Oscillating Poems

We are all children of the moon, restless, wandering in primordial light

We are all children of the moon, restless, wandering in primordial light,
Oscillating in pure light that carries us beyond time, like a lost dream,
We come from an undefined nowhere, without a destination on the maps of the universe,
We just shimmer, without reason, without purpose, in the silent dance of snow stars,
This is our beauty, our grace that embraces the unknown,
We never truly know who we are and we do not care to find out,
We succumb to oblivion, floating in an ocean of nothingness and void,
Without finding any reason to exist, lost in unanswered questions,
We do not know what anything means, but we never care about this truth,
For as we are, we shine like the eternal diamonds of infinity,
In a cosmos that embraces us and soothes us with its profound mystery,
We lose ourselves in the flow of time, in a silent poetry of ephemeral existence.

LIGHT

 Floating on a rock in an Infinite Space, Drifting with the Whirlpools and Eddies 
 of the Cosmos, Dancing with the Stars and Space Dust, One with the Light,  
 Riding High with Infinitudes, Blazing Wild, Blazing Bright, Blazing Fetters to      
 Shine as the Sun, Riding the Wind toward Infinite Awes, Scintillating like
 Fireflies, Dazzling the Ethers, Sparking the Wick of the Eternal Flame,  
 Oscillating like Bonfires of Majesty, Rising High to Cathedrals of Everlasting Life, 
 Permeating the darkness with Rays of Gold and Sapphire, Overcoming,  
 Conquering, Ascending with Emeralds of Wisdom and Jewels that   
 Dazzle the Mind. I AM the Light, Lucid, Gleaming, Sovereign and Just

Woke

Woke

When white lies plot the course 
Oscillating between trust and deception 
Kindling radical dialogue with smoking tongues 
Escalating unilateral world supremacy

What She Gave and Took

She taught me to pray
with hands that bruised the bread
and sometimes, me.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon,
but the corners were quiet with grief.
I was loved--loudly, then not at all.

Her laugh could warm
a whole December,
but silence followed when I needed June.

She carried me like gospel,
until I questioned her scripture.
Then, I became her quiet sin.

Still--
I make her biscuits in the same bowl,
sing her lullabies to my own child,
and when I cry,
I still hide it in the pantry.

Line count: 20.
Free verse format.
Title: 5 words or fewer.
Oscillating emotions: check.
Perspective: child.
Tone: honest, restrained, poignant.

Author’s Note:
This poem is for the many mothers who tried, and the children who learned to love them with both gratitude and grief. My mom was a good woman in many ways, but not everything was easy. I wrote this for the moments that shaped me--both warm and hard--and for the child who once cried quietly behind a closet door.

Poetry

Everything we experience in life
shows in our poetry -- both shallow
and deep – weeds and blossoms~
words come forth oscillating bitter/sweet 
harvest, from, hopefully, an honest 
sowing -- 

Honest words speak louder...quieter...
even silence between far more
emotive than a blaring trumpeter -- 

Poems affix in creative silence – before
the birthing, spirit’s cradle of incubation,
adjusting, conforming to individual rhythms
of harmonic space and time -- 

Individual...singular, yet cooperative -- 
part of the universal whole – the lightness
we experience along with overwhelming pressures 
core-felt while remaining utterly unexplainable -- 

Consciousness, is the trickle and flood of God --

Squirmy the Worm

A worm gets the idea of oscillation
and just moves—
aimless, dirt-laced, unbothered.
Regenerates its body.
Takes orders from nobody.

So I humbly approached a worm:
“Hey worm, you seem to know a lot about this specific area of town…”
She replied,
“I’m Squirmy the Wormy.
And everything you’ve lost—
was hidden inside.”
The rain poured.
She turned.
Kept oscillating.
I shouted,
“Wait! Where are you going?”

She stopped.
Did a 180° turn.
Stared me directly in the eyes
And said,
“Wake up.
You’re gonna pee the bed.”
Then vanished.

But damn, a talking worm?
That’s one of a kind.

