Long Unslept Poems
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Torrid pride consorts the wishing tree so swine and vines galoring vapid pines does bring recalcitrant openings for lurid cross-patternicities like ferns imploring for goes-a-dowsing the drowsy wolf sheepishly grins a piecemeal quilt now hereafter wins, and won a goodly row and the cause unslept in a tattered curtain wishes evergrain forest were smaller and spent. To make anew the wishing star, aglow the pew of solemn arts, the four-poster bed leeches the ceilings shadows now night is bifurcated and sunlight prances, the hasty parade of dismal greetings, swiss-chocolatiers readied for so-cast dearlings, and so the collar is abreast with fending cries that torture poets like sickly scythes pouring mock-endearment into the lover's crest a merry wake-up a darling chest. The wishbone has curved the day to the beat of the storming east, whereupon the western sun has created easts, so back-and-forth we turn the sounds away I guessed at mysticism and the mystic rays, so vetted foxes of fire sojourn, and free the reddish birds from empyreal homes. The wishing well has cared so deeply but honorable and well-fought are disparate seeds, so planted next to the wishing well in a garden of evil, is the flowers cast for all for anvils, that craft for wishes spent, the wishing well, the wishing star, the wishbone and the wishing tree, quail is a soft catch.
each day
is my living wake
I wish you cared
& they weren't fake
my eyes are dry
tears made of dust
never mind
no one's fussed
all the f"cks
& suppressed damns
are my quiet poetry slams
rotate the fear
rearrange
the dread
ego & id
are well fed
days unlived
nights unslept
scarcity of love is kept
no howls of pain
but they twist & turn
retina & eyelids burn
tunnel vision
bottlenecks
sort through
my personal effects
recalibration
set in stone
through it all
I felt alone
reaching out
with brightly coloured gem
fear itself
I couldn't stem
hold the image
lock in view
lose balance
as all askew
life made up
of pretty rubble
but I'll commit
to be no trouble
A thought bubble arose, from an unslept head.
“I'll give you a single white rose, I’ve grown.”
It sounded sweet, simple, and wonderfully romantic—
Before I proposed the notion, to my rubble-despoiled garden.
Thus began my toil and trouble, kerfuffle and struggle.
I pulled out weeds, dug through mud, mulch, muck and mysteries.
The wheelbarrow wobbled; wandered off with the watering can.
Even the worms wiggled worried, wrinkled looks about my methods.
In the hole, I planted a single white-budded rose, bare-rooted.
I covered it with soil, sweetly sour with well-rotted cow manure.
The rose grew despite my heavy-handed, brown-thumb pokes and prods.
White buds burst, then browned off, blighted around their rims.
Tiny thrips and aphids threw tantrum bombs inside petal towers.
I peered, puffed, and huffed, and quite frankly— panicked!
Perfection proved particularly picky, for a plain white rose.
At last, one lovely morn, a lovely white rose, arose to greet me.
Among the blighted, shriveled blooms, it beamed like moonlight.
I clipped it carefully, cradling its cool, cream precious bloom.
Surely, such devotion, deserved delighted, dazzling applause!
I presented it proudly, practicing my grandest ever garden bow.
“To give to thee, this single white rose I’ve grown.”
She smiled softly, accepting my precious treasure trove rose.
Then she paused, as though, searching for, still kinder words.
“What a lovely thought,” she said, looking blissful at me.
“Sorry, but I really wanted a bunch of red ones instead!”
Behind us, the white rose quivered, quaked and chuckled!
As my thought bubble burst above the compost. - Pop! Bang! Purr!.
The patina of dew dazzled on my drenched meadow,
charismatic crystals crowning the convergent verdance
sprinkled your essence in million sparkles of motif,
a tapestry I had spread on the precinct of my heart.
I thought that was what the feelings of paradise were
until the blaze of engulfing illusion burnt them to ashes.
The footprints on the shifting dunes of desert sand
crumbled inward to the desolate depth of obscurity,
treaded the delusive trail of mirage of togetherness.
The oasis faded away to the hazy horizon, unreached.
The waves of emotion rushing from the sea of desire
caressed my shore with the touch of pristine pearls.
The amorous arms of silver sands couldn’t hold long,
the surge returned to where it came from, disowned.
Cascading moonbeam contoured your face I configured,
glistened under the silver drizzle of the silent stardust,
disappeared with the melted mist of the unslept night,
because, of you behind shroud I couldn’t dream enough.
The propitiating poems so imperfect I wrote for you
rhymed with the rippling rustle of my mind’s petals.
The missing words wafted with the scent of passion,
defining me but dissolved in oblivion, unperceived.
In the air of our nest melody of my lyric didn't resonate
with the cadence of the embraced wings of nightingale
that flew away to sing some other song in another sky,
because sometimes silence called love is not enough.
September 10, 2019
January 3, 2020
Contest : Strand Select 3, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The day subsides, the sun descends,
A massive disc dipping into the horizon.
The tides ebb, waves lap the shore
Dusk holds sway: I fall into deep thought:
I wonder about the whys and wherefores
Of all the hustle and bustle of days of yore.
Quickly my thoughts revolve on you,
Deeper and deeper with yearning strong.
But now 'tis dusk and the orange tinge
Gives way to gray. The mighty sea calms
Like an unslept bed, its waves seem like whispers
Of days gone by: the ways of love,
The late goodbyes, the promise of the morrow,
And of undying love.
