Wood nymph, goddess of the trees,
how splendid! couched in loveliness
no creature may fully behold!
Yet I have, on particular mornings,
in crepuscular radiance seen,
(O brightest eyes!) flitting light,
recognition that love was born
here on the restless, unseeing ground
that we might occasionally recall:
life was meant for something
more than living and doing,
but breathlessly witnessing
angel presence in our midst,
wonder of the morning,
herald of the light,
comfort of dawn,
swan of day,
loveliest
sight.
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
EXPRESSIONS OF AFFINITY
existing
authenticated
equality
distinct
echos
enrolled
purified
dignified
phenomena
of
sublimity
gentle
libertarian
picturesque
rhythmic
exemplified
interpreted
alternations
of
couched
crystallisations
CONTRADICTORY CONCLUSIONS -:-
perplexing
evolving
incomplete
dual
dichotomy
in UNCERTAIN JUDGEMENT
couched
fragmented
patchwork
laudatory
linguistic
in CRITICAL BLIND
amalgams
strangely
silent
passive
characteristics
snow pearl cascade tone,
dream scene downfall’s couched ice verse~
melts in frosty sun
Now quiet, settled, easy, leisurely
through life’s affairs,—say, couched in everyday—
and sipping being’s sweetest, freshest ray;
Sunshine!, Sunshine! ‘midst winter’s coldest glee!
Now troubled, disjointed, uneasily
fumbling, scrambling through dumb frowning time.—Gray-
-haired night’s murk weighs down gay light’s mirth filled play...—
tumbling through summer’s scorching cruelty!
An inescapable alternation
of gloom and cheer,(to be—and—not to be),
wheeling circles and cycles—infernal,—
recur, relapse, return through all creation.;
Remember, though pain’s but temporary,
vacuous suffering is eternal.
lazy bones, bound in poverty’s grip
in a garden, where hesitation weeds grow~
filled with s t r a n g l e d d e l i c a c i e s…
a recipe of wisdom, never tasted
couched like a fly in an endless stupor…
abandoned in a ship, lost in the doldrums~
in a dark tunnel, where
echoes slowly f a d i n g
doomed to sail a sinking ship with no lifeboat
yet your arms can still push a boulder uphill~
so put your shoulder to the wheel...
never stop, reach the mountain's peak
sharpen the saw, dig for gold, tame white horses~
while sweat streams down your brow
for once you're interred in a grave
with nothing to illuminate the darkness
mountain of your strength will only enrich the grains of sand...
and fork in the road will give you no direction to choose
you'll just be lost in the maze...
like a deer in a headlight
as confused as a dog watching a magic trick
Toppled by a bottle, collapsed upon
her painful past, asleep—but well awake!—,
unmoving, but for her mind stirred aquake,
the girl is yawning before her black dawn.
Alone, couched by a burning blanket drawn
over a conscience guilty at the stake,
slipping into the sly hands of the snake,
she sees not clearly the sickening con
which lures her slowly to her deathly state.
Unknowingly, she’s dozing, edging deeper
into the dreamrealm, into the hazy
murk of the promised land.
Her name was Daisy—
until, unexpected, said the reaper,
“Poor thing… if only you could now change fate.”
"I feel truth is relatively subjective. My truth need not be your truth. When I hold onto what I believe is truthful, I am honest though another may suspect the verity of my truth"~ By Poet
I am a rough stone rugged,
misshapen and unhewn, hard, asymmetrical, raw and jagged.
If chopped and cut fine, can become a sculpted marvel.
I am neither a genius nor a prodigy or mastermind,
an ordinary woman who can love
and forgive, never letting dark deceit show its ugly head.
Always wishing not to let the truth crumble before lies.
As I try to show a little piece of myself,
I must admit, I have said small lies,
that I couched in honesty's guise.
Now I have earned wisdom to amend my lopsided vision,
to see my faults and rectify them by all means;
leave every pretense and be honest
admit mistakes, feel genuinely sorry and never repeat.
Feeling miserable,
And upset with my actions.
Feeling like I am in a boat load,
Of trouble.
I look out my window,
And see,
Raindrops,
Drip, drip, dripping,
Slowly,
On to the lush green grass.
It’s like the weather can read my mind,
And sense my emotions.
I long to be outside,
Feeling the raindrops
Drip, drip, dripping,
Onto me.
But I am too miserable to move,
And stay curled up on the couched,
Wrapped in blankets with a cup of coffee,
Wishing I could turn back time,
And start things over.
Soon like the raindrops
Dripping to the ground
Tears start to drip, drip, drip
down my face
And still
I sit their staring out the window
at the raindrops
Drip, drip, dripping
slowly to the ground
Couched in the season,
by a fireplace ablaze.
The winter with it's snowy soft edges,
tasted bittersweet
-since I reminisced once more
of just how pleasing it was
in the golden summer days,
when I felt a lovers heat
-her soft gentle fingers
upon the nape of my neck.
Hesitating, and lingering
-then she gave me a peck.
Yes upon my lips a kiss.
Oh yes, how I reminisce.
Summer; its refreshing voice of
Up-splashed gaiety.
Afar; yet in hearing, clearer
Finds one drawn nearer!
Suburban windows everywhere
Let all they can in
Of what afloat, with orange scent
Gives a boost to this;
That which , couched, lure for drowsy bliss
Heats; deeper within!
Let there be an understanding
I am not your keeper
Whatever star you follow
that is your way
probably not mine
We can share a campfire
an idea
or the couched prayers
of our bodies
but let us agree
not to claim to know
if this untethered gathering
of certain opinions
is not the end, nor the beginning
or the middle
of anything important
whatsoever.
glad
in crux
near the gloom
that light nudge me
when it gets anxious
concerns that might leak out
my burrows are firmly couched
not a fiend nor a darling star
they thrust as the night sky gained their sight.
yet, both sorts score their way to my shoulder.
GHANA!!!
The blood sacrificed for our sake is being betrayed
The landlors can't benefit from their own rich resources
We starve on the green space whiles we await manna from the sky
The hope couched in the star is gradually losing its black pigment. ..
Wake up Mother Ghana!!!
Happy Independence Day Mother Ghana!!!
It is your birthday!!!
I know you expected some panegyric spiced with literary devices on this day
But sorry , though it might be uncouth, I had to hit you with the truth
I still love you regardless Mother!!!
Your history is as rich as your culture
You have an enviable home and people
You instill discipline and abhor evil
No wonder your compound is always peaceful
I love you Mother!!!!
When prayers turn to pleas couched in a veil,
And pujas, covert pleas for His pardon,
When Bandagis beg— a bargain for a bail,
Worships aim for a vaunted place in sun;
When sacrifices seek choicest of fruits,
Charities search for a place in heaven,
Gifts get given to gain matching return,
Pilgrimage a pass-time, no search for roots.
Bless me Lord still, let my hopes breathe alive,
I pray thee that in peaceful sleep I rest—
Assured in luxury-laden a nest,
I pray that honey sweeten my beehive,
And as ye keep well-supplied my huge store,
I swear to love thee, if so, all the more.
____________________________________________
This sonnet is sung rather tongue-in-cheek and is a light satire on prayers that be veiled pleas for wanting something or the other and are not rendered as thanks-giving to God, as all prayers should be.
Sonnets | 17.11.08 |
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