You are alike to a fine paper rose
Perfectly crafted, scarlet and snow white.
Within your eyes the paper rosebud grows
Sanguine and bright, the most beauteous sight.
A petal of white ~ A petal of red
Blend into pink as they shamelessly blush.
Colours of you, how they go to my head,
Remind me of summer, sun kissed and lush.
My paper rose crinkles, held in my palm;
So softly, gently the sound greets my ears.
Retarding my heartbeat ~ tranquilly calm,
As soft as raindrops ~ god's heavenly tears.
Flower of nature must die heretofore
Flower of paper may live evermore.
Alan S Jeeves
We file on through scheming life's snaring wiles,
Unlearning bitter lessons sad yesterdays taught;
Biting humble pies for blunders repeatedly made,
Yet unheeding despite like fights erstwhile fought.
Our one-way treks through world's tasking routes
Are at best rehearsals for imagined second walks,
Which infeasible rematch with sad selfsame bouts,
Fleeting breath rightly nips with her cunning clocks.
We thus ought to vastly more steadfastly move,
And with every strengthened stride amply prove
The truth that living pops but once for each man;
And we simply die if we do not live while we can.
Smiling turns occur to usher in impatient others,
And hence no round retarding backward unfurls;
Our feet still unseen episodes constantly beckon
Into new climes wherein time's shadow smothers.
We must seize our fresh hour in its shiniest hue,
While rawest pep throbs in each vein and sinew.
The blackened earthen ash cradles the sojourn of time with Jezebel's fingers, her lady of the night holds, retarding the new virgin's 'rites of passage' to take up its roots and birth a forest once more. Milked in grief had come before its dawn, now gone, freely beds its roots to a place where a forest already stood. Differences of the grandiose nature of the Master's plan.
It is the way of
Nature, no calamity,
Great or small, --just change.
Lap and lick my wounds except for the gorged chasm that steals the breadth of my being, now it be my respite whilst I am on earth's good time until the trumpets sounds for my soul eternal, I rest for I sipped a taste sufficient, for another to pour for when I am gone.
Bosoms of Earth fills
For chastity chimes the clock
Its milk dries, --not sours.
festivities of the elevated
ocean derails into a vol-
canic eruption of iso-
teric consumption
retarding ways of rage
cools into an organic
mass of ice then me-
lts fossils of the
extinct creatures sere-
nading the warm broth
of growth
who is god
My garden, my garden, my beautiful garden
kaleidoscopic is feathers and flowers
I sit on a seat, a fine trees departing
and listen to your orchestral hours.
Only a wand, magic waved could deliver
beauty stretching for so many miles
where fences retarding are courses of rivers
and fallen trees are the styles.
I know little harmony survives around me
yet scales of justice, balance fine
who am I to say, what should or not be
I'm not part of this natural design.
Joyfully I walk through this virgin land
all so pristine, no sign of a mask
where the arbor, aviary, aquarium stand…
and not a penny is asked.
SOME TANKA
The mirror swallowed
my footprints on the shore
I couldn’t blame the waves
the geese kept flying over the head
the shadows kept moving afar
Professors beware
intellectual success
lies in inventing
lies to conceal common truths
and sound holier-than-thou
Little candles fail
to illumine the deity
or golden dome
in the valley darkness reigns
and god too awaits light
The mind creates
withdrawn to its own pleasures
a green thought
behind the banyan tree
behind the flickering lust
The drying trees
live my age:
autumn
warmth of new day
hot tea and singing birds
Plodding away at
season’s conspiracies
life has proved untrue
with God an empty word
and prayers helpless cries
On the roof top
she waits for her man with
moon cake and lantern:
a flash of silver showers
on the mist-shrouded figure
The god fire
in the soul forces back
my secret fall
I feel the retarding weight
in the fate’s deadly turn
Unknowable
the soul’s pursuits hidden
by its own works:
the spirit’s thirst, the strife
the restless silence, too much
Copyright: Ram Krishna Singh
My thinking
Slightly
Retarding
Time ticking
The awful process
Meanwhile
Memories
To sift
Some will say it’s a gift
Others
Will slice their wrists
A creative edge
Let’s say
An act of personal revenge
And a surprise panic binge
To myself
Lies
Under the shelf
Closing my mouth
A disguise
To compromise
Manipulates
Another excuse to relate
Then flies
Over my eyes
Nothing to treat
Avoiding life
On these streets
Endless days
Symptoms still repeat
Today
I’m right in
The hospital again
Full restraints
Tight enough to make me faint
Uptight
I want to fight
Never really good enough
It’s way too tough
My pounding frustrated mind
Needs to put me down
All the time
Fostering an imposter
The wild child
Tearing up inside
Water drop
Anguish
Cries
Out
Did I need to taste your sorrow?
She drowned me
While screaming fixated curiosities
Why I would not return
Oblivious to the obvious
Dilapidated wonder-wall
dripping concrete uncertainty
The fusion of incomprehensible dependency
retarding mass exodus of heart
As she cries all over again
I become a ripped towelette
thrown over her tattered neck of loneliness,
rushing into enigmatic corazon
I embrace familiar barrier
blocking out ultraviolet massacres
speaking subdued tongues,
another floating perdition
needing
a new painting against recycled canvas
Sweet dreams made
of
nothing
Did I need to taste the desolate madrigal
that I see running towards conundrum's savior,
still ready to love me tomorrow?
This heart is full.
I remove her weeping moon
searching for crescent bounds,
riding precipitous eclipse
My ears lie against vertigo's throat of irregularities
As she begs for the liar to return home
Because I always mattered
in the end
Allegedly
© Drake J. Eszes
"Forever will a scar remain upon broken ties. Memories serve to both assure and ruin in my eyes." -Anonymous
Unease…approaching panic in me grew,
As I walked out confronting carnage everywhere,
Radiation-rotted corpses fouling all the air,
Bodies bare of clothing, hair and skin,
Slain by war that men thought men could win.
The very carrion worms seemed ready to expire.
And my internal clock was slowing…that I knew,
Retarding with the halting tick of run-down Time,
Tocking till the final knell of Doom would chime,
Calling me to topple toward polluted grass,
Letting life (not worth knowing) pass…
Atomically contaminated earth, my bier.
Unease…approaching panic in me grew,
As I walked out confronting carnage everywhere,
Radiation-rotted corpses fouling all the air,
Bodies bare of clothing, hair and skin,
Slain by war that men thought men could win.
The very carrion worms seemed ready to expire.
And my internal clock was slowing…that I knew,
Retarding with the halting tick of run-down Time,
Tocking till the final knell of Doom would chime,
Calling me to topple toward polluted grass,
Letting life (not worth knowing) pass…
Atomically contaminated earth, my bier.
losing blood like a hemorrhage.
it’s your hands that will bleed this time.
stale, Dauphin eyes break and feed
tragic Calamity, when the wisping clouds
,with their wisping mouths, wisp no more.
biting at the king’s ears; hearing what I hear
placing yourself at a foreign view. . .a retarding world of laugh-
people
cotton candy swirled like frothy mocha lattes...
nasty little people - little children, running into countertops.
vita brevis, so they say
yes! this is just like you thought it would be.
You scrape me with your branches; I drive this axe across your back.
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