls rimming my eyes
Shall Neptune’s realm hold the sweet bitterness
of what I long to forget
My misery is disrupted by a bird come about
Alabaster body
And ebony eyes
As though sensing my thoughts,
The lowly bird casts me a look of doubt
Ignoring the faithless fowl
I turn my eyes to the
Distance Between
God’s light consumed by the sea’s depth
I peer into the emerald green
Memories like golden cobble shine
I inhale the dark sea’s pungent breath
Through ragged cracks greater than
The distance between life and death
In my defence this loves intense
Deeply cored within, and
If it’s wrong to wait so long-
Desire must be sin.
Persevere without no fear
With passion I do crave,
For only just a little more
Your love you richly gave.
I was a rose cored inside your bosom
a verity of truth so seldom seen
place your hand on the spot where I blossomed
you'll feel the shiver of my petaleen
you were the gardener with the warmest touch
caressing my petals, you made me cry
each gentle kiss a floral scented sigh
thanks to my grower I grew up so much
Winds of change have blown and now you are gone
I'm just a dead flower, sitting on your lawn
Feeling the nip of a wintertime frost,
I realize just how much I have lost.
November 27, 2020
W as there ever a player so hated
I n the prime of a great career
L ooked on as the Devil Incarnate
T ormented by boos and by jeers
T he man set all kinds of records
H e excelled at whatever he tried
E gged on by a fierce, wounded pride
S cored one-hundred points in a game
T fans hissed at him all the same
I f he had to do it over again
L ord Have Mercy, he'd have scored 110!
T hough he'd have traded every point for one friend
I never have enough apples.
Apple pie, which I will only eat
alamode.
Apples, to keep the dentist at bay;
apples, to keep a nagging teacher away.
Apples, cored and filled with peanut butter
and raisins,
finds balance somewhere between a raindrop
and the symmetry of snowflakes,
where balance cannot be found.
Like old age and youth
the man in the mirror always wins.
No matter how long it takes
to see him, he's always there.
Old ladies lose muscular tone
and daily search to balance sag and arrest,
another dirty smudge where balance
cannot be found.
I take pride in the old woman's knobby fingers,
I 've earned every lump you see.
It brings me joy to look at them...
I have my grandmother's hands..
and that balances everything.
Pensive Walk
Autumn winds are sorting;
Some limbs this day are cracking, falling,
While there are those that split and cling
Green cored, they do not break but bend.
And I will walk and walk and shuffle
Through wooded leaf cushioned paths,
Believing these will be seen again where
Tall cannas, sunflowers, sleep in depths waiting.
Yes, I will walk, I will breath,
Agog at jeweled leaves with supernatural hope,
That we will meet again
On the other side of Winter.
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