Long Palpitating Poems
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There stands the Victorian house
by the small dogwood tree I planted at the age
of nineteen thinking of a colorful spring;
what a subtle joy palpitating inside
at a short distance, before Lassie starts barking:
her hearing is sharper than mine!
I stop walking with a curious reflection:
who built this house by a busy highway,
was it a desolate place of deep mediation?
wilderness was all around, unpaved roads
that raised dust that harmed breath and eyes,
and despite it, one savored its tranquility!
Monarch butterflies made some strange sounds,
and gathered on the branches of the long-leaf pines,
they decorated them with the blueness of their pretty wings;
swifts watched them and dared not make them their preys!
Were they taking a nap after the long journey from Birmingham,
where they couldn't survive the extreme heat towards noon;
I caught a few of them and gently caressed them releasing them
into that space sparking with light crossed by a vagrant balloon!
The Victorian house by the smallw dogwood tree was torn down
by heavy machinery to make room for another luxurious hotel,
I gave away the Border Collie, he made a great sentinel;
leaving against my will after decades was a heartbreaking decision!
Dear penguin bearers,
Your fears are my letters.
Your attacks are my words.
Your choking is my ink.
Your voice is my language.
Your trembling is the content of my story.
Your agony is the magnitude of my magnum opus.
I read your feelings
I feel your shivers
I write your soliloquies
I sing your monologues
We all are trying to survive
in the same reign of terror
We are not alone in this terrific strive
All we reflect is a powerful personality in the mirror.
It's tough to lead a normal life
as our wings are cut with a sharp knife
But we don't cease to fly
For, we know our spirits are high
We are God's favorite children
He wants us to shine like one in a million
He is always there to pat our back and soothe our spines
He is constantly teaching us to read between the lines
So, let's make our shoulders strong
Let's not bend for anything wrong
Realise that there is an army of palpitating souls around us
Let's spread the rosiness of the inspiring story hidden in each one of us.
With love and reverence,
A fellow penguin bearer.
Note : The poem addresses the "Penguin bearers". The phrase "Penguin bearers" refers to the victims of mental illnesses like Panic and anxiety disorders,depression etc.
Hours to days came and passed
weeks to months and even years
a decade to almost two
within me a poet was gravely dying to be unchained
seeking freedom of expression
seeking freedom of speech
So restless he was
pounding inside me like a palpitating heart
dying to be unchained
to be a poet to live among poets
to speak out his voice
to let out his cries
His ambiguous murmurings
would often steal my attention
as I pondered over them
as deep thoughts possessed my mind
as deep feelings oozed from my heart
and permeated my blood stream
Often I wondered to myself
what really this tide of emotions is
ushering me through a reminiscent of my past
till I realized that within me is a poet
gravely dying to be unchained
Then I discovered my love for the pen to pen
the poet’s voice when he grows restless
when he rattles the chains locking him
when he metamorphoses my deep thoughts
into a sequence of poems
dying to be unchained
My love for the pen grew
stage by stage with age
and when the poet in me speaks
I grab a piece of paper for the pen to ejaculate on
poetic lines diffusing from my right hand
filled with poetry laced blood
onto the pen to mark the birth of a poem
the voice of the poet in me
UNCHAINED
We'll meet at sunset, says my lovely Marcellina,
cuddling up to me so soft and warm.
When the glowing sun sets and paints the sky
with all the shades of vermilion hues.
As dusk descends on the carmine horizon
I betake myself to the lighthouse.
It is so pleasant tryst for me since I love to watch the beacon
as its flashes all the time, but especially during some stormy night,
where Stygian gloom blocks out the stars
and pitch darkness becomes tangible.
Oh how secure and safe and warm I feel.
For look, the sun fades fast, as dusk grows intensely into obscure pitch,
take the winding path along the shore
as the moon rises in the crepuscule of day,
throwing obscure shadows behind me.
An owl wisely remains silent while gulls utter occasional squawks.
A breeze wafts, spreading the scent of jasmines.
The warm of love is all around.
So to the lighthouse I softly wend,
attracted by its palpitating flash.
My heart is beating fast in anticipation
and know that Marcellina will be waiting there
beneath the Norway maple that adorns
the garden of the Italian guardian of the lighthouse.
We hug and kiss and murmur sweet nothings,
in harmony to the flashes that emanate
from the rotating top of the lighthouse.
