(Spanish people find September to be very sad:
they call it "the little summer of the quince".)
Somehow, the silver birches simply know.
This splendid heaven, pure refulgent blue
can not abide. The grass fronds, stiff as glue,
like swifts and grillos, uninclined to go,
are troubled by the carking of the crow.
It’s autumn, and the rains are overdue.
A corpse whose hair improvidently grew,
September is deceptive afterglow.
At dusk, a silence falls across the close:
the trees stand tall and motionless, morose:
now unobtrusive, heretofore verbose:
tart evergreens like laurel, tamarind,
immortal olives, silver in the wind,
sing “adios verano, adios!”
Silence pierced through the thick blanket
Of his thoughts, heretofore plagued
By a quaff of exhaled tobacco,
Spiralling and somersaulting in the air,
Like a fierce missile
Sent on a sinister mission,
Before mercilessly, ricocheting
Against the backdrop of his unassuming ceiling
There he stood
Imagining the gigantic impact
Of a tiny veil of vapor
As it burst forth from his nostrils
In a single file, before spreading it's renegade black wings,
Intimidatingly traversing every corner of the room;
He googled as the vapor ascended in a frenzy,
Like a gush of morning Dew,
Swaddling the orbit,
Before being subdued by a battalion of torrential rain,
Descending from the sky defiantly;
To proclaim the Cacophony and preponderance
Of the generic nature of life.
Obscurities of one's fractured mind
Patterns of destructive, haunting thoughts
The ones that shatter all sanity
And contaminate one's mortal soul
I suppose it is time, finally
I so desperately needed them free
The demons that devour me
Heretofore rulers of my being
I once restrained and did keep
Them locked beyond mortal certainty, but
The hallowed purity I cherished
Had found its purpose in their custody
And at last, I bid my final farewell
To my trespassers, these unbidden guests
For starting today I shall persist
To emerge transformed as one of them
a n d u n i t e
w i t h t h e d a r k n e s s
w i t h i n m e
-
The space between stars is not empty.
The plane of existence is not a desolate void,
and not a place that is devoid
of substance that was long ago destroyed.
The space between stars is not just filled with dark energy
that we never see stretching and pulling a galaxy
across time and space with cosmic lethargy,
taking light years and light centuries in extraterrestrial reverie.
The space between stars is not merely gas and dust
in clouds of galactic cirrus
accelerating in a universe
cold, dark, dank and averse.
The space between stars is filled with thoughts
and dreams of all those who came before,
all sentient beings from heretofore
and the memories of all whom we adore.
-------------
There is a certain quiet in watching you
sleep
That’s not unlike the flow
Of observing a river's movement,
As it slowly bends its way down
Past morass and ferns on the coast
To somewhere new and heretofore
unknown--
The current, steady rhytmn of your
breath
Circles through an unconscious world,
Bringing you respite from any troubled
ridge
And hoisting you higher to a route of
dreams
Where I like to feel you,
Clear as a rippling water
Gushing ever gently into me--
And how your eyes quiver , still
Your heave bidding me closer
Like the river beckoning the thirsty to drink :
Would that I could drink your calmness
So you really did glide through me
Quench me --
And bestowing on me your innate joy.
Our strength
is our
distance
Where fortune
cascades
To flow
on the
borders
Where miles
assuage
Our strength
is our
distance
Arm’s length
by the score
An
echo
connecting
The dots
— heretofore
(Dreamsleep: July, 2024)
Perched in a leafy tree
sipping on poetry
eyes trained on rolling hills
toggling ‘tween windowsills
points of vantage as yet unimagined
heretofore ne’er examined
Dare one say ‘the thrill is gone’
~ leave him listless lie on languid liquid lawns
Exploring regions unexplored heretofore
my body springs to attention like a rusty door…
O, that I had listened to Doctor Gore
I wouldn't be near this sore ...
For ‘There’s no known remedy
~ for the early middle-seventies’
What else one could aspire for
More than a world without war?
We’ve seen many wars before…
And lost countless lives heretofore.
Against wars if you want to fight for,
With open hearts come to the fore.
If you want them to happen no more,
Reasons for their cause you explore.
Altogether, your differences you ignore;
Foster not enmity among you anymore.
Jealousy and envy you fully deplore;
Love and affection you finally restore.
There the weapons of destruction galore;
Them each one of us has to abhor.
