It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.
Epochal courses a tamed countryside,
Spectacle sparkles glowing trees and boughs,
Pedestal weights and measures counter slide,
Sensible enshrine flexible reigned bows.
A sentinel taps chords and ivories,
The typical lose blues and notes the muse,
The miracle resonates mute carries,
A mythical being awaits its dues.
As Bach spirited his classical piece,
Some brought heart and soul, yet their ears came first,
Has God Heaven sent his blesseth song sheets,
Glass box reveals harmonic sharp verses.
Gentle-deft barters simply and ables,
Treble Clef and all the rest, well arranged,
Level weft swaps light, keyboard, and pedals,
Special, left Bach's masterful skills remained,
it was a day
not unlike this one
when an archaeologist
… sore knees
… paint brush
… Friday fingernails
held my earthen skull
in his hands
and spared me a thought
his dirt-stained eyes
filling my empty sockets
and
for a speck
of epochal dirt
neither of us
heard the sun
SCENARIO
ostentatioun
everywhere
spreading
in the
hothouse
of
incongruous
reflection
ageless &
timeless
elevated
living
a
paraphrase
supposedly
overwhelmingly
in an
atmosphere
of
astonishing
perfection
flawless
beyond
observation
an
epochal
retrospective
of appreciation
in contrast
& spotlit
in appearance
so visually
available
&yet mysterious
impervious
impassive
monumental,
in
reflected
profile
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
What Has Happened
What has happend to us
we don't know.
No-one understands anyone ,
Never try to understand too.
Noboby tolerates anybody
Almost,we loss tolerance.
All seem to be right
On their feelings,
All 're running on their
Own circumference of life circle.
We Smile like a robot,
We cry like a ruddy shelduck,
We sing the song of progress
Spreading venom in air.
Are we Bhosmasur?
Being red and black ants
we are moving on the
Spinning top,
How can we get down to the earth?
On the mass of rumour and slender
The earth is shivering,
It's time now,
It is high time to stop
The daily practice of
Attacking with arrow of slangs.
The word is Truth
The word is Brahman,
we 're the son of God,
we are epochal.
Why we don't know
What has happened to us?
Time is elusive
Time flies - Tempus fugit
Where'd the time go?
Time is in short supply
There's not enough time
You're out of time
Time is epochal
Once upon a time
The time has come
Time has value
Time is of the essence
The time of my life
Time is criminal in a way
A devil of a time
Kill time
Time is futuristic
Ahead of the times
Except when it's not
Behind the times
In the end, time disappears
Time to fly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In an epoch and era far removed from ours,
Dwelt two golden gophers on the planet Mars.
Asked one of the other, while hugging his interplanetary car,
Saw you not that adorable smooching star?
Returned the second, scarce nanoseconds later,
Emptied you the mandarins and mayonnaise from yonder refrigerator?
Pondered the first, his coiled intestines wildly blinking,
Might you, the second, a new green navel be seeking?
All in all, a night out on the town spun saucily well,
Jousting at cosmic parlance in a galactic epoch nonpareil.
in the dead of (winter) night
in the dead of winter (night)
a mime was executed for stealing pancakes
the gunpowder tango sounded
over the burnt black bones of Bastille
wretchedness comes in manifold reverie
in distempered visions of epochal disasters
mime's widow's now loitering enshrouded
dismal and dismantled into the strawberry
storm of desolate lament on a horizon
monomaniacal embers of deceased mementos
shuddered after the rain of infirmity
day dawned once again with frolicsome frogmarch
in shrubberies echoing the ghastly romance
friendly fiends and fiercer fury of mountain tops
are inversed by limb contorting boredom
in the dead of (winter) night
in the dead of winter (night)
The Forty-Fourth Conscript of the People.
A portrayal of intellectual and political multiformity.
Its present-nature is captivating and inspiring,
Its epochal-nature is unmarred and univocal,
And its future-nature is unknown and essential.
An Intermediary of faith in change,
Stirring echos of "Yes, we can!"
Rendering credences of optimism,
Stimulating the honesty of a republic,
And awakening the unconscious hope of mankind.
This recipiency dims the light of yesteryear,
And proceeds into an age of hueless expectancy.