Sky when with dense clouds abound,
Seeing which peacocks dance around
On tender-green-dress-bedecked a hill,
In such a stirring scene, love-bound,
Which wayfarer wistful would not feel?
_____________________________
Translation (Quintain) | 34.08.2025 | monsoon, Nature, passion, peacock, nostalgia
Note: Here is a verse (in Arya meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Spring was dealt with in the preceding verse. The poet now paints a picture of monsoon: dark clouds surround; excited, peacocks dance; the earth is bedecked with a lush green dress; a traveller longing for conjugal bliss, feels homesick. Here is the transliteration of the verse in Sanskrit:
Upari ghanam ghana-patalam tiryak
girayo api nartita mayurah |
Kshitih api kandala dhavala
drashtim pathikah kva yapayatu || 47 ||
The very first rapper preceded
Ice-T by aeons and eons
Though his rap-a-tap-tap
never earned him lights in neon
Humbly plying his trade in forests far
from billionaire rapper stars
The woodpecker taps out his tune on trees
~ at times nearby, have a look-see
ONE Only New Years Goal for 2025 Poetry Contest
Constance La France
As we springboard into another year, I want to dive in, make a big splash, and come to the surface with a big smile on my face. For me, this will be a first ... if I can submit for a whole year. I want to lose the albatross around my waist. In preceding years I had that ugly bird caged for the first three weeks and then he escaped. For three weeks everything is tailored. I'm counting calories, running, and doing yoga. Everything is in check. The jaybird in me is singing, especially when I see the mirror. Then like Connie's work or clockwork, I fall to the chagrin of that ugly bird. Every year I'm a three-week whirlwind then become a drift. I drift off. Some crises, dramas, or love stories take center stage, and I lose focus. I fall. The curtains are then drawn. And I recoil back into my unhealthy ways, like a lollipop. And the feather one is laughing. Can I gather the willpower this time and surprise that ugly bird?
big bird go away
please stop clinging on to me
it doesn't look nice
Clenching tightly, so moments don't fade away,
As bygone days once promised to stay.
Rejoicing in every instant to its utmost,
The spectacle may ultimately end in dismay.
Mist might mask vision, obscuring the sight;
The breeze might flow over, revealing delight.
Carrying echoes all the way to eternity,
Shade takes over, preceding the light.
Birds gather in spring as berries appear;
The optimistic tree devours days of cheer.
It might be the last spring; end days are near;
Perhaps leaves will cast off another year.
Fragile they are, fleeting days of laughter,
Draining into oblivion impossibly faster.
Meticulous attempt to lock happiness forever,
It slipped from my hold as I clenched tighter.
First one in everyone knows,
Last one in the one everyone tip toes.
Thirsts something everyone knows,
Glass out for a drink but nobody passed the hose.
Is dying living forever,
Who really knows?
Breathing in fire,
Singing to see the ashen snows.
I’m trying to live until whenever,
Only the tombstone will ever really know.
Sleeping post sun rising,
Feeding trees bones as we decompose.
Nothing more Romeo than watching my eyes close,
Nothing but poetry that nobody knows,
But the smile on my face still always shows.
The smile that’s stuck in place,
The face that always stays froze.
Dial in the number you haven’t for days,
Listen to the ringing preceding the tone.
Stare out the window to the summer haze,
Go outside,
Playing in that ashen snow.
"Can you see Fred, Rita?"
Were the only words spoken.
The caring nurse said them
Whilst I was consumed
by a torrent of tears
My eyes shed with shame.
My frame was rocked by
That final breath she took
As she left my World.
I should have been strong,
My spiritual understanding
Should have held my hand
In just the way I had
mentally held hers...
tucked beneath the crisp
White hospital sheets.
Instead I had stroked
Her smooth cool forehead.
Such gentle stroking
Hopefully imparting peace
And helping remove fear.
Here was the fated comma
Preceding 'goodbye' full stop.
These were her life's
Final moments, predicted
By the doctor who had called
And advised me to come.
I hung on that doctor's words,
And dared to whisper
She should not fear death
She should just 'let go'
Her struggle, her past,
The pains she'd endured,
Her life long story
Now come to an end...
A new story just beginning.
She must have heard me.
She must have listened,
Even fully understood,
For there was no drama,
Nothing to mark the moment
Save for no new breath
following the last.
© griffonner 2022
1.)
Slept most of my life
Forget the stress
The best kind of strife is the kind kept repressed
Every guy just gotta accept we’re inclined to becoming depressed
You’ll never cry
Except if you gotta a good reason why
Keep your eye dressed
If you’re clever
You’ll keep your tears dry
I’ve wept without the fear of needing to confess.
Nevertheless
I lived the most whenever I’ve slept
You’d never of guessed
But I’m not exactly proud of whatever life I lead.
2.)
Warnings that we’re never really heeding
Forget about any of the poor examples preceding
Family mourning
Forgetting why we’re even meeting
Take the better trout
The man learning surely doesn’t even need it
The drinks now pouring
The Moët your clinging to is fleeting
Without a doubt
The Moët your clinging is just fleeting.
What a cameo in the hot harmattan eve !
Sweet soursop scents marinated with the haze
And all the other ones impasse in my qui vive .
Words became satisfying minting juice ,
Black with currents ,mingled bittersweet after
Soft like lush ripe and delicious in undying truth .
But In this colorful world of pines and apples ,
With the sour and the dapples between the toil
We will weather the rains and dry foggy nights .
In all laughter and of youthful lovers delight ,
Not of science of apples falling for clues
Nor of religion with the doom preceding the bite .
