Long Treaded Poems
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I once knew a little girl coming of age. She often put her trust in people, places and things. She met liars, cheaters, users, abusers frequently in her mind, soul
her self esteem broke, her kindness taken for weakness she was labeled a fool,
crazy, stupid because she cared too much. ungrateful individuals seemed
to be captured by her presence. places she treaded searching for an escape
only to face mental abuse on repeat that turnt to broken trust, disappointments,
and physical abuse that turnt to brokeness. weariness seeking to regain her
Self-control, spiraling out of control, continously lied on, her name scandalized. She's wearing these labels for game? and often the topic for belittlement, She
was ridicule . This little broken, despite that she is overcoming, striving to stay
on track for this little girl is blooming into a woman that holds love in her broken
spirit to dim her light yet stillness and tranquility remains in her heart.
And thus the story had begun,
For he is still quite young,
Desiring to look into the horizon,
Carefree, gulping his daily poison,
Highlander in the loose,
Carrying his basket of blues,
Wishing to wander into alien lands,
And holding on to random hands,
He masters the art of fancy ardour,
In the name of the Holy Father,
Never has he dived into deep waves
But he has treaded into numerous caves,
Unraveling beings not known to me,
But I mind to be
His object of mysterious gaze;
As long as he stays
Far away like the stars yonder
For them, untangling his profound wonder,
Wearing out his mind by night
Robbing broken birds from flight;
And thus the story will come to an end,
For he will move on to a deeper bend,
Leaving traces of rusty shackles
Nowhere to be seen from country castles.
I’ll go on wondering if he ever thinks,
Of fairy tales, fools and kings…
I walk over time with the maddening crowd,
disconnected inherently in the caving core,
lonely road is unknown not travelled before.
Treaded time stretched at the edge of present,
reaches the tensile limit of flexible perception.
It snaps in the remote recess of still isolation.
Traversed trail measures distance to the horizon,
plummets deep in uncertain vale beyond vision.
It breaks midway before reaching the destination.
In endless insular walk in wilderness to nowhere
I make of me a desolate island I haven’t yet known.
Across time the idyllic soul discerns it as its own.
Written : January 4, 2019
Contest : Brian's Choice P
Sponsor : Brian Strand
RISKING THE RISK
Many things happen under the sun and moon
Nobody cares if it escapes the understanding of the common man
Life is bigger than logic; living is a colossal mystery juxtaposed to existence
Of what use is the mouth if it can’t speak up when needed?
What else is the purpose of the ear if it can’t hear what is happening?
Blindness is the better option if the eye can’t see what its there to see
What again awaits the man that has brain and can’t make use of it; Death?
Who would see a fight and not fight it out with the fight?
What would it profit a man if he gives in to intimidation & looses his rights?
Would you rather be killed when you can kill your killer?
Nobody gave me a chance; I took one
Not ready to think about the risk: let the result be won
Heard everybody dies and not everybody has lived
So, I preferred being the lion that died and not the sheep that lived
So busy daring for many things and not hoping for nothing
Calculations never made a hero; zero plus zero equals to nothing
So destined for greatness; it requires me to take risks and confront hazards
Tomorrow will give birth to both sexes; got the prophecy from the wizards
Refusing to be among the cautious crowd that refuse to play not to loose
I stood out to play to win; won the crown and the queen, then let hell loose.
Intimidation has intimidated me enough that I refuse to be intimidated
I hate that boy that have accepted to be trampled upon by a lesser being
I love the girl that have insisted on standing on her rights and not falling
Shame to the man that is biased and can’t stand on the side of truth & justice
Oh! She said; there is one concept of truth but can be realized in many ways
Glory to who deserves glory; let someone pay respect to the glorified guru
Many came, saw & couldn’t conquer what the few didn’t see, yet conquered
Thought himself a god and treaded on the path angels are afraid to tread on
His ego is stupidly big; he foolishly offended the wrong person that is right
He took the risky risk; now, the outcome can’t be over, risking him a risk.
…Lordvip……
2013
At ease
I have acknowledged your ambiance for quite some interval,
Going thru the ups and dejected of courtship with you.
But something that has dire you,
Just wretched my soul,
And now my coziness with you has been meddled.
I know I’m not a flawless soul,
Or even calm to get along with;
But I attempt my preeminent to make you pleased.
My heart pains like someone just treaded on it,
And didn’t caution about how I may feel afterwards.
I love you very profoundly,
And know that there nothing on this God green earth I wouldn’t do for you ‘
But I am confounded by your actions of the propaganda.
