Skies, the sunniest
Of dispositions
As far relating, run from.
Tempestuous ones.
Dark, brooding. When whoosh!
All in fright shake through.
And I, when not just in part
Their storm-force, sound do?
Together at twilight,
Separated at dawn,
Two intertwined hearts,
Two souls lost in silence.
A bed embraces two at twilight,
As they journey into the unknown and unseen.
They arrive at dawn,
Sometimes before the first light,
Other times with the rising sun.
This bed accommodates individuals with differing dispositions;
Its size reflects their choice.
Their togetherness signifies a unity of purpose,
A testament to the strength of their bond.
Yet, a shared bed does not guarantee shared love,
As they wander through a wilting meadow.
What once glowed now casts a shadow,
A shared bed becomes a symphony of gloom.
The geometry of a shared bed does not nurture the garden of the heart.
essential
contrasts
of
authentic
ethos
with
nostalgic
responses
in
concentrated
self-images
prosaic
remembrance
of
inwardness
embraced
individual
elaborated
coincidences
deliberate
limitations
&
isolated
feelings
revealed
SUPER SONNET
" Stretching the Boundaries of Imagination"
Doth protest in what is True, thence thou shall not Truly Live
than what is a Thorn to a Rose, when Love Permits
what is a Storm to a Ship that lists in the Ethers of Night
when Thy Darkness is contingent to Thy Light,
and Thy Flame that burns, shall it seize down to size
when Thy Pillars wither, yet Thy Convictions Strive
what is Thy Temple within that burns like Barrels of Fire
when the Great Celestial Consummation Aspires,
Doth, Fear Not, for the Stars Reap where Great Hearts Beat
and Great Dualities turn Obsolete,
and like Sunships that drift to Sunsets for that Sweet Kiss
only to find Thy True Amour from within,
Thus, a Super Sonnet is born by those Passions that Burn with Life
and Thy former Dispositions are left in Hindsight
twilight
reflections
in
mood pictures
outlines
purposes
colour
perceived
fading
shadows
dark
forms
in
changing
light
gloomy
dispositions
of
preoccupations
in
the
particular
Dream
palms sprout,
wetted by sweat.
Like an eternal rainbow
in the sand, Dubai entices
the world. It’s not a mirage over
the dunes, but a stunning truth of
the spectacular opulence. The culture
mixing in the palette of desert with tints and
shades of all continents is sublime. Our forefathers
with hopes flying like falcons voyaged across the vast
risk on the Fat Boat. No land is worthless. Oil transformed
the arid lives. Philanthropic passion abounds in the petrol poetry.
This warm city is pregnant with promises. The expatriates with diverse
dispositions and complexions are cozy in the emirate’s benevolent heart.
First published in The Literary Hatchet.
You may—I might—theywill—some ‘won’t’—just say:
“Living’s a walnut begging to be cracked!”
And if-or when-but why-sosoon-the impact
of such a soundstatement will hardly weigh?
on the forget- fret- fear-ful kind of gray
dispositions who dwell on the abstract
(no)tion of (this)regard or a(n/a)tacked
self sobbing in the corner of the day.—
Re—again—jected once one final more,
such spirits spurn the sense ‘security’,
to cling to cleaner, more clearly bonded
couplets.
But who when where better (core)responded
to that desperate pre-immaturity,
else than the ever further distant shore?
Only point to matter is the fulcrums peak.
As pivotal, the equilibrium we seek.
Critical mass tipped to offset sum.
Heavily shifts the weight of outcome.
Impressive pressures impart fractional distresses.
Coalesces into convoluted messes.
Broken focus binding fixation to disrepair.
Unified in the disconnection that we share.
Snapping in concert to the beat of your clique.
Adversarial dependency, "it's them who's sick".
Blind fidelity illuminates obscured perception.
Signals interference scrambles any reception.
Contrary dispositions act to characterise.
