Long Pecks Poems
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Far as the (ease)
severely myopic eyes can see,
nothing but polluted atmosphere
where skull and crossbones
memento mori betokens beware,
especially with increasing chronology
mortality becomes crystal clear
existential crisis yours truly didst despair
not so much death itself, but failure
(inadequacy) at livingsocial
mine life to the hilt
plain as day everywhere
casual attitude apropos
(pertinent personal paradigm
regarding aspiring poet)
equals laissez faire,
hence the following
his apt nom de guerre
emotionally castrated docile heir.
Minimal milestones attained he
blithely professes, grants, attests,
et cetera as general rule
barely squeaked by
(think graduating high school)
weatherbeaten and rust covered cerebral tool
smartly linkedin cogs and wheels
buzzfeeding delicate threads didst unspool
above mentioned metaphor near
perfectly, quintessentially, and realistically virtual
extempore description hoopfully edifies
thee dear reader figuratively yours truly
got swallowed into vortex whirlpool.
Maelstrom pitched me to and fro
hither and yon into damndest chaos
drowned me under dead end zone
fiercest storm ever
raging across Lake Woebegone
stronger than bajillion healthy
male primates oozing testosterone
empowered with indomitable strength
downing ordinarily toxic
(even infinitesimal quantity) quinone
think beefy hulking Hercules types
built powerlifters second to none
pulsating pecks, quaking quads,
and ripped reputations
far and wide known
with versatility now
smattering of lines
constituting this poem I hone.
Invisible omnipresent nemesis,
(perhaps the Schwenksville Strangler)
appears intent on asphyxiating,
and simultaneously forcing yours truly
to experience unbearable
oppression, humiliation, and agitation,
whereby joie de vivre extinguished
provoking sadness linkedin
with remembrance of things past
agonizing, kickstarting torturing
absolute zero ability to relish the present
essentially forced to recollect
nasty, short and brutish mailer daemons
characterizing diabolical ghosts
representing nauseating, and haunting
hurtful dirty deeds done dirt cheap
courtesy my selfishness
verboten fruit tasted within recent past
now the bitter aftertaste
analogous to Scrooge
suddenly horrified about his stingy self.
The chick grows to puberty hearing the sound of surfs as a lullaby,
returning waves as rocking cradle, fed by passing clouds and drank
of fogs. He learned: how to fly friend with wind, flow of time following the sun and moon, and direction through stars of constellations. And about the time when flock of birds returns
to this isle after long absence from the isle to avoid harsh and cold winter, the bird, flapping his huge wings, soared higher and higher to the endless deep sky.
After such, time had passed and autumn, again, returns to this isle,
all birds abandon it and flies away as before. And when all the birds left, raging bellows, deep fogs, torrential rain, high wind, thunders and lightening punish this little isle once again, the gigantic bird flies over and lands on this top cliff, then, he sits on the nest where his mother’s burnt bones still remain. He cries sorrowfully vomiting blood, while gathering and holding mother’s remains in his wide breast.
During the circle of days and nights, when the bird sees rays come from peeking sun between crevices of thickened cloud, he soars high to reach the sun, pecks a piece and brings it back to the nest and
covers mother’s remains with it.
He repeats this act as long as the sun is in the sky. After so much folds of sun-ray, he goes back and forth restlessly watching radiance floating atop of pathetic mother. When the weather turns worse as before, the bird covers mother with his broad breast.
After so much of those stormy weathers and occasional sunshine
pile up, spring approaches to this isle, and when such time comes, waters return to tranquility that of calm of primitive day. And in this absolute stillness, moon rises to die everything from sky to sea, to the color of dark-blue. And in this dark-blue stillness, the son-bird carries mother bird, which is resurrected as dark shadow on his back and flies away to the moon, to the sky, to the farthest dark-blue sea.
After the son-bird has flown away carrying mother bird on his back, though heap of suns became highest mountain, heap of moons became deepest sea, it was so told, these birds having once flown away never return to this little islet.
So, like I said
awhile ago,
I'm reading until totally dead
"Systems Thinking for Social Change."
