POETIC FANTASY
significant
themes
emanating
realities
to
encompass
tainted
&
arbitary
but
figuratively
conventional
notions
so
beautifully
nostalgic
evocative
with
material
discrepancies
&
continuous
agile
fluctuations
with
abundant
intuitive
affinities
in
differentiated
dissimilar
common
engagements
Since I have half a gift
yet not a whole,
I bring words to half life,
but alas my complete soul.
Who I am,
not who I am supposed to be,
on these wings of an eagle
I take flight and become free.
At dawn's break
cascading on the horizon,
is there enough light
to see the day?
It is this murky muddled mirage
where I facilitate my way.
Noble men and women
seems from another universe,
who have authored manuscripts
of such grand eloquence,
I wonder and marvel
at such sui generis verse.
I myself may never be there,
but I can’t help to think
these masters passions
which they all must bear,
are not too dissimilar
to when I soar in the air.
“Opposites don’t twin in a river.”
-The Poet
There is no similarity between good and evil.
Good is a blooming meadow,
while evil is shrouded in shadows, waiting to plunge into the depths of oblivion.
So why should one be considered for the other?
It is a despicable act with gloomy rewards.
Darkness cannot stand for light,
nor can light defend against darkness.
They do not tell the same stories;
They do not journey together.
They have dissimilar views and summon different weather.
So why should one be sacrificed for the other?
It is an ignoble act with a shameful reward.
Bitterness is a fading glow;
It is a muddy path and a feeble hand.
Sweetness is a rising light;
It is a melodious tune and an unpretentious smile.
So why should the two coexist?
Why should they merge in the same river?
It is a vile act to ask one to occupy the other's space,
a contemptible deed with odious returns.
February 18, 2026.
They say that opposites are necessary
they, you know of whom I speak
so many that they have become faceless
to us, so similar in their beaten nature
having given up the fight, given away
all of their gauntlet gloves, for imagined
peace with Creator and the State --
Why do I need to know clouds to
appreciated the Sun? -- only for
those who need them dissimilar
cannot see, feel the glorious drip
along with the enlivening bake
must red be appreciated without
a run of blue? -- only for those
who are not colorblind; Surface
dwellers, dining on fruits while not
savoring the deeper root nearer
source -- And so, you say (you know you,
so many that have become faceless) we must
know hate to love...! God seems to have
had a garden difference? Perhaps? -- a little snake
in most our psychologies.
God looks at Death, and it nods,
It knows that it’s time for them to walk together,
They journey across the sunlit fields,
And through the meadows of night.
There’s an onus for God and a call for Death,
Time moves ahead of them,
And the bell chimes wherever it stops,
Signalling a mission to fulfil.
God halts the midnight train,
While Death summons souls to embark,
They are taken to the beyond,
Separated at the celestial station.
God observes the soul’s chamber,
And he shakes his head,
Death wishes to carry out its duty,
But God holds it back,
He says there are still more mysteries for the soul to unravel.
God walks alongside Death dedicated,
Though there is a summoning,
There is also attentive listening and an incomprehensible consideration,
Death is the fragile, insatiable stranger,
While God is the boundless being that gazes deep into the chamber,
Two dissimilar entities that walk together.
February 8, 2025.
I met someone who looked just like you.
The same brown eyes, set back enough to make out the outlines of your orbital bones.
The same smile lines that house years of laughter, joy, and perfectly frame your grin.
The same nose that harbors several insecurities, but is perceived as beautiful through my gaze.
She looked just like you.
Her voice was clearly different from yours.
Yours soothed me in the times I needed to hear you. It became my favorite song.
Her stature varied from yours.
You towered over me, but I felt colossal in your world.
Her scent was dissimilar.
Yours encased memories I would give anything to live again for the first time.
She looked just like you.
I will likely never see her again, like I won’t see you.
Both figures dissipating into a life that has no place for me. Walking along paths that won’t cross with mine.
I find peace in knowing that you are following the trail created for you. As I am doing the same.
Storms and calm
churning center
rearranging the
surface
(wars and peace)
one thing devours
another, thinking
to survive
plants take from
the soil to grow
animals hunt other
animals
(wars and peace)
we are not so different
from our earth --
which came first?
the chicken or the
egg? The faithful
will say, the Chicken
others simply eat both
foul and ovum
(we are not so dissimilar
from our environment -- )
friends arrive from unexpected places
Some have slipped out of the Congo
One of mine is from the River Nile
Oh, that is also the Congo? Who knew?