Spectrum of identity compelled to polarise.
Modalities of agency subjectional by nature
Parallel accordingly by acquisition or endenture.
Enamoured with myself, I walk my garden path
Where the grass grows tall
Snapping off a long piece, a whistle
So shrill the dogs howl
Dandelions greet me
Their sunny dispositions radiate hello
How can I not make myself a dandelion crown?
Can I not take what I own?
Daisies dance - pleading pick me, pick me
He loves you, he loves you not
No worries, love
I will pluck your petals until my answer comes up
Scent pulls me farther along to
a sea of roses at the edge
Their heads held high, defiant
to the waves crashing below
Can I not pluck again?
They are mine, are they not?
I suck the pulsing red reminder
That we own nothing but just us
I try again, as they are mine!
A snip, a blossom cupped in hand
Cascading petals into nothingness
A mockery of my intent
Small acts land large on nondescript days
Majestically humble sea of roses
Here to teach and touch and love
My ego in my pocket, empty-handed I go
Some of the most charming people in the world
are trolls with mean dispositions they hide for months at a time
They like to date lively, joyful, women
These charmers are lovely; saying the right things
Tricking these women into falling in love with them
After they capture these women, they attempt to isolate them
Doing their best to keep them from their families and loved ones
Stating their friends are not “good enough” for them
Making fun of their woman if she wants to see her “mommy” or “sisters”
Beware of anyone who wants to isolate you.
They might smile, and you might have seen charm from them
But beware. Abusers and trolls smile too.
Righteous cleaning crusade clashes,
Make sure that your mania matches.
All must serve at our behest!
In this unbound purging quest.
Others' motives be assumed,
Adverse dispositions doomed.
Blame, demands, uncaring halts,
Justified by end results.
I saw a lady.
Her face was a rainbow.
Some spots were sunny, some shady.
Her glow followed her wherever she happened to go.
Didn't she look so pretty?
Her hues, to the eyes of beholders, did show
vivid shades: to some light; to others heavy
As per their dispositions, their winds of thought did blow.
Our desires have brought us together,
Fate has brought us from our different worlds,
We have brought our disparate dispositions to a focal point,
We have intertwined our interests.
We have meandered and mended,
We have straightened and salvaged,
We have tailored and trimmed,
We still sojourn on this hope’s path.
Sometimes love’s lane could be clouded,
Sometimes love’s lane could be shrouded with stygian silhouettes,
Still, our love tunnelled through,
Its light found a place for our feet.
We have sailed tempestuous seas,
We have journeyed through the shrivelled meadow,
Our room has had its share of gloom,
Yet our love’s lane has emerged from the quagmire.
February 3, 2024.
Why do we engage in rancour and strife?
Our differences are the pieces of a puzzle called life,
Each piece brought from its end,
Some pieces brought out of the night,
Some pieces were found in the light.
Some pieces have journeyed through the woods,
Some pieces have traversed varying meadows,
Tunnelling through the shadows,
Coming together to make a complete whole
in their disparate dispositions and varying moods.
Each piece in its shade and hue,
Come together by a principle that’s timeless & true,
Harmonizing into an entity,
Amidst its symphony of disparity,
Rhythm in existence scale.
January 12, 2024.
You can lie in Wyoming,
they don’t care in Arizona,
you can mislead them in Mississippi
but don’t mess with Georgia.
You thought us “hicks from the sticks”
but we were wise to your tricks,
we just recorded your words,
now you’ll get what you deserve.
Your threats and fraudulent incitements,
have earned you several indictments.
You came down with your whole freak show,
so they charged you under RICO.
Come back to Georgia, Mr. Trump,
it turns out you were the chump.
Because we’ve got lots of new prisons
and DAs with surly dispositions.
In Georgia we don’t mind high flyers
but man, we hate traitors and seditious liars.
While many, it seems, fell for your blusterous aura,
you screwed yourself good by messing with Georgia.
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