Architecture of anthropological anteaters

The day the hour,
The meat the shower,
Show no oscillating octopus to an octagonal obelisk and eat a Greek tortilla upside down in a second. It is wiser to tread lightly in a miller’s abode. Round and round the turrets go those turtles so mind your footing for shells can be slippery really.
When shopping for an Aberdeen Angus bull it is wise to carry an umbrella as showers can occur from any lengths of tail thus rendering talismans useless and a fruit fly would remark that a plate of steamed rice is simply not that exciting really so now after all that information you can leapfrog over the dandelions wearing a cotton pair of anglers waders and a fish hat with or without fins.
X anthropomorphic creatures X

Within The Orchestra Of A Bleeding Heart

I hear violins playing
Oscillating in the auditorium
As the orchestra resounds
Behind the chambers of my heart
Bittersweet melodies plays aloud

I cannot escape -
That sweet summer rain
Which fills my heart
With such melodies of ballads
Shedding tears that reflects 
I cannot escape.

Within the amphitheatre of the city,
I sang aloud lyrics of gloom and mourn
Behind the cages of my bleeding heart
I found the rain to be my shedding tears
As notes and sheets of music play
Violins and orchestra play in unison
Along with my brokenness I sang

On the wall stretched her shadow, like a dream lost in the deep night

On the wall stretched her shadow, like a dream lost in the deep night,
An unknown secret, revealed only when light approaches timidly,
It lingered there, a silent paradox like a whisper on the lips of silence,
It was unfaithful loyalty, demanding devotion like a rebellious wind,
You felt the hidden chaos behind a truth seeking support,
A soul bearing the burden of a sincerity embracing another value,
Madness no longer wears a mask, exposed with raw, open wounds,
Ugliness no longer sweetened by lies that once embraced it,
The shadow is her, and yet not, a fragment torn from her soul,
A corner of the soul holding its breath as the light approaches,
Fearful of being discovered, yet longing for the gaze of recognition,
What remains but this chaos trembling under the weight of contradictions,
A fragile balance of a self oscillating between wholeness and disappearance,
Like a flame dancing in the wind, undecided whether to burn or to extinguish.

L M N O P Q R S T

Layla, Lilly and Lollypop lollygagged through life
Making musical merry mischief for Mr. Farmer’s wife
Nestling near nasty Nicholas’ notoriously sharp needy knife
Optimizing oscillating orneriness’, forging a fit of fife
Practically perforating Polly’s pretty pastel pail
Quizzically questioning queenly Quarks quarreling quail
Responding with respect and responsibility, rendering road rail
Seductively seeding a sassy stormy sandy seductive sail
Trying to travel to Tripoli, to tie a terrible tiger’s tail

Ultimatum

Trudging through  
a tangled path of ruin,  
dragging the weight of 
harrowing hopes and 
oscillating oaths, 
I shout into the empty sky—  

give me Love,  
or give me Death!

Alphabet Soup

Adventure brewed crowded dreams,
endlessly fairs genteel habit,
instilled jargons,
kidnapped laurels minted- naively,
oscillating power quickly,
rendering sweeten treasures universal voice,
warrior xysts zoologically.

Haiku

subtropical night
gently oscillating fan
refreshing slumber

Deliberations

Stolen nights of vowels
Uncertainty replaced by certainty
Imperfections laid bare
A duressed confession of guilty absolution
Complexity abandoned, depth dismissed
Quiet dissonance and silent resignation
Squeezing radiant beneath my ribs
Waiting, waning as the moon phases
Marking off each stage, oscillating
Watching as the distance grows
Readings of cards and tea
Old songs dusted off
New ones rehearsed
It is not, it is good
Say it again
Breathe

The Gigantic New Man

Really do you believe

The wheel of time turned and turned

Lives into cross and man into Christ;

That is this day of amazing sculpture

When the sun of a anew era is rising

On the horizon…

He is getting us a new gift of a new ‘Geetha’

A Geetha, which roars about Revolution

And Martyrdom…

Today this heroic new Era shattered the

Chains of prisonership and changed man

Into a gigantic force….



That force that man is aggrandising the

Frontierless sky, as if the steps he laid

On earth is not enough.



Iron coloured dawns and gunpowder odours

Are awaking, itching for war, sleeping

In the muscles and drumming an Era’s

Slogans and ideologies… the trash and

Rubbish, all that of that era vanished

With the pages of history…

Man rolled in terrific emotions, is being

Washed off to new shores,

As like the orb of sun oscillating between

East and West; between the shores of

Light and darkness.

That very new and hefty man

Is dashing against the sky from the

Old dilapidated caves of

History and dragging untruth

To cross-

Seshendra Sharma

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