I hope in your core you dearly attempt to fix this agony of mine,
Or this stronghold of love we have,
May tumble.
I do love and care for you ;
But I am not at ease.
with love that sails a thousand boats
I sail to the depths of your taunted heart
like a rose starved of the warmth of the sun
I too am starved of your forgiving love
love me not, for I am loveless
unlucky for passion has corrupted my soul
doves do cry when you depart
my love for you burns like the depths of hell
for just one kiss id take all the stars from the clear night sky
and place them in a jewel encrusted bag for your liking
for you mean more to me than a thousand lives of wealthy living
and if you forsake me of your love I fear my heart will break
so small they can be treaded thought the eye of as needle
and never again to be found
in your eyes I see heaven itself angels with blinding beauty
but alas I must hold my tounge and never speak your name
for if I do the earth shall fall and burn
for I am enslaved in the stocks of your love
Form:
All those that I have loved before
and the ones that will come after
would never have those eyes
Oh those eyes the moon of night
those smiling eyes that do not shine
yet glow with comfort in my life
His unforgotten cheeks
a musky scent of blown gardenias
treaded softly in my sleep
His Spring-kissed skin
The fresh sweet taste of last aquatic dew
which poured and reached
my soul within
Without demand I think of him
And whoever said that men
can never smell like flowers
and whoever said that men
can never taste like rain
Those are the ones who never
stretched their arms as far
as to behold the one
and whisper out his name.
A catholic priest from the Scottish highlands,
Scotus treaded a nonconformist philosophic path,
deviating from the high middle age mainstream,
for his doctrines of realistic beliefs he was maligned.
Digressing from the prevalent dualist tenet of his times,
he denied the distinction between essence and existence,
the abstract concept of living in monism perception
led him to propose the notion of univocity of being.
He countered the contention of divine illumination,
ensuring derivation of precise and pure knowledge,
in situations where the thinking process was fallible,
like the rejection of immaculate conception of Mary.
Proponent of metaphysical introspect contemplation,
for him theology was the practical science of God,
deciding the ultimate union of the liberated soul
with the divine trinity through love in the eternity.
________________
March 25, 2022
Contest : John Duns Scotus
Sponsored by : Joe Maverick
When the northern wind goes back
to its polar abode,
the glacier strands of cloud fly away
on the arctic wings of winter,
the satin southern winds
compose with the cadence
of velvet breeze an ode
for the sapphire spring.
The humming birds sing
when the dawn’s colors explode
on the dew-drenched meadow,
with the sparkle of diamond splendor,
letting the spring in the amorous air
bloom the beguiled buds of fervor.
While through the sunburst dust
we walk in the sequined dawn,
lighting up the garden’s garnet path,
where the dwindling lines
of floral saplings sway surmounted
in the summer squalls of discontent,
the love-starved flowers wither
with the shriveled essence of my longing.
I feel the poignant crunch
of flowers beneath my feet.
Every step is then an articulation
of my fragile brittle feeling
of the soft collision of yearning
and the wildflowers of my deprivation.
Yet, even if the bruised beauty
gets treaded upon the fallen blossoms
in the storm raged meadow,
I paint their shape-shifted insignia
on the blue canvas of our togetherness.
In the twilight zone they will glisten
with the patina of residual florid rapture
within our opal sanctum inside,
the garden of our real home,
where the flowers will bloom again.
A Quiver Sliding Down the Ribs
On a sunny summer Sunday evening,
With the breeze hushed to dead silence,
The rays of the dying sun glittering
On the tallest barks in the distant horizon,
Wearied of age-long books I treaded carefree
In search of freshness and quietude
Along a lonely path fringed with lovely trees.
Soon banks of clouds shrouded the sky,
A chilly breeze rustled among the trees,
Whistling amidst the leaves up high
And blowing with impunity apace;
It started to rain heavily and heavily
While darkness invaded the entire space;
Shivering, I tried to seek a shelter free,
But none of the tall trees offered a refuge;
I trudged along when I came across a verdant tree
With branches spreading like an umbrella;
I hastened thereto to seek relief
As under a decrepit veranda.
Not a human sound could meet the ear
Not a human sight could greet the eye,
Yet anon a strange breath pricked my hair with fear
And when I turned around, I felt like…
I felt like a quiver sliding down the ribs
At the ghastly sight of a skeleton white,
Standing erect by the side of the tree.
Written by Krishnanand Guptar
9 February 2023