I have friends all over the USA
In possibly all fifty states
Two friends in Australia,
six or eight in the UK
One friend lives in the Isle of Man
They are as dissimilar as they can be
They are of all creeds and colors
I cannot say that I like them all in the same way
But I like different things about each one.
I can say that.
It will be amazing up there
Different, dissimilar place
Not like here, a daily rat race
In heaven, I will be an heir
An heir to God's amazing grace
Never feeling I've been displaced
I will have no burdens to bear
No raw responsibilities
Removed are my disabilities
Singing Hallelujah without care
Be able to stand in heaven's choir
I'll have the air to sing higher
Praise Christ in songs without compare
Not fainting, not short of breath
When leaving this life, will gain health
It will be amazing up there
In heaven I will be an heir
I will have not burdens to bear
Singing Hallelujah without care
Praise Christ in songs without compare
A poem may be under construction. Finis'
Three women
with the same chin,
and same ears.
The last of the three
has less likeness to the others,
her eyes will not fit
within their glancing windows.
although she is almost,
she will ever be not quite.
One, the one with the chin
as soft as a pillow
I could speak to
and she would not understand my words,
but she would nod and smile
just to please me.
The other
the one with ears that match the first,
is wise, she sits on a lotus leaf
like a scintillating frog-angel,
or a green Mona Lisa.
I could speak to her and she would nod,
repeating my words verbatim.
The last lady will be the first.
Her eyes are not quite left or right,
she is dissimilar.
My interest in her is impurely plutonic,
I listen, unseen sex pods,
pop all over her nubile body.
I never see any of this,
mind hides its picture shows.
Late at night or early,
we build a tangled love nest
out of all the same things
we can think of.
though, like that Shubert symphony
It never gets finished.
Always, some old, odd twigs
cannot be woven together,
no matter how hard we try.
How mysterious
we seem to each other,
how matter of fact,
So familiar, so dissimilar.
in every mirror.
As we indulge in our
shared needs, desires
and wants
we may both find
and meet ourselves.
It’s a sweet trap
and if God (in some form),
came upon us
locked into each other
like that,
that ineffable-image
might smile
and perhaps even inquire
if being free of it all
is what we really want,
when what is most necessary
is that we love,
love even the trap.
up or down a matter of perspective
definitions are always subjective
various things we bother to measure
often become that which we most treasure
mysterious quantum entanglement
not relativity's abandonment
rather dissimilar things may be true
all depends on observer's point-of-view
everything is constantly evolving
while the cosmos continues revolving
now longing to travel faster than light
we pin hopes upon theories not quite right
progress comes through that which we dream may be
and the will to make dreams reality
It all comes back resown together
sometimes a seam is seen
often it’s invisible;
or once, twice, three times forgotten.
A world rushes in to change
a new or old reality -
not the blue or green globe
but your world -
that reality you create
to dovetail with mine.
When we are not counting
eons slip by in milliseconds
‘Nothing is new under the sun.’
What sun, yours, or mine?
We walk converging paths apart.
Often, ancient, muddy footprints
arrive at a shared future
though they are covertly dissimilar.
The old returns, the new passes away
and it is well,
it is very well
that we do not notice
or choose not to.
Not much can be said
about it in few words,
Everyone holds a
disparate view about it,
It shows us its different faces,
It reveals its dissimilar sides,
It doesn’t allow us a peek into its closet,
It opens its door as we take each step,
Its a long chequered walk with it,
It shapeshifts and revolves,
I've seen its many faces,
I've stood at the edge of its cliff,
I’ve been up its mountain,
Down its valley,
I've journeyed on its thorn and thistles,
Shipwrecked by its turbulent sea,
I’ve looked into its mirror,
Longing for the days I see,
Oh! Life I hear your
melodious tunes from afar,
Let them embrace me,
Let light shine into my gloom,
Halo around me,
For your dawn I await.
June 15, 2022.
Family gathering in the 2020 year
'Twill be so different, but then maybe
Will be dissimilar from ones filled with fears
Or some thing else and I won't be called baby
'Twill be so different, but then maybe
It can be cheerful, we could sing "Jingle Bells"
Or some thing else and I won't be called Baby
We can hope everyone gets well and remains well
It can be cheerful, we could sing "Jingle Bells"
Will be dissimilar from ones filled with fears
Or some things else and I won't be called Baby
Family gathering in the 2020 year
I am concerned for everyone's health this year as we gather for Christmas.
I have had fears in the past but this is something entirely different.
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