marooned maestro
floats frustrated
with
waned creative craving
in
sensual lyrical stream
of
impeded passion
faces jaded
stodgy scenario
of
monotonous mélange
of
temporal template
in
bleary platitude plateau
of
consumed composer’s
blasé bearing
it seeks
for
algorithmic arousal
of
styled stimulation
within
captivating cauldron
of
coherent fecundity
but
dismayed downright
by
lamentable nothingness
of
Promethean depth
lacking buoyant upwelling
of
imagination impulse
snapped strings
of
violin heart
don’t resonate singularity
with
impassive articulation
of
simulated strokes
as
ephemeral echo morphs
into
emotive melody
of
congruent cadence
distorted disarrayed
in
convoluted concerto
of
synthetic sonata
EUPHORIC EPITHET
disarrayed sands
derive dislodged
from
timeless terrain
settle bemused
on
stratified shelf
of
languid life
disorganized
in
dismantled moments
of
petrified perturbation
trustworthy truth
on
ruffled ripples
of
disordered discontent
oscillates
on
bewildered efflux
of
delinquent dismay
as
metamorphosed elation
reveals tousled
real pretense
of
traumatic transmutation
of
disquiet mind
drowning disheveled
in
distraught nothingness
with
splintered leitmotif
of
embedded emotion
in
sensual sandcastles
on
shriveled shore
of
eroded yearning
where
psyche rises
shape-shifted
to
covert flute
of
passion symphony
plays music
of
ecstatic self
entranced
as
convivial concerto
resonates
the last refrain
of
melodic memory
as
transcendent essence
of
euphoric epithet
The swings, the trees, the blossom springs,
Incomplete without the childish bliss.
When disarrayed, when amiss,
The old dust begins to glint.
The swings, now old, a rusted shine,
used to be the merry time,
for when we cried and laughed our heart.
The swings would never see us part.
The trees we climbed, to reach the sky,
Are no more towers, just plain and fine
The memories on them, stay engraved,
Escaping the grasp of flowing age.
Generations go on without our part,
The swings and trees see a new start,
Another Set of playful minds,
To see some more painful goodbyes.
Now they drift like morning mist,
Moments lost ,yet not dismissed
How did the sea become a crime?
How did its blue become a bruise on the face of history?
How did the verdure turn into red wrath,
breathing fire into burned hearts,
leaving behind it a black, frosty funeral?
How did the tree become a Fury?
Her strands of fire
strewn above the dew and tranquil mounts
Furious fire and melted iron
Lava and blood-red ink
Pumping out of the wounded bosom of the earth
Bubbling up like the foam of death
To carve an unprecedented story;
A story of a dying profound pain, reborn
In the same womb, at the same moment
Growing as rapidly as the pulsating heart of a child in terror
Lost in the land of infinite wars.
***
My land, a flickering ember
Once giving light and warmth;
The other, singeing our hearts;
Do you choose to be a beacon in the dark,
or to blow up in our faces like a blind flame of wrath?
Are you destined to turn into ash
disarrayed by the wind?
***
People might claim that the earth is not for all
But the heavens are inevitably for all
The living, the dead, the imprisoned
Happy, grieving, immersed in prayer,
For the heavens are in the hands of God the just
Never to be touched by human slaves
Up on the hill, melancholy and forlorn,
I stand like a Ghost at my Grave,
Where you buried me.
You buried me deep beneath the soil,
Where your roots have touched my skin,
No regret was there, nor ever been.
At the lightest of light, the darkest of days,
I wish I wouldn't have stayed,
Because now I stand like a Ghost at my Grave.
You destroyed my purity,
You buried my guilt,
For I still haven't returned, to the moment I lived.
Disarrayed, yet uneasy,
I observe and remain like a ghost at my grave,
As my soul, in awe, gets taken away.
Pushing hard
against the words
the order
disarrayed
The ultimate guest
the consummate stranger
so close
— so far away
(The New Room: December, 2024)
The assigned unseen lamp hidden somewhere,
someone kindles for you when you’re made to arrive.
Unperceived, it creates reflective beam of contemplation,
illumines the pathway of your destined journey.
The free will you make as the mental mural of pride,
the lamp makes it ostensibly self-radiant,
enmeshing your soul within the maze of formidable ego,
that designs the deviant road you travel undisciplined.
On the way you pick up some flowers of wilderness,
someone graciously blossoms only for you,
but you think these are epitome of your self-made image,
worthy of affirmative celebration of self-seeking euphoria.
On the way you tread on the trail of anguish thorns,
you think you would pave a new amiable track soon,
and won’t suffer on the stinging journey for long,
but the perpetual torment lingers on.
