A blinding fastball, more launched than thrown,
approached the corner of the strike zone.
A bat responded, just as fast.
The crowd was deafened by the ensuing blast.
On a mound, there lay dead
a man in uniform - a hole cut neatly through his head.
Frustration
Moody in its own reflection
Confusing to the inner mind
Bubbling thoughts of strained distinction
Bold and soothing, equal measures
Ferocity and shushing sounds
Thrust from mouths in contemplation
Syllables of three marcations
Peaks and troughs sequencing structure
Signify ensuing fervour
Consumed by anger, filled with fear
A burning sensation deep within
Erupting like a fevered lava
A ticket pinned to the thigh reserves it,
the whole cadaver is parceled off - of course.
Legs are a late harvest, these often-indigent parts
carry a visual poverty long after the body is plucked.
Under watchful eyes the young medics
separate muscle groups, filter large blood vessels
from fibrous runnels, hesitant scalpels
seek out fascial planes.
The leg is devolving to scraps,
yet, ingrained in the tissue
I sense residual shades of a former life,
seaside postcards, old photographs,
perhaps campaign ribbons, odd tokens
amongst yellowed newspaper clippings,
all briefly surface as conjectured images
beneath a probing knife.
The gray flesh retains its personal history,
I imagine that behind the knee
there is a wife, children, and a separation
all spectrally etched between femur and tibia.
Much of the ensuing bone-whittling years
are demonstratively scored
across a formaldehyde and jelled narration.
The students suppose they dissect a limb,
while I notion that I turn over bloodless pages,
of an unwritten story,
and now the last few attached ligaments
remain as threads that speak at last
of a long journey’s end.
The spent year sinks in the captivating cauldron of history,
traces a fading furrow on traversed time by the setting sun,
etched on the realm of remote remembrance weary,
the new year comes blooming buds of promise one by one.
Janus opens routinely for me the door to the new beginning,
after my time crosses the corridor of the worn-out year,
I’ll weave unseen dreams in the tapestry of future ensuing,
unsung songs I’ll sing for the seasons as they will appear.
Along the path God paves for me I’ll begin the new journey
with cornucopia of resolute resolutions to make me wise,
reach amused the edge of the time plateau I don’t see,
yearning to greet 2026 with a joyous sunrise in my skies.
Maybe I’ll make naive the old mistakes many more time,
but resolve to commit them the way they won’t repeat.
I’ll swathe life with some fun, make jokes of me in rhyme,
and laugh my heart out as seemingly senseless stupid feat.
I’ll express profuse gratitude to those close to me I’ll see,
even if they don’t take me as I am with imprudence inbred.
For my muse my pen will be re-filled with ink in glee,
I’ll keep on writing poems that may not disappear unread.
@Bappa Mazumder
Gazing early dawn, to be blooming soon
Gazing early dawn, to be blooming soon
Night is still young, unending
Weather, the morning forecast predicted a rain, ensuing
And then, this will stop me from seeing you, a refrain
The city and the outskirt
A lot sits in between, in hindrance
And the present tense and
the erotic boy zone
wondering through Facebook, whats app for
a lover boon, millimeters to million, thriving.
I am a heritage queue, an odd audacity
I saw time, bygone, as t'was forthcoming
in a closed 'laptop'
I and my fanciful clouded entropy,
the flower vase embellishing the dawn
you and a warmth, adore
one step closer to the brim, ashore!
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Reserved by Shubhashish Mojumder Bappa
They, beseech love as a token of joy, love is nowhere to be called in
only to bid farewell to joy, left behind, a hymn
such is the glossy glaze of a subtle worldly longing , a fading heartsong to lull
oblivion and them, an array of whim, newly reborn, blossoming recklessly, vagabond a feel,
And so is the love, sleep deprived a croon, a yearning eddy , a sandstorm kill
a chill hideout in zeal
And the let down show
And the no brainer love, a sow
a love losing all and all
in grievance and then the majestic fall
my love let us overcome, since the night is done, the dream was drawn
to an end
why the churn, even though a show, to steel the unsayable lexical
sleepy and bizarre adventures of an ensuing moonlight sonata
after a prodigal setting in mist and fog
my love, let us be mourners in good faith, humbling.
a saga of love, unspoken, is ending within, whence a kismet wills on.
now many are still a sense in smiling and a feeling In many more
to be born for a tossed and turned, a smile and a longing heartache
with brimming eyes, salty tears
trickling down with an usher, downpour
From moments when love was cherished in Stalingrad,
Like stories written on the walls
With the song repeated by Babushka
And not long after that, the war reached its gates.
Hands turned into fists and ready for battle
Like heads and shoulders patiently under the whip,
The Motherland Calls enchants and glorifies,
Without knowing the ensuing bloodbath.
Every minute felt like a bundle of fear,
With the magic of free will as faded as a dust,
Like a house turned into rubble
And corpses piled upon corpses.
The whirlwind rolled in rings at the eyewall,
Wild gale blew through the open tropical field.
I'd forgotten to close the windows tight,
And the ensuing rain inundated each inch of my niche.
The hurricane hurriedly stripped the veld of its peace.
Dry air pacified the expanse of the grassland,
The massive flood drained into a sunken cesspool,
My thoughts swayed to the windows the storm had slammed,
Now a zephyr traverses the meadow's breath;
Calmness fills the eye of the once-raging storm.
