Long Life or death Poems
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I know that I am dreaming
But I am Lucid and in control
I know this place well
And that is why it perturbs me
The departing sun manages to scrape its final rays over the hills to the north
Earth’s finest beach transitions seamlessly,
Into the blood red sky to the east and west
The limbo I feel is very temporary
A gust of salty sea breeze whistles through my lungs and snaps the senses
So I turn my gaze south, and I know why
The walk begins, without purpose, or so it always seems
My toes dig into the sand, a fleeting sensation of cool comfort
I cut my feet on the unseen, but not unfelt
The twinge of pain is fleeting, for I am approaching my friend
The soft moist sand renders control
This is the domain of the remorseless
I should have found what I was looking for by now
The water has become to deep, so retreat I must
Now comes a choice, which way must I follow the shore?
A short debate, because there is only one destination.
The route should be unfamiliar because I have never been to this particular expanse
I follow the slowly receding tide towards a piece of driftwood
My heart starts to race
Excitement and guilt wage war within me
I alter my course, backing from the sea again
The sea that has led me again, without falter
Back on the dry, warm sand I now have a clear view
So I take a seat, a front row ticket
To the highest rated and most polarizing production
Of my own sub-conscious
In front of me lies, breached, a baby shark
Not enough water to allow escape
But just enough to allow it to survive, for now
The dolphin’s fate rests with me, I am its final judgement
This is why I find myself here every so often
Playing the role of that which I so resent in my conscious
There is no debate
What the poor creature has done or not done
After a period of staring blankly at the suffocating animal
And watching the water slowly drain out of reach of its lungs
The time has come to choose
Life or Death
Neither makes me feel much of anything
I stand over what will become, if I let it, one of the kings of the sea
I stare into its cold, helpless eyes
But they are not cold and helpless
They are piercing and brilliant
Emerald green in the shadow, light amber in the light
They are that girls eyes
I had watched the lights close on those eyes once before.
Mothers stay up late when
Their kids can’t sleep..
A mother’s affection
Will always run deep.
A mother silently watches
Her child asleep in their bed.
She looks back on her life before she
Was a mother and her soul was dead.
How could she have been so lucky
To get this precious angel?
Knowing that if anyone hurts her baby
They are sure to be mangled.
A mother’s heart swells with pride
As her baby takes her first step.
When a child says “ I love you Mommy”,"
It was so emotional she wept.
To know that she is a parent
Is her greatest title.
Hoping that her child will be
Someone that others will idol.
A mother caresses her child’s
Face when she has been crying.
A mother comforts her child
When her grandmother is dying.
A mother hopes she’ll be
As great as her own mother.
She hopes she won’t fail
And be like the others.
A mother protects her child when she
Caught a tennis ball with her face.
And beating her step-son
Was definitely not a waste.
A mother sneaks down a phone when
Her child is unjustly grounded.
A mother makes damn sure when her
Husband insults her daughter he is fiercely pounded.
A mother looks over her mom
Perming her child’s hair late at night.
She pretends she doesn’t see her
Hiding so there won’t be a fight.
A mother comes to her child’s aid in her
Time of need when her own child is sick.
A mother cries when her father dies at the
Same time and she is forced to pick.
Does she go home and bury her father?
Or does she stay and comfort her child?
The fact that she’s put in this position
Is nothing short of wild.
A mother lets her child and her best friend
Plus their kids move back home.
Living eight hours away while her grandson
Is sick, she might as well have lived in Rome.
A mother comes to visit her sick
Grandson after a hard day’s work.
A mother comforts her daughter
When stress and chaos lurks.
A mother loves her children
No matter what the future holds.
Whether it’s life or death or
Runny noses from their colds.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of all the troubles and tattoos.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of their difference in views.
A mother loves her child
No matter what they do.
The feeling is mutual and
Mother, I really do love you.
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)
I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine
art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein
whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.
An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Does anyone consider my times of tribulation?