The disowned lamp then gets extinguished by itself,
in depth of darkness you lose awareness unrestrained.
The willful psyche clings to the sense of disarrayed self,
and gets confined within the bubble of delusion.
Old timers, history;4th/5th generation
The friends we knew, now just memories
A forgotten world past, new bringing
AI, technology; what is it we become
The past barely existing, rotting away
Like dust is to the wind
Particles of human flesh decay
Our worth, only the price of money
Our dignity, forgotten; lost among mankind
A broken society disarrayed in their path
Dreams of life we consume our souls in screen
Sense of hope shatter in riot hate
Morality crushed among the ruins of today
A free nation they yell as we pay the price
Still slave to man we shout for change
But to man, the reason we die out our breed
All we lived for and fought to achieve
The constitution, added/taken from like Bible
The new gen, the dying breed we become sin
Living just cause it is that we look not
But unto our own destruction we lead ourselves
Noy not by choice my last breath be it taken
Exhale of darkness my soul waits its coming
I grow weary as the days approaches end
A life forgotten, a Dying Breed once stood
A soul once soared, buried in a tomb
Down deep in the ground, the Dying Breed
The last laid to rest eternal
When i died, hush bequeathed the Scrabble Board
The once weighty tomes floated off cramped shelves
Whilst married letters argued midst themselves
Phonics quivered sans the vowel adored
O' warm vowel with the prominent dot
Disarrayed lost words bowed their heads and cried
On that sonant solemn day when i died
Shrouding the dot with a forget-me-not
Ill-fated, O' How could i bear such strain
Replaced without heart in a scrabble game
From die to dye, opponents scored higher
Of y's bold encroachment on i's domain
And when i died in Craig, one must exclaim
Replaced by a y, does it create Ire?
Date: 11/04/23
I died poetry contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
When day’s chores are tucked away,
I imagine you ‘that’ way.
My heart pounds within my chest.
I’m disarrayed and distressed.
The walls are too close, I feel
each corner is closer still.
My throat tight, I cannot breathe.
My fever I need to sheathe.
When you come into my view
I feel my panic renew.
My blood pressure does arise
as I gaze into your eyes.
Your touch is a soft caress
that thrills yet adds to my stress.
How can love be stricken blind -
something that just blows my mind!
My pale face is flashing flush
as my blood pumps at a rush.
Hot shivers running their course
task my shaking knees to force.
A physical reaction
to emotive attraction
will draw nonsense of it all
when in love you simply fall.
With all the symptoms of ill,
I’m glad to say that this chill
is not an infected gland.
But for all that, ain’t love grand?
Jueju-Qijue format: aabb 7777
So hot and sticky,
the calendar says winter;
Disarrayed seasons.
I am much aware of the previous records you read
Both bearing my mark and my seal
Carried no good, stocked with vile and deceit
But I urge you brothers and sisters
To think harder, coz I’ve been penning for your good
Whatever that spooned you, whichever way you were spooked,
Am back in a new hood
With goodies deep in my cortex, ready to vortex
Complex truth into digestible pieces
Thousand papers and folders, all addressed in
Love, sincerity and in peace
I am conversant with my said forced sense
Out of baseless and disarrayed script
I bear this title out of personal merit
Coz I waited for their approval and credit
And dismayed I was by their verdict
Thousand mistakes recalled in my name
The scandalous seat that I chose to tame
Some said by default, some by floating innuendo
But self-conclave justified my crescendo
Your commitment to my letters
Will my critics’ faction clear
As dignity I behest, all the hiatus I’ll bridge
To just overt my intentions and loud scream my point
That my penning is not by simony
But morphing from Real to Pope Benedict
O child, not meant to end this way,
Thy perfect limbs, so disarrayed;
So fearful, wondrous made you are,
Then swept away, but not the scar.
My heart does break, my spirit weeps,
A mother's bond should be for keeps.
No longer can the world bring harm,
Rush swiftly to your Father's arms.
I see running feet
Disarrayed like troubled ants
Running violently in indefinite path
I see hunters
Pursuing preys dodging at gunshots
Continuously in all directions
Justification: Our cattle are hungry!
I see blood of the running feet
Splatter, splashing, in churches and mosques
In bed rooms and streets
On grasses, rocks, books, everywhere
A troop of insurgents
Has invaded our land.
Spring night -- an odd attraction to this alley. Dark shadows -- something lurking in that corner. Soft breeze -- a weird paralysis in my legs.
softly breezes blow:
hair fluttering fled, disarrayed
what: distraction
eyes blinking wildly --
stiff deadened toes shivered
body slow --- stiffened
Nothing heard --
within non-sounds: darkness rose
eventide swoons
spring night
moonbeam bright
bumping jumping slithering crawling
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