Futile flippant,
rules and obscure,
mousetrap pitfalls,
scurrilous lure,
to faze green novice,
unsuspecting candidate,
contestant sworn to zeal,
might pause when enjoined,
to allow one’ s muse,
lithe elastic scope,
supple latitude,
without reckless reign,
or barren folly,
however cunning ploys,
lay-by lurk dithers,
yet without prior notice,
draws, dupes, deceives,
but these are caveats,
when stricture is,
shrouded in vague,
plumes of hazed,
thin veiled hair-split,
one stumbles
and fumbles over,
whilst glazed glance,
skips blindly over,
cues, clues, clause,
tip-offs to
shady motives,
motifs! ulterior.
Where the Lesser Nature Reigns there Hell knows No Crowns
where Unguided Men follow crowds,
where the Spirit is Dormant and Obsolete
where Frenzies Run amok like Pacified Sheep,
where the Fruits of the Spirit are nowhere found
held captive by external bounds,
tethered to the Berm of the Unholy paths
where all Wither, where the soul Dithers, and Truth never lasts
Yet, by the High Road we find pastures So Sublime
through the Lands Of Penial where the Great Torch Shines
Upwards by the Fire unto the Higher Mind
there, we Travail Electric Paradigms
by Knowledge comes Ascension, by Ascencion we are Freed
by Freedom we March through the Passage of Sovereignty,
Ever Upwards from Gate unto Gate
Into Valleys and Highlands that Liberate,
7 Doors Yonder to find Thy Light
Ever So High, we Blitz into Paradise
Another hallowed arrow from his quivers
One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers
Coursing down your spine like rivers
Fine line..never dithers as slivers
Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers
Tipples tickle our livers
The latest tropes of how
Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow
Postman Pat delivers
Matinee idol looks tease
Record books hooks please
Finds batters crannies &
Nooks with such ease
Impeccable length…metronomic
Chin music chagrin
Such strength..astronomic
Gift of getting the ball to lift
Chronic bounce…hedonic
With his swag bag of quicks tricks
Name on the adored hall of fame
Lords boards with six..another Cummins elite fix
Beat Bob Willis’s record tome of the best
Test figures for a captain at cricket’s home..
Yep..yet another done like a kipper
By this chipper ripper skipper
Who’s not found wanting
His chiselled jaw..up there for sure
With the mean hardcore
Ponting or Waugh
As the best Test baggie green
Top draw Captain (not woke...just a better bloke) seen on screen
Or that’s maybe ever been
Asleep not, my muse begins to trot,
Evoking whispers of willow
In my memorial mirage.
Asleep not, my concern is hot.
It has nothing to pillow
But your cold corsage.
Solely awake solely in wait
Whether affectional arrears
Find the atonement too late
To recoup your stray tears.
Half desirous half in despair
How my wistful heart dithers
When into thin air
Years of attendance withers.
Two wings of a bird—
Love and hate, it appears,
Native to whole world….
To know and love, it takes years,
Hate takes moments, scarce dithers.
One wing winds higher,
The other holds in tight leash,
Love lights up more fire,
O than hate can extinguish
In life’s potent Petri dish!
______________________________
Tanka |06.01.2024| love, hate
Poet’s note: Love and hate are like two wings of the same bird. As it takes both the wings to fly, so also both together make it possible to love— to hate as well. Yet, the poet feels, hate is very quick, love needing more time. Yet again when you hate, it holds you from growing. Love helps you grow. And love lights more fires than hate can extinguish.
The sordid thought thicket thrives
within the dungeon of the dark mind,
where the web of tormenting roots wriggles,
entangles all the escape routes,
as qualm deconstructs life’s forest path.
Unsure frail footsteps falter,
deranged wobbly tread dithers,
the root trap and the abyss wait
for the traveller, worn out of walking long,
going jaded to nowhere in the jungle of life.
The survival struggle starts as shovel of resolve
upturns the security soil, fells the trees,
removes the mesh and the darkness,
the crafted pasture of freedom then
looks up to the sky above the dismal canopy.
Destiny isn’t a pretext, the walk is one’s own walk
through the murky maze of the forlorn forest,
where the insightful impulse carves out
a pasture transforming into the garden of bliss,
the inner vision configures in the clearing.
_____________
February 17, 2023
Contest : The Clearing
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
For Brian Strand Premier No. 1194
It's either too hot or too cold here,
the thermostat in hell must be broke again.