For ‘Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam’ if you implore,
The world minus war for you will be in store!
--------------------------------------------------
A World Without War Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
2nd Place
Within my depths ancient murmurs arise.
As had Phoenix, I had burned to ashes.
Yet I rise to strew the day with surprise
as I flourish in brilliantine flashes.
I am boisterous and blatantly loud
in voice and also in buff appearance.
Gregarious and bold, merging from cloud,
I fold my wings in show of forbearance.
My wings beat chill that draws color to fore,
irrefutably majestic and grand.
My winds blow promise not seen heretofore
as I spread my majesty o'er the land.
I am applauded as glorious Fall
but I shall not - I shall rise above all!
World at times is a spring of mirth
And at times a root of melancholiness,
Gaiety and ruth are ineluctable quirk of nature
Where it leaves no beings unbrushed.
Bight trice would shimmer some days
And putrid flash would strike at times,
Discern that's a puissant canon of nature.
When grievance mounts the golden throne,
When relation twists into tears,
When desires wrench into agony,
Never hell bent to confide suicide
For those troubles proceed the incredible comforts that follows
Alike the precession of hell heretofore the heaven.
Whenever melancholic flash haunts you
And coerce you to confide suicide,
Think no other than thy indulgent mother
Who lugged you almost a year in her belly
And who raise you up, with vacant scars
Physically and mentally, all well sound.
She never raise you up, to entertain thy death unnatural and astound,
She just raise you to live a life
And amend world into a ameliorate place to dwell in,
Life is a precious douceur of God
And thy mother is a God in human form,
So let's say no to suicide in all tastes of life.
---
Electronic books of your face and form
taken with a new camera.
The eyes that see it are older now.
You, all of you, digitally sewn together,
pixilated into our history.
Long bygone visions
of your once and before images
caught in thin scraps of time
and clipped from much longer threads;
Something else,
a partial portrait,
a revealing of a heretofore
of what we both left within each other
after.
Conundrum solvers, puzzle be
Here within the text you see,
Eye two secret missives penned
Crypticwise – responses send
Keek the type, inside lines look,
Thus hidden I’ve words. I took
Wild liberties wit’ my count,
On th’ meter…errors mine will mount.
Let be thrown ‘fore swine words not,
Everyone might try – code’s sought
Through the twist’d poem writ down.
Try first it’s “pithy” mood (nice noun).
Endure should you th’entire note –
Revisiting the “lines” I wrote
So find you might directives mine
Before puzzle hour’s finish line.
Enough conundrum, let us rest.
Forsooth we might pursue this quest
Over “mounds” or over hills. ‘Tis best
Retired, this my rhymed write.
Even though the time is quite
Perfect for to bid good nite,
Unreported – thing one more
Not mentioned it heretofore:
Could you missing thing look for
ENTHUSIASM
out
of reluctance
some merriment
heretofore
esteemed
notionally
incognito
in a
lovely
renaissance
remained
a rarity
a fantasy
of the
appetite
of curiosos
impertinent
in pursuit
of the picturesque
to conceive
the vivid
in the
archaic
characterised
by
pillars
of the
intricate
patterns in
vivid imaginations
venturing into
the intrepid
visual art
for
a connoisseur
made
practicable
likened to
self-portrait
to celebrate
a common
inheritance
& frequent
the obscure
& the blurry
monochrome
reduced
to black
& white
on
a
series
of murals
In Oland, where the wind meets the sea,
A love story once began for you and me.
We walked along the shore hand in hand,
Promised to love each other, never to disband.
Old fate had a different plan heretofore,
As you were called to heaven's door.
My heart shattered into a million pieces,
As I struggled to accept life's unpredictable creases.
The memories of our love still linger on,
The sound of your laughter, warmth and charm.
I close my eyes and see you in my dreams,
Hoping that you hear my silent screams.
The island of Oland where our love bloomed,
Now seems empty, dark and doomed.
Sadly I know that you're watching over me,
A guiding light, a star in the endless sea.
In the stillness of the night, I talk to you,
Whispering sweet nothings, hoping you'll hear them too.
For love knows no boundaries, timeless as the sky
In my heart, my tears will cry, why oh lord, why oh why
So here's to the love we once shared,
A memory that will never be impaired.
In Oland, where the wind meets the sea,
I'll love you now and for eternity.
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