But with all hope hope from a trampled rose ,
Earnestly rooting for the hazelnuts
Swinging between the canes of sugars and beats.
As it touches the ground like a whispered prayer,
With heaven's own sacramental wine
Wholesome and pristine “
Five centimeters beneath the dangling papayas ,
under a starry night gaze with splendor
Can you see how vividly the moonlight scrawls the pomegranate.
Beneath moist soils with seeded holes !
Hold your grounds your sprouting melon
So here’s to your juice you amazing Tangelo
Hold your grounds with bunches of love .
See within those starry skies,
Beauty of binding vines,
Fluorescent meaning lies,
In its parting petals spouting lies.
A clams soft pink shell,
Glints in thousand little pearls,
They glide gracefully and swell,
Winding around the rivers swirls.
The white serpents eyes are peach,
Tempting, soft but out of reach,
High up in the turquoise trees,
It's flicker preceding a cool breeze.
The glowing fruits are unfamilar,
No beauty is ever similar,
Eating one would erase the river,
As well as the beautigul glimmer.
The grass shall sustain instead,
The roots of the waters might,
It's coming from the river bed,
And will surely set things right.
The peachy glimmer on waters shell,
Relinquishes its glow for now,
Floras torrent said go back to hell,
No calm waters at this hour.
The grass has grown in your head,
No ecosystems full without fauna,
Water fuels both now one is dead,
Powerful serpent still along a
River
Heart Gentle, Eye Mindful
On a quest
of eternity’s profoundly puzzling
silence…
Passing uncounted glorious galaxies
On a flight finding
Discoveries
in outer-space’s still expanding
Possibilities —
with dimensions unfolding
out of infinity’s appearing
at first sight, essentially empty…
But, be still and listen…
It is written,
“Faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things unseen…”
And believe how
from the all of non-existence,
preceding even the light and darkness…
To will creation
from the surrounding oblivion,
God rose
— with His heart gentle,
eye mindful,
and soul seeking —
To issue
The genesis of All
Life
In His image
with
The first breath/the first word…
for the contest Heart Gentle, Eye Mindful,
sponsor Unseeking Seeker
The autumn that had remained monotonous-
For many decades,
Now tears and takes pieces of hearts,
Along with its old leaves, flowers,
Leaving a nostalgic scent behind.
Every preceding winter that warmed people,
Returned this year, demanding-
All the warmth that blanketed their memories,
While it left them alone, in the cold.
Spring found its way into the people’s hearts,
Up sprouted the spears of novelty,
The bright Sunlight endorsed its new season,
A season with a bittersweet sentiment indeed!
Every summer had brought people together,
This one scorched their fragile ties,
The oceans of memories faced up in doubt,
As the vapours of the past ascended in due course.
The grey skies mourned old relations,
Happy moments and sad ones too,
With every successive rain,
Trails of the memories were being dampened and erased.
A treasured trove of experiences-
Prove to be heavier as the seasons age us,
Bringing out our wistful versions,
Only for our reality, waiting to be discovered and cherished.
.
Dramatic Verse
uh
well
'tiz ta
me
if'n I spell 'twuz
wit this li'l dangly thingy '
preceding t
mine formal me
haz
mine think's
attention
and the dangly thingy
caught twixt
t and w
mine lisp
poetic
haz yourn
* and yes, likewise; i'm certain, hopefully in the near future, i
shall explain this form I have been sharing more uv recently
I began testing this form uv mine periodically, one at a time
sum yearz ago, with the motivation from a notable artist here
on the Soup... i pray hern lovely iz read'n me, her's would be
proud! I need now to speak with the literary endorsers ;)
As we did the month preceding
This the next department meeting
Time and time without a reason
To be present or to listen
For there’s nothing on the floor
Beneath us different than before
It was the last time that we met
As everybody knows and yet
Again we sit around the table
Top our seats but still unable
To understand why we should read
Another memo from the Dean
Of students who have never met ‘em
Or her or maybe better, them
For whom the Chair is working under
Standing in the room, we wonder
How’d it ever get to this
Friday morning’s foolishness
Of faculty who should know better
Than to debate what doesn’t matter
That they’ll only misconstrue
The points they’re missing when they do
Interrupt each other speaking
Words better spent in classrooms teaching
From Minneapolis Minnesota three pop female musicians were born.
LaVerne, Maxene and Patricia, known as the Andrew Sisters
They introduced the United States to Jump Blues and Calypso
I recognize some of their hits instantly when I hear them.
Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else But Me.
This trio’s music was jazzy and rhythmic, it was toe-tappingly fun.
Their songs had an up tempo, preceding rock and roll
Bette Midler is someone who can still sing in their unique style.
the fins
of human
quake tremendously
spills grotesqueness while dumping
the ox cosmos in the middle of smoothly
mirrored
ocean Walls
where ones choice is fixed
at dawn stagnantly brimming
in obsolete enviable damp colours
woven in a volcanic
oasis of anguished circles embraced in
loneliness fronted
with shuttering frozen stars
moulding through a sunny cheerful darkness
reinvigorated with
strident current in
waves staring
hovering and invading through the thorns of
the barren mountains
wrapped in swings of an
encroached moonlight piercing in
the vacancy of
my enchanted soul
channeling through my so preceding exist
in steam of redolence reek
from the garden frowns
and grins
call me a piscine
but even as a sly tamed fox hereafter
I would soar on footprints of
ceaseless fogs
to unveil your gleam
leap through the reflection of
sunlight to sway you
exasperatingly siren my scales on
your prime lips
fading with a spin
submerged in a longing savory passion
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