So that even if the night is inky dark,
we know our love is lit with life saving light.
do you dress with shapeshifting dreams,
when the blanket of eyes unfolds
reeling... a realm of myriad realism ~
in echoes from elements of delusive domains?
there's a veil so thin, enlightened between ~
t r u t h and l i e ... f i r e and a s h ,
and must you lose your eloquent elixir
to inhale their dusty deceptions?
when we only need to choose not to conform,
and resolve to realise that every lifeline
is a palpitating paradox in this musical mosaic ,
~ of possibilities and promised uncertainties ...
life is what is faithfully lived ~
through a lavender lens made for not two,
but one, unseen in the metaphysical ~
yet felt closely in the inner sanctum,
resting within the runes of the lotus chakra
and bridging the balance between
the bleak blankness breathing in space ~
where memories flow distant
in the marrow of astral mantras ...
as everything fades from this funeral flame
I will not be lost, but found... a homesick soul,
the searcher of silence, that sleeps within
the spirit of the One, my divine sculptor ~
in his purified prayers, desires lose their form,
when the seventh heaven rehearses
a ray of selfless spiritualism amongst the stars
syncing salvation as a rhythm ~ a crystal pulse,
flickering through the illusion of solidity ...
Chilled the January air
shaken and stirred by suffused zephyr winds
shimmering icy foam gurgled frigid in the froth
singing, swirling, whining tempest
lathered howling squeals thru the trees;
naked skeletons undressed by winter fall
gasping breaths guttural involuntary convulsions
tempestuous tease in tornadic twinning gales
breathless mistrals meandering the trades
slipping and sliding along the fluid swells
agitated gesticulated waves palpitating
screech screams, squealing squawking shrieks
raw bittered bites breaching lung and sinew
merciless rigor of glacial numbing
the piercing northeaster yowls
ascending surge of winter awakening rise.
Profound silence
felt and revered,
stirring an awesome emotion
which stillness repeals
whenever brightness shines;
and the primroses' scent spreads the delight
of the mild season.
What do the stars
tell a lover's heart...palpitating
in tranquility, amid shadows
that advance with the pretty fireflies?
Dream, and reprieve from the loss...
hoping that love doesn't lay at rest,
but chooses to celebrate
'till after the evening and tell romantic tales.
The invisible crickets chirp,
somewhat awkward to the ears,
I'd rather hear the coos of the owls,
which are richer and more harmonious in sound,
but where are they in this darkness, unless
they are mating in the willows of the lake?
Our blanket is spread on the wide Sheep Meadow,
with the superb view of the Manhattan's skycrapers,
towering over us as sentinels in castle's towers.
Juliet wanted to taste this freedom,
embracing and kissing her handsome Romeo,
not fearing anyone intruding in her paradise,
unwilling to leave anytime soon;
and unruffled, she would continue to love him.
What do the stars tell a lover's heart?
Accept the lovely rose that he offers you, and adore it,
because it has no thorns, to make you bleed in despair;
sing with him a beautiful sonnet that Shakespeare wrote
for his lover who crossed the huge Atlantic ocean,
when ships took months to reach America's shore!
Written on 2/19/2010
Apprenticed to enamoring aviary, Love's cerebral chords to refine
To interpret the alluring tones in each, captivating line
Overhead, a snow white dove in the pure light doth shine
Innocent libido's inhibitions to illumine
On silted ground, turtle doves in beautiful harmony fealty bine
Every silky neck strand in seamless congruence to twine
In enchanting Lilac tree, song birds in melodic chorus rhapsody pine
The titillating rhythms of amorous romance to define
On fibrous pulp, wood peckers their virile aspirations sign
Artfully tracing each groove on hull bared and supine
In golden pond, nubile swans in tantric dance align
With graceful movements gently stirring the foamy brine
Hovering , humming birds' wings vibrate o'er suckling vine
Then with salivating tongues on frothy nectar dine
At dusk, Nightingales' guttural groans in palpitating soliloquy whine
The moonbeam's enticing spell on unwitting lovers to assign
Ebony-caped crows bellow bewitching chants o'er listless ravine
Each ingratiated soul with lustful thoughts to incline
Stealthy hawk with piercing eyes each svelte fiber doth divine
Then with dexterous agility swoops down on silky ermine
TINKLE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT, TINKLE
Bosom of palpitating air:
air blowing crisp and cold
cold amidst sweet greetings of care:
care that never grows old!
Old Christmas bells, Tinkle! Tinkle!
Tinkles sound cheers and joys;
joy invites peace. Hence, love twinkles.
Twinkling touch, we'll employ...
Employed presents under the tree,
tree dressed in balls and lights.
Lights agreeing to dance: carefree
freely dazzling all night!
Night persons away from their homes:
homes where their hearts belong,
to belong whereever they roam.
Roam but not a lifelong...
Let long uttered prayers and roars
be roars of unity.
Unity to clear clouds of war
wars ending cruelty!
________________________________________________
10:00 pm, December 10, 2015
Some people live in cardboard boxes
others between buildings
Certain individuals beneath a tent
others under bridges, or close to dumpster bins
Palpitating life on the street,
you never know who your going to meet
It can be lonely and cold out there,
some people's houses are made of brick and some of air
Some old folks wear pajamas at night and own heat
others huddle in layered used clothing, shivering from cold
under garbage bags and dirty things;
I for one thank God every day for the roof over my head
No greater comfort, then owning a front door with a lock
and a furnace that works ;
A mattress with blankets, pillows that smell nice
Thank you God for all of that .
November 15, 2021
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
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