The waters of her oceanic figure guides me still
She leads me beside quiet streams of jubilation
Desolation is nowhere to be seen anymore, for she's a keeper of the radiant rivermill
For you and I to swim to in times of need, away from the adversary
For you and I to nourish our marvelous seed of serenity's sanctuary
Acknowledge my pain-staking regret, left unseen in most stranger's vacant eyes that hopelessly stare
I am left unstable on the table like a weeping infant, fighting life or death in reality's strange nightmare
You thrive on my sorrowful realm of thought that course inside me and I recognized that I needed to apologize because I ignored your cries
You're alive and I survived, so appreciate me for who I've become, not who I was before and we are significantly stronger than we realize
Reach out to adequately hopeful horizons,
Oh godly daughters and sons
And always remember without a trace of fear -
We will be rescued from the waters of Aphradere
As long as we have an incredible interlude
And an everlasting attitude of gratitude
Listen, she whispers in our dreams
As we almost fall away at the seams:
Remember me,
Remember me
Remember me always
For, the waters of Aphradere has reached its interlude…
She doesn't mean to intrude...she just wants to be understood
Listen, she whispers in our dreams
As we almost fall away at the seams:
Remember me,
Remember me
Remember me forevermore
She's the bittersweet rainstorm
That you abhor and adore
She's beyond the norm as she lays unnoticed like a puddle in your dorm…
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost has been lost for many a year
She wants to hold on to you and I oh so dear
To give us cheer, yet it's weighing us down with anxieties that draw near
She whispers steadily:
Remember me - that's my only plea -
As I spiral away and away
Into the drain speedily
Into the interlude of everyday's relief and dismay
Forget and forgive Aphradere's waters of shimmering shame
Give gladness, glory and honor to God's most gracious Name
Grief will not conquer us as long as our final outcome
Is to wait patiently for something bigger than us - His Kingdom
Untitled
We dance across the heavens, like shining stars,
to the never ending beat of our universes heart.
Its song, time – sometimes – becomes dull, grey,
aches of sentiment, in the throes of lofty sentimentality
that becomes red dew, flowering over the cornea, of a rose
releasing its sweet fragrance, ever so slightly, lightly
down the sides of its imaginary nose.
Sentiment, envy, desire, so anther life goes.
B. J. “A” 2
April 18th 2003
Untitled
I stand on the edges of a desire,
a desire to be all that, – in this life –
I have never been, – in all likelihood –
could never be, for it is not in me.
Yet, in me, it is, as I read biographies,
autobiographies, ancient histories,
I see the dream – illusive as it seems.
Heavy sheets of liquid crystal hang,
fall before these old brown eyes.
Only, the telling comes in ripples
that dot the landscape of reflections
painted upon the cold black surface,
of a pavement that lays before me.
A sad portrait is painted every day,
it comes in the reflections, of those reflections.
Life has flown me through valleys richly
carpeted in jewels, emerald green and serine.
Life has dragged me over rough, ancient mountains,
dropped me over sharp edged, rugged cliffs.
Life has hauled me across screaming creeks,
down raging rivers without a paddle.
Life has thrown me into the fires of hell,
upon plumes of smoke, sent into the ether.
Life has guided me into heavenly spaces
where one will find beautiful places.
Life has shipped me into the shadow less abysses
of blackness where light of night stars hang
in the endless skies where one opens eyes
B. J. “A” 2
April 19th 2003
Untitled
Life lived – looking back –seems to have been as poverty laden
as the life that lays before these tired old feet – its faden
with inactivity, motiveless, motionlessness passages of time.
The richness in both – lost to another time and state of mind.
And who really may care ?, about the poverty in both.
And who really may care ?, about the richness of both.
And who really may care ?, about the memories of both.
And who really may care ?, about the life or death of both.
With Easter at hand.
It seems the hand is the only one who cares.
Assumed death ?, assumed resurrection ?
B. J. “A ” 2
April 20th 2003
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as the Nith River let him go, him, it could not hold
and yet the rest of this story needs to be told.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as I escaped the clutches of the raging, Nith river
but not Rea, the Grand captured him, would not deliver.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
Until, weeks later, the Grand subsided and gave up my friend.
I had to identify and knew that, that was another end.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and all the arm wrestling matches with the Grim Reaper,
this poem, and my memories hoard could not be a keeper.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and so we come to July 18th 1997 and the light go out
after shining so brightly, for fifty five years, what that about ?