With four primal turning and returning seasons
of natural yet spiritual developments
between dusk of where we disenchantedly are,
and dawn of where we would become re-enchanted
cooperatively together.
Unfortunately,
I cannot see past systemic Stage Zero
Notice resilient integrity
especially by engaging key disabled stakeholders
in our current disenchanting dusk.
The usual dust
stereotypically non-elite,
Stage Zero invites each disabling unity
to re-enchant ecstatic dreams of belonging
restorations with hurting sources of hope
yet fractured
wounded
sick
diseased
criminalized
victimized
raped
purchased way too cheaply,
abused
neglected
feared
angered
insane
hearing voices of souls and soils and species endangered
disenchantments inside primal green reforesting
Turtle Island
sacred naked Space
for a stone-soup fire-circle re-commitment celebration.
Green SkyWoman's revolutionary choir-room
for naming mendacious chirps
and labeling disenchanting bleats,
pecks
and hammers,
bites
and thrusts,
cooks
and eats,
twitters
and tweets
our songs
and danced enchanting journeys
west and east
with any systemically disabled ecstatic species
In MotherEarth's continuing reforesting project
for healthier DNA wealth
through futures cooperative
global through local systemic resonance.
Change
re-establishing StageZero
outside common RealTime sacred ground
creates inside resonant revisions
of what healthy polypathic regenerators want
to cooperatively achieve.
To less conservatively grasp continuing disenchantments
with where we remain deconstructively stuck
competing for ultra-violet enlightenment
multicultural ecstasy
of polycultural polyphonic blessing
WinWin ZeroZones
for Ego-EcoLogical Resonance.
Here Yang ultra-nonviolent
With Now Yin at least not not green
through aquamarine
Integrity's stone-soup ancient Paradise Lost,
now new reborn enchantment found
and bound toward NighTime's ecstatic integrity.
Fool of Infiniti
A wanton bird pecks at the stars
A Jester peers through crystal bars
This prison of love with rainbow hue
Illusion parts to lets you through
On dragon wings forever free
You quest into your dreams to see
Smoke and mirrors and shadow haze
To guide you through an endless maze
Slow motion tear rolls down her cheek
Its only passion that you seek ?
Engulfed in strange duality.
She wonders her reality
Your eyes still mock her with desire
Your kisses light her inner fire
Your touch can melt her to your will
But you will never take your fill
Black widow spider guards your heart
She spun the web, she keeps it taut
It is your only fatal flaw.
A secret, silent metaphor.
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand the strangest key
To fit the door of What Will Be ?
And when her eyes search yours again
You take her to the spider den
You spin the dreams she hopes to see
And lock your hearts in mystery.
So enter in to lick the flame
Eternal prisoner of the game
Illusion is false imagery
She whispers your Infinity
The Queen of Fate
The Queen of Fate by the outer Gate
Her carriage to Nowhere, will await
Her cloak is wrapped against the night
Her eyes are wide with peculiar fright
Gray horses eyes turn back in fear
With thunderclaps upon her ear
Blue jagged lightning points the way
Along the path to yesterday
Cold, sullen driver cracks his whip
His crooked smile curls round his lip
His horses leap the cruel abyss
Dark Queen of Fate sees none amiss
Above the mist a gate appears
Who will wipe the Gate-man's tears ?
Gray horses strike and paw the air
Fate Queen ascends the carriage stair
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand a wondrous key
To lock Enigma's Mystery
Pass through the gate O Queen of Fate
Another carriage will await
Drawn by steeds of Promises
Illusion starts and finishes.
**** Would like to preface my return, and many apologies to fellow poets who may have missed my absence. Though I did not have much luck in love this past year, this poem was written years ago; I think it is a fine poem though sad, which some may know my attempts at sweet-sorrow have well pleased many. The poem not only reflects tragic romance, but spiritual matters; the instructive distinction that its the soul or heart who remembers things of love, rather than the mind; I think of my passed loved ones in my view with my heart felt memories rather than a mental memory, for example. I find the 'idea' or notion poetically at least interesting and pertinent to romanticism, which is the poem's theme.***
How honeyed her perfume pastille
imbued many a god from their tower
Shook all the gloom which lonely men feel
she some mistress of darling power;
teems she the night with sweet mist
desires she all the allure of nymphs
She has strolled my garden many a time
forgotten I, the devil's music playing in the hills
and the sad forsaken tresses ---
weeping as a child;
or the dying swan and all her lamenting trills;
how many faces of God to touches of love
how many more gods,
though there need be but One?
