The red curtains lift and the day begins
The sun steps up, introducing herself
Most of us don’t dare to look at her directly
a whispering wind enters
declaring that the world is ending today
In this abandoned theatre
The last place humans are
We sit enjoying the play
with a glorious farewell performance
from every single person we’ve ever met
We sit watching the plot unfolds
Our gaze fixed on the stage
our mistakes dramatized
Our invented characters reborn
Haunted by a so-called potential
Tall buildings kneel outside
Fires hiss, spit and growl
The end is certainly loud
But inside the sun is eternally shining
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
Fall's tapestry of red and gold,
as scheduled, always will unfold.
Still, I am dazzled and surprised
October holds me mesmerized.
The color riot on display
of mums and pumpkins perched on hay
is Autumn's message dramatized.
October holds me mesmerized.
An extra blanket for the bed,
not t's, but flannel shirts instead~~
the need for these can be surmised.
October holds me mesmerized.
Cute costumed kids collect their treats.
Their night of fun, the month completes,
and once again I've realized
October holds me mesmerized.
If you were much lionized
Later no more recognized
Or by some men demonized
Would it leave you traumatized,
Judge it a foul play dramatized;
Have the actors stigmatized:
As Satan characterized?
You must not try the dreadful:
To fight them or other frightful!
Put up you should the easeful
That makes painless the painful…
Your arch smiles now the stylized,
Your movement systematized,
Time for Apps digitalized,
And once again ways modernized…
November 29, 1919
Dearest Janet,
I would love to come to your parents' Boxing Day Party.
I adore you. I want to marry you.
But if you are still angry I will understand.
Just give me a sign ~
I anxiously await your reply.
Forever yours,
Henry
In 2008, Janet Barrett, a guest-house owner in Weymouth, Dorset, UK, received a letter – an RSVP to a Boxing Day party invitation, which had been posted on 29 November 1919. It was 81 years late! (dramatized content)
IT ISN ‘t ME
It is not four score years that I exist
Though calendar and records say it’s so
And I do not comprise this mortal coil
Though it may seem to many and to me
Some say we live one life then candle fades
Or having sat the test must pay the price
To then exist in bliss or endless pain
A curse at least of tedium sans end
I’ll not be limited by tyrant time
Though substance of this form may tell me so
The infinite unchains us from this frame
Releasing untold lives: were and will be
Imagine all the stories we might tell
Inscribed or dramatized for our delight
Adventures and great games to focus mind
And give us purpose to participate
Yes I in here-and-now am what you see
But will not be this for eternity
17 August 2019
I waited... I surmised
I know I agonized
Of course... I never realized
Springtime was disguised
I pondered... I personalized
I know I criticized
Of course... I never recognized
Spring had improvised
I questioned... I vocalized
I know I dramatized
Of course... I verbalized
Spring had not arrived
I charted... I analyzed
I know I hypothesized
Of course... I never was more surprised
A third Nor'easter materialized
I remember... I fantasized
I know I rationalized
Of course... I never romanticized
That spring would be winterized
April 4, 2018
For Michael Vacek's Spring Monorhyme Contest
apologetic in action
dramatized in elections
to justify self-interests
Eyes pucker and swell
Erupting with tears
Of pleasure or joy?
But who is to know?
The quivering lips
And trembling hands
Equipped with cotton
To swab the overflowing
Excretions from eyes and nose
Of pleasure or joy?
Is it for me to be
The analytical master
Of this robust emotional
Human puppeteer.
Alas alone struggling
With unbridled emotions
Of pleasure or joy?
Why some choose to cull
All emotion for private
Yet others ill equipped
With self control cannot
Quell the tearjerking
And public displays
Of pleasure or joy?
The loveless and the lonely
The defeated and lost
No one to judge
No cross to bare
But I surmise at times
Through life's unparalleled
Roller coaster it is to be not
Rejected not ignored but
Simply admired from afar
As an uncontrollable impulse
Of pleasure or joy?
The result of which commands
The same tearful over dramatized
Actions whether private or on
Display for passers by to discern.
NAUGHTY & NICE
I want to explore your womanhood.
I want to take your mental essence to higher plateaus.
I want to kiss you in the most sensual place.
My desire for you is driving me crazy.
No need to worry love the time has come.
I am yours for now and beyond.
Here I am standing before you.
I am yours to adore.
Give me some sex.
Make me wet.
I am yours to fulfill.
Let’s enjoy ourselves.
Let us make love in the moonlight.
My body yearns for yours.
Your body yearns for mine.
We are both dramatized to captivate each other minds.
Give me some sex.
Come to me with your fine ass.
Make love to me between these satin sheets.
Please me.
Shh, say no more.
I am yours.
|_____________________________________________|
Penned On November 17, 2014!
BLIZZARD
ouch
blizzard
a shocker
much depression
like buried alive
so the media seems
always over-dramatized
i can hardly bear to watch it
i would like to kill the producers
only trouble is this time they are right
I do not know what work there is as many feel
I have always worked with love and taste
In my teens my second home was Library
Reading Gulliver travels and one-act plays.
After getting my master’s degree in English
I got a job in the university campus as a lecturer
And never felt teaching as a work but joy there.
My house was where I could hear college bells.
My class-room lectures were for three hours
And reading at home for next day preparation.
I *dramatized great works for the college fine arts
Even I *directed those works in my spare times.
After retirement my sons look after my needs
I enjoy looking after my needs for the fine arts.
*************
*The title of the poem is a famous
quote of Great Urdu Poet Khalil Zibran
*P.S. I shall be posting some photographs of my activities in
France and England, 1989. in my blog shortly
====================================
Eighth place winner in
Contest: The work you do in Honor of Carolyn Devenshire
Chlorophyll,
dissected hearts,
painfully
realized.
Atom bomb,
broken glass,
finally
putrefied.
Sanctuary,
is absurd,
heavenly,
dramatized.
Warming sun,
fragrant bloom,
fitfully,
cauterized.