Everyone loves him. A nice amicable guy, as he is no relative, he is no refrain. He starts within a rhythm when often a melody is surreal and soars along the flight of the song, up high, high above, where God knows everything about eternal time, beyond the worldly cacophony and hustle and bustle. Sometime a song is a mere glass effect and even though some days are also a lit up chandelier and even after all these I feel homesick for a glow in the dark with a softer greenish hue of prayer bids, long dispersed, long gone, Am I growing in lie, am I hardened in feasts through the festive nights, that knew that everything fits through misfits, ever sustaining to adjust , every discord, every subtlety melting with heartache , mundane trickling down over the smile lines, ever paired?I never wanted to know. My shadow leaves there, before the effort of guessing into the depth.
And Salah rush to myriad, I will come back to thee, after every sound, every note and a long day.
And I will bring shalom to thee!
ONCE AGAIN
Once again, we cry;
Again, a nation apart.
Our togetherness has run dry,
Whitered like a broken heart.
Division kisses oneness goodbye,
And once more and again, we cry.
Greatness is in being together;
Together, no matter the weather:-
Once again, we must sow onement;
Reaping a oneness that is God sent.
Love is once again finally arising in the air
And I am finding myself without a single reason to care,
As I forget the one who never wanted to be there.
I am teaching the dogs about their new hangout
Where they can poop and pee and frolic about
They love it so much as long as I am it here too
But when I leave, my dogs jump up; they are through.
Once more, I am thinking about writing -
coils are uncoiling,
snakes study the intricate anatomy
of legs and next steps.
My audience of one
must be propped up as if yet still alive,
geriatric words must be given their shots.
I can tell it's going to be a performance,
the poem is even now going off script.
It babbles; the entire cast of 'Hamilton'
has just walked out in protest.
Only Prokofiev and his 3rd piano concerto
can save me now, his notes are jungle drums
for the hard of hearing,
however, the write is not a musical
or a concert. It's, it's err...
Anyway, it is almost teatime.
Already the critiques
are sharpening their pencils.
I pull apart my white fancy actors' shirt,
buttons pop exposing the telltale signs
of recent romantic heart surgery.
Now an overwrought muse is yelling in my ear.
Dammit,
I simply cannot write another thing
under these circumstances.
I box up the coiling snakes,
exit left.
I woke up from a warm summer dream,
Winter winds were blowing away the stillness.
Bare branches danced with a quiet scream—
Once again, the world feels empty.
The earth shivers under the blanket of snow,
Hiding the path I once walked.
Dreams melt like frost beneath the pale morning sun—
All that was there is gone.
But even in frozen stillness,
The river flows quietly under the ice,
Carving its way forward.
Even in the silence of snowfall,
New hopes are forming quietly.
Once again, the earth waits,
Knowing spring will come.
The moon shines above the frozen fields,
Whispering promises of tender warmth.
The cycle continues,
And once again,
I hold onto the hope of blossoms—
Of trees painted with pinks.
What sold was for millions as art so grand,
Was bought for a few cents at a fruit stand--
A fancy mall nor mart,
Nor place of art apart,
Nor was banana taped with swanky band.
But a joke so cruel
In art’s name was this all,
Or call it a crime of a dollar land.
______________________
Happenings |02.12.2024| art, irony, humour
Poet’s note: The banana that was sold for millions as an art piece was purchased at a fruit stand outside Sotheby’s auction house for 35 cents apiece, or 4 for one dollar (purchased for $ 5.2 million by a crypto currency entrepreneur-- who else?). How absurd can things go in this so-called world of art gone crazy for money? The banana seller, one called Shah Alam from Bangladesh, literally cried after knowing this. Yes, a joke it was this all, a cruel one for the poor banana vendor. Artist Cattelan pontificates, ‘Art, by its nature, does not solve problems-- if it did, it would be politics’. Indeed, the banana vendor was stunned and left still poor. See ‘Art going bananas’.
I rather be alone
and it's hard for me to say
cuz I know I'm not good
at being by myself
but I rather be alone
than living once again
that empty old life
that I know so well.
Jessica
The dream has ended
I am awake once again!
Please come back to me
WILD CAT, RIP IT APART ONCE AGAIN
Been a while I tasted it raw
Taste of a living flesh full of blood
My claws are itchy
Craving to rip off the furs and pounce on the flesh
My fangs and rusty
Need be oiled by the drippings
Mouth drooling the hunger is as large as the flesh
I just wanna rip the flesh again
Like a snow wolf after the winter
Too long a life without a feed
Many nights of hunger and thirst
Long curvy fiery claws
Guiding the wooly paws
The wild cat's whiskers are overgrown
Yet without bloodstains in a while
Seasons of cold and hot
Nights of starving and days of thirst
Big cats of the wild
Rip it out and eat from the middle
Howl louder big wild cat
Lure your mate out of the woods
Feed on the familiar tasty flesh
Your favourite of all delicacy
Lick the fluid off your whiskers
Flex the powers in your right limbs
Stretch out the veins and let them pop
Chase and make a catch
Pant in awe of your satisfaction
A well deserved meal after a while
It is time to rip it apart again
What beauty is (to the geometrist),
has the shape of the Golden Ratio.
Beauty is courage, the defiant fist
of a protector fear can't overthrow.
Beauty, also, is Hector's promised vow,
to defend city, child, and princess bride.
What beauty is, moves Priam, to not show
his ire for Paris's treach'rous regnocide.
What beauty is not, is beauty falsified,
by artifice and insincere, harsh light;
what beauty is not, is show turned on worldwide,
that's streamed, displayed, and wirelessed day and night.
However, beauty is what frames your face:
which e'vn shames Helen of the Trojan race!
Today, once again, I’m grateful for gratitude….
Sometimes I think gratitude is the greatest quality of all….
For it has the ability to sweeten every moment….
From the largest ones in our life
down to the tiny and the small.
Why should I conform to man’s rules? Why persist in this facade? Even if I tell you to cast aside worry, your retort might be, “Why should I?” Jonathan’s soul intertwined with David’s, love binding them as one. But you—do you desire to be shackled by societal norms? Speak now: “Why should I?”
The Lord’s thoughts toward you are of peace, not evil. A future and hope await. Yet, I foresee skeptics in the streets this November, clamoring, “Why reelect Mr. Trump? Why indeed?” Ah, the allure of divine laws! Sweeter than honey, they linger on my tongue. Have you tasted the Lord’s goodness? Some unbelievers scoff, “Why bother?”
The Holy Spirit recalls my words to you. So, why should I heed your voice?
Today I’m thankful for water:
Have you ever wondered
as raindrops, or the waters in the oceans,
the rivers and the streams reach us
about all the miracles they have seen
and all the lessons they could teach us
Today I’m thankful once again for my family…
From the minds of authors, musicians and poets throughout the ages
many beautiful words have been unfurled…
but for me FAMILY will always be…
one of the most beautiful words in the world.
Related Poems