Maybe this is Purgatory
i'm told the Governor of purgatory
can't fix anything and he dithers a lot.
Someone has turned down
the dimmer switch in my mind -
hard to see my thoughts.
Foods a bit stodgy
and there's a shortage of porta-potties.
It’s quite heavenly here on the weekends
and during most 'happy hours',
otherwise there's much murkiness.
I’m driving down a four lane highway
squinting into the foggy rain,
now I see a road sign;
well look at that
it says: 'Welcome to Ohio'.
he who seeks rapid ascension
what knows he of meditation
floundering hither and thither
dithers as dark desires slither
fears shrouding him in contraction
05-September-2021
Quick sands of fate cave in
airless darkness invites,
reeds of agonizing marsh slither
hope of escape entangled,
risk paves the life’s walkway
for the destiny to saunter.
Uncalculated steps falter
pace dithers uncontrolled,
the sands and the reeds wait
for the guest to arrive late,
tired of walking a long way
on the life’s walkway.
The survival game begins
in toiling times of journey,
struggling hard to win
treading on the life’s walkway,
until the time comes to join
the ordained farewell party.
Destiny is not an excuse
the walk is one’s own walk,
the walkway lighted or dark
the inner lamp decides,
garden path or marshy trail
the inner vision conceives.
A special space of sanctity
the lamp lighter needs,
and the vision maker seeks
to make the life’s walkway to bliss.
July 16, 2020
Contest : All Yours (Feb 27)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Blondie is forever young.
Rosy cheeks and lips bee-stung.
Her nicely waved hair is perfection.
One wonders at the odd connection
To lazy Dagwood so unkempt,
To comb his hair, makes no attempt.
Truth told he would rather stay in bed.
Pay no heed to what Mr.Dithers said.
A gentle turn
changing colors, changing pattern
greet you lively, fill your transfixed eye
you can’t resist looking through even if you try.
A gentle move
changing feelings, changing groove
enchant you within, entice your heart
you can’t stop trying even if anew you start.
A gentle twist
changing concerns, changing wish-list
enrich relationships close, please others
you don’t lose trying even if the mind dithers.
A gentle jerk
changing vista, changing framework
transform you, liven your listless life
you can’t stop doing even in times of strife.
A gentle tap
changing design, changing roadmap
morph the mind, create colored hope
you can’t desist looking in the kaleidoscope.
Dust yawns in a forgotten corner
knowing the lazy hand will never
disturb its slumber.
Flies flit in and out
spiders weave their
geometric wonders and wait.
Dust wanders aimlessly
in the afternoon haze
neglect brings a deathly
serenity.
Dust's drowsy dance dithers
in forlorn insignificance.
A shrine of dust locks away
memories of the past
as dreams decay in
suffocating silence.
Written on 3/21/2017
Wisdom is a fire, a little enlightens and much burns,
Insight and experience are an added fillip,
Some folks are wise and some are otherwise,
Delinquent in his quick temper dithers,
Ore of gold mixed with precious stones,
Man so erudite is a gem bridles ensuant yen !!
I cannot hear.
Sound has lost its crispness.
Articulated consonants
have merged into blurred murmurings.
The loss was not sudden.
No cataclysmic happening
but rather a gentle deterioration
of a faculty, once taken for granted.
Normal conversation, once a joy,
has become a struggle.
Repartee, chit chat, a little banter
is no more.
The quality of sound
once reverberated and filled spaces;
now I have no spaces – just tinnitus,
constantly grinding away.
To be sightless is to be aware,
with other senses sharpened;
but deafness leads to
introspection, loneliness and a deep despair.
The half blind wear their glasses
and look so very wise.
The deaf man, with his hearing aid,
dithers.
I should know.
~
Today I want to take a lethal dose
of black lips, confronting the killer on
contract. Time dithers to escort. May be
a cold-blooded murder of a handful of
sick shadows will give a transparent
memory.
Planting a sad kiss on blameless
insomniac, I rub the sweet tenderness
of morning blossom, a work of a faithful
artist, an unnoticed grief ( for the sake
of old promise). Meanwhile the blue moon
splits into thousand splinters.
From the height of insanity flows
the chaste river of history. I defy the
laws of gravity and climb with death
all the time, becoming dark to myself,
finding the shape of light in
beauty of death.
SATISH VERMA
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