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and the rupture of a mid-brain basilar aneurysm
puts my consciousness into the blackness of a chasm.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and cannot, will not keep this old fool down
as he tries to come back to conscious ground.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as the procedure to save was cancelled, due
to the burning out of a forty thousand tube.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as months later, I go back for the procedure
only to have the neuro radiologist re rupture.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
of life or death, a forgone conclusion, a journey for all,
but I wonder why it is that I keep missing the call.
Fate ?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and I wonder if the powers that be, not only want me
to suffer on this plane ?, but to suffer for a long. long time.
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
and the many dark places creating my nightmares.
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
and the many bright, glowing spaces that filled my dreams.
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey,
extracted from the subconscious, inebriated mind.
A dream for many a watch for some
The Olympic journey, Here it comes!!
It was in Paris, few days ago
It rushed a shiver from the head to the toe.
Flags carried through the Seine river
The horse was galloping in the water, even the ring of the high jumper
In the city of love, the flag was hoisted upside down
And all witnessed by the mighty Eiffel Tower.
Starting with the game of Pole Vault
A game not known to many by default
Mondo Duplantis broke the world record
Not only was it the world’s but it was also his own record.
Next is the pride of India, in shooting
Manu Bhaker with double bronze, proving
that doctor and engineer are not the only professions for a women.
Creating history for India on many levels.
Gymnastics is a sport that cannot be forgotten
It was a display of skill and expression.
Simon Biles and Jordan Chiles bow down to the gold medalist,
Showing sportsmanship with a twist.
It was time for the Pakistani athlete to prove his nation’s worth
Arshad Nadeem with a throw of life or death
Creating the new Olympics record in the world of Javelin
Leaving the previous champion with a silver.
For India the well-deserved gold was in question, Sports isn’t all colors
The event of wrestling brought lot of tears
Vinesh Phogat was into the finals
But 100 grams put her back in spirals.
The sport of badminton was not far off
Lakshya Sen with a heartbreaking rip off
Defeating many unexpected, to play the bronze medal match
But placing 4th after almost creating history.
The journey of many ends here
Like Mutaz Barshim who had the gold near
But, is satisfied being the bronze winner
For he is the most decorated high jumper.
The gold dreams of the Indian hockey team thrives
But the journey of Sreejesh, the goalkeeper revives.
The team walks away with bronze
Not only making India proud but also the “state” of Kerala.
A dream for many a watch for some
The Olympic journey, Here it goes!!
It shall last in memories for all, but
it has now left a magnificent show.
Aliya Nujum Navaz
Whether life or death coexist in us
Nothing changes the ability to change a fraction of this life itself
Nowhere is safe as they say
But into a cataclysm of this magnitude
Might other intelligent aspects of life itself be deceived
Nothing in our hands is concrete for the lands we step upon
And besides a book we will not find the right answers to our life’s
We can die ignorant to the realms of this new age
Like a door to the end of time
Nowhere is safe
For it is easy to die but much harder to live on
We will never reach eternity in flesh
But only our name remains in this same world it was created before our eyes
Nothing is for granted as we know
But have someone dared to go against all odds and make something new?
Come on and use the only things that kept alive our ancestors
Descend and ascend to the art of alchemy
Where only eternity coexisted in a flesh capsule we name it as body
We are the key to the future
Because of us and those new rising up we are making straight lines into this atmosphere
Crushed and cursed by lies and greed
The envy running through the veins of those in failure
Making war and then for humanity to take revenge
That only links to the wrath between our hands and the leads of our desires to destroy
No one is here for free
Sure a payment is not needed to be born except pain and some despair
But we can change the future coming ahead
Where have the originality gone too?
Inside the vial in our minds
Making straight lines to desecrate over ashes of tomorrow
Instead of using that will to fight for the good cause inside our minds
Thinking in big great masses
Move and fight for the dreams in you
No other world have been there before
No dove will deliver a message to the lord
For he can see what you do and are
Inside each one of use there are plenty of fights and contradictions
Altered ego between the pride that leads an army of emotions inside of us all
Become what you wish for
Between good and evil cause
We are the hands of faith
Creating tomorrows empire
Don’t a dream fall before the throne with no king at ease
I believe in this way of thinking
I have hope for todays youth still