How femme she-so-fatale and not enduring
with soft, she pecks my cheek
and all the universe her eyes ---
so sweet her kiss as worlds fade in yearning
to cinnamon lips, she of eyes wandering and wild;
twas her soul I wished to hold
with curves, lingering delicate
and never cold
Death shall take her to the lonely-wood....
from me shall fade the petal most crimson
about the night no more a-roving I could
nor velvet embraces with she my love;
the temporal love shall fall to heather
the winds blow, and the tempest's trumpet
roars about her whisper;
but in the deepest dark I roved the delve;
twas my soul which remembered
(Scarlet)
Notice the change
We thought that things would be better. Fighting for something now; just not what we had. Take me back to the beginning. It started with the best intentions; with big smiles, happy thoughts and dreams that weren’t too big for us.
Couldn’t live without your touch so I thought
There are more tears than smiling faces ; days are shorter , time ran to fast; now minutes are too long. Not another sad poem just truthful words that have visualize the destruction of emotions and feeling without the foundation.
It wasn’t like this in the beginning we were winners and wining. Now we are not even 5th place. Falling behind fast, wasn’t meant to last through the struggle and the lack of understanding. That simple taste of reality, your feelings changed for me, I noticed when the touches stopped. I noticed when making love turned to sex and sex a chore and just like your feelings there were no more. No more happy thoughts about a future. No more thoughtful touches; No more kisses with the passion; this is for the Bird our kissing are just pecks. You’re talking about walking away? Ill hold the door and the floor waits on you when things just doesn’t go your way. Tantrums; what more can I say about this… this... This thing that we thought we had is just now something very sad. Time wasted
I can’t, I won’t fight anymore. Take your mental note on that. You’re wondering eyes tells me the lies the truth of not wanting me around, you’re better off. I agree and see clearly what’s going on; your reliving the past. How many were there? Nothing last when moving too fast and we allow life to just pushes us around. It has to be something about something. More than you would ever tell me. Just let go, my mental note book full. No more space the taste are bitter and yes it’s more than just the changes that we endured. It just wasn’t what we thought; never was. Noticing the change; it will never be the same again.
Do come, my love, for I insist!
Within the darkest crevices of time, we fight, we cry, I die
As vision gives us knowledge, we descend farther into the grime
Curiouser and curiouser, we fall in dark crevices of time
Molded by imagination’s ink, the tentacles stretch outward
Singed from top to bottom, see the glorious coals sparkle
Yes, even before their completion into diamonds never comparable,
It is the very time in between the transformation that enchants the very soul
For in this time, I see the very worst of you,
How it shines without shame, aching to be tempered,
Crushing to prevail over its creators,
The tentacles squirming in hollow defense,
Ink spreading in the dark blue waters of deepest sorrow and agony
How your beak ever pecks upon its prey,
Dashingly exquisite, its sharpness—petulant in its purpose
And I say to you, as you destroy—come, for I shall not back away
When the weapons you hold fall upon my budding flesh
Growing despite the damages you have made
Come, my love, come!
