Insatiate Poems

Tundra of the Soul

I am the tundra barren cold and numb
A frozen wasteland where no light can reach
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.

In icy silence where no whimpers humb
My thoughts like glaciers grind, erode, and breach
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.

The Amazon within once vital thrumb
Of life and hope now withers out of reach
Between these poles my insatiate self-succumbs.

Anxiety a howling blizzard's sumb
Entombs me deep a creature bleached of speech.
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.

Depression creeps permafrost of my slumb
While echoes of lost joy my soul beseech
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.

Yet in this waste, where all seems overcome
A seed of strength cracks ice defies the leech
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.

To thee, O Life

Many have resorted to thee—
Those that to need of flesh may heed,
And love to call it spiritual—
Quiet that to crave of flesh feed. 

Yet, poor little neglected soul
Stays mute though ever insatiate
(The flesh whilst gets forever fed)
In this life for a true soul mate.

Comes then time when the flesh gets old,
And nor in need nor in want is,
Man aware of the need of soul
Late on eve of life, of soul’s bliss.

Just as a lamp tends to burn bright
In last bursts of life’s utter blight.
________________________________   
Sonnets |08.04.2024|life, love, flesh, soul

Other Plans

I have other plans to suit my life.
 
The time has come when you just have 
to stop pretending that you really care.
 
I care not for your attitude
nor your ever-changing moods
I hate experiencing tempestuous feelings
of unsatisfied hunger:
births of lusty fires that always fizzle out
insatiate and forlorn.
I'd rather have rejection,
experience a strange mystery,
remain speechless while you're around.
 
Yet like a leech, a parasite of my life,
you stick around, never leaving me alone.
You’re too much part of me.
A familiar dance?
Blessed silence, broken by your silly notions
inducing pregnant pains of frivolous thoughts.
 
I experience mirthful reflections
of a fragile soul that needed approval of others.
I'll never accept that. Hope fades forever.
Reckless behaviour is definitely called for.
I stand steadfast like a black rock
just off the craggy shore. I'll never see you again.
Goodbye loneliness.
 
I have other plans to suit my life.

Fierce Driving Force

My awe and fascinated find 
Lost deeply in a human mind. 
Its fancy fonts, not easy read, 
And yet it masterminds each deed. 

Incessant innovative source, 
Societies’ fierce driving force. 
The scope of knowledge, wide and vast, 
What minds grasp is designed to last. 

Dishonoured defaults of mankind 
Sit heavy on a human mind. 
Gloom, ecstatic joy and sorrows 
Hide in crevices and burrows.
 
Its stoic strength, rare and unique, 
Exudes an aura of mystique.
Motion and progress in its prime, 
Sparking the bright minds of all time. 

And never fails to fascinate -
Mind’s lust for wit, insatiate.

May 20, 2022

Mystic Love

Mystic Love

                                      "Quia Amore Languao."

You taste to me of honey and lemon,
Mystic Love.
I feel you like the crest of a wave,
Like sun on a lake,
Like a field filled with birds,
Rising as one into the sky.

You are rooted in me.
As I in you.
You burn me with a soft fire, 
Tending the flames,
Your eyes soothe like the breezes of May,
Your skin a lotus 
Soft, white, fire beneath.

What joy the sound of your breath stirs in me!

In those cliffhanging moments when all is Rapture,
When you tremble on the Peak
And begin to descend,
The sound of your sigh
Sweeter than the stars' songs.

Lastly, the kiss.
Our lips light upon one another
With a rising joy like that of the dawn; 
Parting, they part insatiate.

You show me life in the purest of forms,
Letting me give; giving in return
Your smiles of understanding.

Small wonder I adore you,
My Mystic Love.

If Dream Is Greedy

If I'm greedy 
for the world and 
mundane things and demand 
everything one after another constantly 
then these harsh insatiate dream chases
me deadly as non-dead and 
cursed being even
in the old body


-January 23, 2019 Chattogram

Night Earth

A suave gaze, woolly texture, embellished the gaiety gesture -
of the charmeuse moon, perched like a napping heavenly dove,
Swarms of floating stars, clothed its beaming bride-like allure,
Its immortal repose, like a peek into celestial treasure trove,
Cashmere sparks erased, encroaching vestiges of darkness’ wilting cover, 
Grotesque shades stealthily evanesced, like an absconder jilting a stray-lover.
Often, rustling forests fanned their chastity, within earth’s soothed solitude,
While courting birds, would with the soulful stillness, intermittently interlude.
Fireflies roved like blazing butterflies, mountains gleamed from sparse distance -
Skies; were like suitors charming the earth with transient romance,
Meantime, demulcent breaths of pulsating night, induced like zephyrs opiate,
As flesh-less caresses of moist-less air, evoked tranquility insatiate,
Heaven’s graphics, sculptured in mortal picturesque of majesty ephemeral -
as I watched the Night Earth, become a real-life mural.