Dusk is now blackened like your silken tresses,
Dusk is now dewy like your luscious lips.
Still I feel your warmth, your exquisite fragrance,
The close embrace, observe with longing
The brilliant brown eyes as they stare into mine.
Now it's too dark, dreams fade away.
There is one thing left in this gathering gloom.
That's to wait patiently for your love.
Black wires hum beneath the skin of morning,
and we, bright amputees of feeling,
polish our mirrors to a sterile shine—
no fingerprints, no ghosts allowed.
The heart, once a red cathedral,
now flickers like a faulty bulb,
its saints exiled, its hymns replaced
by the thin arithmetic of survival.
What must we do?
Break the glass we have become.
Let it cut—yes, let it cut—
until the blood remembers
its ancient, furious river.
We must kneel in the ash of our own making,
press our mouths to the scorched earth,
and listen—
not for God, perhaps,
but for the small animal breathing beneath it.
We must gather the fragments:
the child’s unguarded laughter,
the tremor in a stranger’s hand,
the unbearable weight of another’s grief—
and hold them,
hold them as if they were our own bones.
Refuse the anesthesia of indifference.
Refuse the quiet murder of looking away.
Stand in the wound of the world
without stitching it closed too soon.
Love—
not the porcelain king,
but the feral, unslept, breaking kind
that howls in the night
and refuses to die.
This is the work:
to remain.
To burn without becoming ash.
I stitched my Wounds in borrowed Dark —
Where comment cannot pry —
The Noise of mouths was everywhere,
Yet Silence endured I —
From serious Pain — the Chronic kind
That teaches Breath to hide —
I fled the marketplace of words
Where weary meanings died —
The Chatter spent me poor of strength,
Each syllable a tax —
I learned to leave with empty hands
And fewer looking back —
Terrified of the self that feeds
On mirrors, not on Truth —
I guard the gates of my own Pulse
With almost holy Ruth —
So quick the Tongue is now to pause —
A practiced, sacred brake —
For speech once loosed cannot return
What careful quiets make —
My Ears remain — wide-open Fields —
My Eyes — an unslept Sea —
I watch the world without a claim
That it must answer me —
And privately, the Healing grows
Like roots that work at Night —
No witness but the tender Dark,
No proof — except the Light.
From the edge of the ebon night sky,
under the engulfing clouds of gloom,
the promise of moon I’ve made to you,
I’ll keep before the eclipse starts.
The somber storm of smothering strife
drifts me away across the slate horizon,
the clouds melt in the torrent of tears
as my sky falls with the marooned moon.
The promise kept after the agonizing wait,
your fervent window opens on vista of hope,
ushers in the dislodged moon called heart,
rolling onto your satin bed long unslept
In the dark niche of your desolateness
glows the frozen moonbeam burst,
while the floating tinsels of silver dust
flutter like fairy over your silhouette face.
Holding the magical moon turned crystal globe,
you look deep into the illumined fortune
in kaleidoscopic images portending the future,
where my yearning paints dreamscape for you.
Written : March 10, 2020
June 9, 2020
Contest : Strand No. 790
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Mother,today I'm on my own
thinking of what would i say
if you ever had to leave this world before me...
I hope you won't..but this is how it goes...
Mother
I thankyou for the empty Will,which is so full of you
I thankyou for your warmest smile,always serene and true
I thankyou for the riches ,you never left behind
that's sure a clever way, for our family not to fight
I thankyou for the empty will, full of sweetest memories
the kindness of your heart, lives in my realities
I thankyou for the only ring you left us in the drawer
a simple golden circle ,you lived loyal to, forevermore
I thankyou for the funny you, the laughter and long chats
the hearthy meals and yummy goods ,without any regrets
I thankyou for the songs you sang on times when i was sad
so many nights unslept,so close to my own bed
I thankyou for the devotion, for our only God above
you talked about Him in a way,that I believed in love.
Mother,you are the best example of how we all should be
many neighbours ,lonely people ,you've helped with blissful glee.
There are so many saints ,who did extraordinary things in life
then there are those humble people who did simple special deeds
there are those strong willed people who won each sacrifice
being the the best mother,the best sister,the best friend and the best wife.
Mother,there's a heaven a place where you should be
I know you are so happy there in waiting just for me
An emtpy Will i found which is so full of you
there's nothing I will change about,in anything you do.
Charma
P.s-Sometimes we feel to say loving words to those we love ,
to show them how special they are ,and its so very hard.
Sometimes we wait till they're gone to let our emotions show,
but i do believe to live life as it was my first day and if it was my last
and I do believe to share my love and thoughts whilst I still can...
The meditation of an unslept night,
dancing to the music of silence.
Waiting for that unseen sight
and my visions to form an alliance.
To create the uncreated art,
searching in worlds unexplored.
My mixed up ideas to sort
and find a train of thought to climb aboard.
An imagination yearning to be set free,
unbridled senses waiting to take the lead.
Casting off fear and reservation to the sea,
but to experience truth dreams must concede.
No happy medium between wisdom and beauty,
can't balance the two in my troubled mind.
For some unknown reason, this has become my life's duty,
to search my thoughts for an island of peace to find.
A plan to stop this madness I'm willing to do,
to fall asleep and not sit and think the whole night through.
But rest just seems to escape my grasp,
tomorrow night I'll try again perhaps.
10/28/18