Lugubrious blue mood skies funereal and morose shed raindrops,
they unleash tableau vivant torrent’s wet tranche,
blessing, bane or boon from vault of heaven,
damp pearl blob bewitching moisture mellow morph form,
the stuff of less than benign grumpy weather grouch,
whose plight infuses yen for sun-drenched bliss,
haven of the ultra-violet swathe enthusiast,
for others raindrops are a liquid gem relish firmament bequeathed,
to whet voracious craving of nascent pastures,
whose gaunt green blade emaciating stillborn,
that aqueous honey to hue-blazed floral garden in situ bloomers,
who swallow cloudburst drizzle meed in muted slurps,
droplet streak and spiral bubble patten on top hung awning window,
empyrean tear beads that roof top tap dance ritual,
so tantalising to the awestruck spellbound eardrum,
or impromptu downward dribbles on romantic saunterers,
prompting boisterous laughter as they flaunt their dome transparent chromium truss umbrella,
those enraptured red-blooded refugees beneath tilting gust spun bumbershoot,
as mud splatter cherry cheek urchins shriek,
amid the spray and splash globules at agile finger tips
Categories:
emaciating, appreciation, beautiful, beauty, celebration,
Form: Grook
Her late husband, badly missing
Possibly last week, still kissing
On his account, all companies shunning,
Their jokes she once loved, stunning.
Her meals eating with unhygienic cutlery,
Sometimes with none, as though lost to burglary.
In the nearest cupboard imprisoning her body creams,
Her emaciating body stirring no dreams.
A switching over to cheap black earrings
And necklaces like a dull rain cloud:
A maintenance of voice without lively wings,
No expression of her thoughts aloud.
The bare earth for sitting her rump,
An approaching centipede not likely to make her jump.
Just the actions that onlookers assure
She wasn't her spouse's murderers:
Simply decisions that tighten the gossipy's jaw
And prove her a simply unfortunate tigress.
Incidentally, the prime suspect over her husband's demise,
His Kins-folks asserting that it is no surmise:
How she had his very last meals tampered with,
Much attention to this drawing like a pith.
Not though defenceless, The African Widow:
With potent curses equipped besides Jesus' shadow
And touching tears by the grave of her husband
That don't fail to her adversaries crush an army band.
Categories:
emaciating, africa, poems, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Affluent rain pours down and appreciates
Permeating and gentrifying the land
Saturating quietness (i.e.black noise) by
A vociferous ‘shhh’ plundering space
to proclaim material knowledge...Meager
drought desiccates up and depreciates
Emaciating and decaying the land
Suffocating din static (i.e.white noise) by
A dry famine fasting the mind to
reveal mysteries of wisdom within
Categories:
emaciating, philosophy,
Form: Free verse
Fountain of mercy yet fading away
Valleys of hospitality just sometimes display
Obesity of hope are now emaciating
Pervading of kindness yet vanishing..
Ocean of conflicts may always portray
Ashes of pains are always in bonds
Monument of grandeur may lead astray
The field of opportunities may sometimes run...
The joy of life are feared to be gone
Victory on things exalted the man
The bonds of glory may seldom display
The clusters of beauty illumines the day...
The bunch of laughs may taken away
Yet, candid happiness will always stay.
Categories:
emaciating, hyperbole, passion,
Form: Rhyme
Life over the moon at last has waned,
A drab and dull scene from great merriment and fun
Nothing now remains but ashes of yester-dreams
Strewn over the moribund ambience of jollities
Hard dry wind has taken sway over the plane
And making blitz over bare faces worn with zest.
The morning grey with chill air piercing deep
Into lonely quivering bodies once more abandoned.
Garbage brimful of remnants of yesterday’s abundance;
As stores and coffers now in state of dearth
As the road ahead narrows shrouded by mist
And fraught expectations on white emaciating faces.
Upon every heart and stem a somber skeleton
That has shed their outer brimful layers.
The sphere again begins new cyclic processes;
All hands again go to plough, upon dead branches a bud.
Categories:
emaciating, celebration, farewell, hope, january,
Form: Blank verse
Fingers
Horizontal stalagmites
In the oblivion of other anxieties
Beneath the celophane
Skin tight as string
Drawn over sharp edges of bone
No music left in that old trombone
Blown by too many
Self inflicted winds.
Intestines shortened
To match the memory
Of lurid days
Digest the delicate lies
Of flour and sugar
By some fancy name disguised.
Watch that figure
Quite appropriate for the age
The recurring problem
Is the constant sagging of the skin
Masacara and a few pearls
Can deflect the eyes
Wondering towards the shrill sharp of voice
Contentless of childhood tones.
What is left here
Is the final theatre of tragedy
The body is the onle free stage
Of time's immense weight
The heart's last sorrow tell
Against the actor's unbroken spell
There is no interlude
Once the curtain is raised by earth.
Eyes
Clouded by their thickening lens
Move closer to see
Was the tragedy in our birth
Or our passage
Back to the hollow earth?
For I know
Death is too late for us
It is the cul-de-sac
Kind to the rubble of pride
And the emaciating slide
To a sack of detritus.
Categories:
emaciating, life
Form: Free verse
Half awake, half aware, in a blanket of twilight,
silent suffocation beneath it's vacuum weight;
in the severed grasp between realisation
and the drowsy semi-dreaming state.
I miss your kiss, sweet dew-bathed lips
pressed light as crushed luxuriant silk
upon my dormant, hungry mouth
with honeycomb zest and buttermilk.
Your absence won't suckle or resuscitate
the passion emaciating deep down in me;
I will feed and dream of surrogate love,
of kissing your ghost for company.
Categories:
emaciating, loss, love, sad, time,
Form: Verse