© Maverick Nyambu

tempted one -

Angel ...

Tread soft near me, pray thee ...
          tread light and soft ... shall I yet awaken
     to the buffet of your wings?

Come, night, those diaphanous
          pinions to enfold me, trembling, and bleed
     the will from my flesh.

Dare you barter the
          moon to squander time with such a
     worldly creature?

Oh, what madness, this? Your heavenly
          covenant in ruin, to just once drink deep the mix of this
     mouth and thy starlit tresses, spilling ...

A love forbidden and
          a passion, insatiate, draws naught
     but pure poison.

Let that bane be our
          undoing ... entwined, delirious, falling ...
     tumbling ...

          One.






~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Brian's Choice 3, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

Shadow's Passion

Shadow’s Passion
            by Odin Roark

A child’s imagination holds light’s oft guised presence in wonder,
As adult recklessly consume its flame of spirit and heart.
Left behind are ashes of once conscious pursuits
Now reduced to icy coals of ignorance
Once the far off enemy of reason.

However…

Our innately wired candles
Desperately protect the threatened glow,
While ravenous hunger continues insatiate,
Stretching, invading, smothering
Life’s illuminative entitlement and privilege.

As the nescient pandemic rages
Nature’s glimmer fights back,
Casting ever faithful shadows at first,
Preparing for revealment,
Inviting children with dreams to enjoin as companion and buddy
While unsullied conscience finds continuance
And its rightful chance.

Fortunately…

Enough will discover light’s natural purpose
Its perseverance in gradually presenting epiphany’s overhead moment
When the undeniable becomes a singular reality,
When shadow’s invisible passion is embraced,
Even as adulthood’s arrival often threatens imagination
Into an acquiescent and shadowless landscape.

The Vintner's Daughter

Pour me a drink of yourself,
So I can taste a part of your past.
Whoever heard of libations to a man?
Wine of the soul to slake my thirst.
Pour, fill to the brim, 
Be full, then spill.
The insatiate need to be drowned overcomes me.

My Play, Poverty's Play

And if poverty whips, 
largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of 
withering grievance.
I shall be the one, 
mannered by Earth's dog-
wetness, 
To garner my broken 
possession, murk and bins, 
Writhe, clamber steep nigh 
moister Earth

From foot of lazy deities, 
pick the sacred mound, 
Muzzle it deep against my 
leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened 
helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of 
preserving ardour
From deities' bossom

As trambled Kola lobe and 
marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in 
rushing footfalls, 
Prickled, insatiate in the 
belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam 
wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting 
'adogan'

I shall be the racketeering 
prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's 
meaning play, 
Washed- out by riches' 
maze
I shall be the mocking 
haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived 
redemption.

A Humble Quill

Soft, moon light, spill forth the night.
Stream rippling veils of mystery.
Where tucked away, the insatiate act,
unrivaled in thy debauchery.

Whilst Lords and Gentry, by noble birth,
plot to cozen all gentle souls.
Their wives will scamper off to trysts,
showing morals that are beneath low.

Drunken bucks will gamble all,
bring low family coffers and names.
They will ruin many a young lass,
then run, from honor and bring shame.

And all the while, I am here.
A humble quill and my ink well.
Lying in wait to spread the ill.
For tis scandle I love to tell.

A Kiss Like Litchi

It blew me right up
Made me feel so electric
You taste like litchi

To feel your hot tongue
Was like a bite of litchi
So sweet and juicy

I was insatiate
Wanted more and more again
Sexy scent still lingers

Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Contest : A Kiss like Fruit

Can'T Get Ahead

It's such a small death,
This being worn down
By inches, by cuts
Bleeding the wallet
Dry, to feed the thirst

The Legion of bills
Bring to the door,
Insatiate
Thirst for money.

The bills come
Money goes
More arrive.

Sighs, rage.
Balance:

Null.

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