He is eager to break a record
But a lot plays with loafers’ record:
The Leanest Time to wonders accord …
He is The Gasping for a record
But in his left ear an oft fixed cord;
Not with scholarship in accord …
The Anxious-to-Create-a-Record
Still in his heard speeches Hacked Concord
And one could glimpse in them his thrust word …
Then, do not worshipful notice take
Of the Desirous-to-Record break:
Some of the times, a user of dictions
That are fraught with rash contractions;
The chap’s last speech-filled publications
By him tagged Divine Supplications …
But I knew and could prove pinned papers
About some much touted life shapers,
In sizes a peace-preaching memo,
In quality, A Hurried Demo;
At last to be granted ‘No Author’;
Who does to be checked by A Doctor.
O Sweet poem
Wielder of undisclosed tales
Conqueror of unyielding hearts
Comforter of inoperable minds
Consoler of inconsolable souls
Utterer of the most unutterable dictions,
You have kept secrets for poets
In the deepest corners of your heart
I implore you,
Keep a secret for me!
With your soporific charm
You have softened hearts of gallant men.
You have won beautiful maidens for Kings.
You have spoken for the mutest lovers
You have reconciled the irreconcilable
O Sweet poem
Keep one more secret for me.
With your powerful allure
You have heated the coldest of hearts
You have reached unattainable horizons
You have opened the tightest doors
No secret is too sacred for you to keep
I pray keep a secret for me.
Distinctive dictions
Eclectic emotions &
Pretty pure poems
Each thing is exemplary
in peerless poetry soup
They
Are
Among us.
Not alien
But more
Like us than
You will ever know.
They are
Neighbors
Dying
Of
Disease
And
Hate
And
Grief.
They live
Next door
Behind walls
Built
Not of stone
But of fear.
Hungry
Penniless
Alone.
They are
Stereotypes
Birthing
Children.
Ad dictions
Carving
Flesh from
Bones.
They are
Sold
Into
Slavery
Beaten
By
Other
People's
Philosophies.
They are
Invisible.
But not
To
Me.
Poetry should move some
Beyond the statistics
Not symptoms in dead ends
Enclosed within cornets
Murmuring of numerous
An elaboration perhaps
For the entangled dictions.
The spirit moves
From end to end
In fastidious freedom
Some instructs to convey
I heard it singing other day
By a black birds in transit.
What the poesy demands
I demand
What the spirit sings
I sing.
What it declares
I should declare
Into the depths of being
To which I will declare.