The Blank Page
When romantic plots and tales are sought
In the aesthetic and creative mind,
At first unseen within the empty page
Themes of lyrical verse are there to find.
Where an artist creates in pen and ink
A written scene, or speech or tells a tale;
The page, a catalyst, a passive link.
In the reader’s voice the weight of meaning rests
And this artistry the listener hears
As the speaker, as in a play, suggests.
One word and the page is no longer blank,
The word, a pointer to the ensuing theme,
A scene, a speech, a tale told to its end
Or romantic rhyme, an unfinished scheme.
Barry Stebbings
Feb 2025
(Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.)
Two apostles, Peter and John
jailed at the dawn of preaching in Christ's name.
Officials' onslaught is meant to bring shame.
"We obey God, rather than men,"
bold answer given by Peter and John.
God-driven, with fervor, their deed was done.
The Sanhedrin felt fearful, scorned.
"You have been warned!" their supervening threat,
Thus sworn, their ensuing revenge is set.
Hear Gamaliel's wise advice
He is quite precise. "Their words can not fail
if their deeds suffice, God’s strength will prevail.”
"Leave them alone and let us go;
In time we’ll know which one of us is wrong
It’s not for show their zeal comes on so strong."
The spent year sinks in the captivating cauldron of history,
trace a fading furrow of memory in the shadow of setting sun,
etched in the realm of remote remembrance weary,
as the new months come with blooming buds of promise.
As Janus opens for me the door to the new beginning,
after my time crosses the corridor of the worn-out year,
I’d weave unseen dreams in the tapestry of future ensuing,
the unsung songs I’d fondly sing in cycles of new seasons.
My children who’ve grown aspirant wings of freedom,
have flown away to the seamless sky they have chosen.
In the new year I’d do whatever it takes for them to return
to the longing nest I’ve woven for them in my heart.
In my earnest pledge in the new year I solemnly resolve,
I’d kindle the candles of affection and care in my hearth.
The dreams eluding me in the years that have gone by,
I wish to fulfill before they’re abandoned in the wrap of time.
A ticket pinned to the thigh reserves it,
the whole cadaver is parceled off - of course.
Legs are a late harvest, these often-indigent parts
carry a visual poverty long after the body is plucked.
Under watchful eyes the young medics
separate muscle groups, filter large blood vessels
from fibrous runnels, hesitant scalpels
seek out fascial planes.
The leg is devolving to scraps,
yet, ingrained in the tissue
I sense residual shades of a former life,
seaside postcards, old photographs,
perhaps campaign ribbons, odd tokens
amongst yellowed newspaper clippings,
all briefly surface as conjectured images
beneath a probing knife.
The gray flesh retains its personal history,
I imagine that behind the knee
there is a wife, children, and a separation
all spectrally etched between femur and tibia.
Much of the ensuing bone-whittling years
are demonstratively scored
across a formaldehyde and jelled narration.
The students suppose they dissect a limb,
while I notion that I turn over bloodless pages,
of an unwritten story,
and now the last few attached ligaments
remain as threads that speak at last
of a long journey’s end.
Given armor to stave off the burning, I would pull the sun down from the skies
Falling away from heavens light is showing me you are numb to this blistering pain; without feeling it, you and I will never synchronize.
A point now frozen in time is what I have conceptualized
You show without remorse, there will always be, armageddon in your eyes
Floating throughout the infinite; I seek asylum with you, how shall I surrender my disguise?
Inevitable as these heavens fall, am I allowed within your light?
Or in the ensuing hell, will I find you as my minds paradise?
Holding the mask of my sequester, you illuminate the graveyard behind my eyes
Even if death shattered a thousand suns; love can not be burned or buried if it was just a hole where emptiness lies.
1. To my future love, though I don’t yet know your name, you fill my dreams with visions of what we could become together. I find myself praying for you daily, envisioning the adventures we’ll share, the laughter, the intimacy, and the journey of life with all its highs and lows. Even though you remain a beautiful mystery, you are already a cherished blessing in my heart. I vow that you will always be my last prayer, my final kiss, the last face I see before drifting into sleep, and the first one I seek when morning light breaks. I will pour my heart and soul into you, offering my unwavering devotion, for you are the answer to a longing I’ve felt throughout my life. All I desire is pure happiness, and if you can bring that to me, you will have my heart, my love, and my loyalty. So, to my beloved yet-to-come, know that I will write you a poem each day, listen to your worries, shower you with kisses, and love you fiercely until the end of my days. You are not just anyone; you are my ultimate love. Thank you for being you.
September welcoming Falls to appear.
Ensuing slowly Deciduous trees
Prepared to make all withered leaves to clear.
Torn fluffy white cotton clouds floating free.
Entry of soft nascent leaf buds to sprout.
Mild merry Autumn - Zephyr flows frolic.
Bright Blue hue on sky : Absolute no doubt.
Egrets flying in form 'V' ! Artistic.
Rufous vibrant Autumn in glossy glaze..
Fragrant Jasmine spreading sweet aroma
Autumnal glow in shiny sunny days.
Lovely lustrous pretty panorama.
Luminous amiable ambience.
Sparkling Autumn in charming radiance.
Wake me up when September ends.
Rufous luster of Autumn on October
allures assures romance under azure sky.
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