See how my wounds have me, exalt me, trust me…
Into a reality I deeply fall, forcing you upon your knees
For how I know, through your destructing ways,
That together I will always make us be
Come, my love, for I die,
Heavy in the ecstasy of grief,
See how the fairy trees dance upon woes and lift hearts like plucked flowers
How demons with tempting eyes move as squealing moths crawl toward our fires
Wishing the burn of the coals, yet never touching such change
How the light floods through and through, to every dark corner and fissure
Licking the bonding surfaces with perfumed oils crackling
The black tentacles scatter outwards, forming a wall around the growing blaze
My eyes close—from those very eyes you came
Descending to ascend, my love you crave
Trusting the time I have tamed in last feat,
You rise into the everlasting restoration of our name
was out in the pub one day,
with a special friend,
she sneaked up behind me,
and gave me a little peck,
i was shocked in a fantastic way,
i never knew on what to say,
with a smile on my face,
gave her a hug with loads of embrace,
was this a dream i was in,
or is it a new life starting to begin,
with hugs and pecks all night long,
i hope this don,t go wrong,
sitting all night and chatting away,
i never ran out of stuff to say,
she has nice eyes, and a smile,
this little trip is worth every mile,
is she an angel that,s sent to me,
and sounds funny as that,s her name,
with a heart of gold, and very warm heart,
why would anyone with her want to part,
as this little angel has a golden heart,
what can i say, this feels right,
holding the angel all through the night,
her very warm hands, and lips so soft,
this little angel has got the lot,
then time passed and i had to go,
this little story must be told,
seeing things pass my way,
sat here waiting for someone to hold my hand,
till the angel came my way,
i hope the angel is here to stay,
very stun,d on how fast things went,
this i know i cant repent,
as things just seem right,
from all morning to all night,
if gods listening to what i say,
thank you lord for sending an angel my way,
made me look at what i have,
as this little angel gave me a bouncing heart,
if you are lost in mind,
look at me i got an angel in my mind,
i have lost allot and felt the pain,
meeting this angel made it all go away,
her hairs so soft and her skin to,
what can i say i am over the moon,
taking my time and not go to fast,
as i pray to god, that this will last,
so take advice and don,t give up,
you never know what will shake you up,
could be good or could be bad,
you will never know, till you take that chance,,,,
The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched out shadows wearing stars in their hair-
silence is imparting more depth to the darkness
in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up, now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the profoundness of peace-
in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives-
I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed against a flower,
I asked 'are you bruised? ‘‘Me or you' smiling, the flower questioned back-
the heart of my pen broke and split blood; - I do not know which paper can bear this pen-
In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the carpenter bird pecks at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-what can he do among the tiny crotons?
I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes-
frightened by the sun took refuge under shades-
sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes like ice cream with spoons-
measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my wealth once with meters,
now I scatter with handfuls my future letting it fly in all directions-
I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry-
walked past wearing people on my body like shawls-
in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice and sang mixing earth and sky-
this country is the graveyard of my genius-
however fast I walk the distance remains the same.
This land is thirsty for my blood,
it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees-
I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun to write a summer song for my nation-
- Seshendra Sharma
The nervous man
Slight awkward stance
Waiting for a train
Talking to the rain
Is he mad?
Is he sad?
A broken heart?
How many times has his life been torn apart?
He doesn’t fit in
Fashion and style were never his thing
His glasses, dark brimmed sixties style
A cardigan under the coat
His fathers before his no doubt!
The nervous man
Avoiding eye contact with his fellow man
Looking at the floor
Concrete’s concrete for ever more!
A kestrel for some reason lands
Walks up to the nervous man
He doesn’t know what to do
Does the raptor just wants some food?
It stands in front of him
Starts pecking at his ankle and shin?
He tries to shoo it away
But this falcon means to stay
It flies around his face
It tries to peck his face
His glasses fall and crack
He tries to run away and crushes them under foot
He bumps into a man and that makes him run closer to the track
He slips and lands on the line
People try but there is no time!
The kestrel watches and leans over to make sure?
It turns and sees me looking at it for sure!
It then flys up to my seat and sits looking hard at me
Then it flies and hovers in front of me
I stand and take a step back to see
Then it frantically pecks hard at the plastic screen
It then flies up and sits on a pole
Dumbfounded I look at the damage done
I see beyond the holes in the plastic cover to what is underneath
A lost notice for a pretty girl
I look closer at the story next to her face
I can’t believe and through the commotion on the platform look up to see the kestrel on its perch
He’s gone and I turn back to see
The young girl missing and I re-read the story in front of me
She was fifteen and had a unique hobby indeed!
For she was a falconer and her Kestrel was called ‘Mercy’