Sacred, irreverent friends be by far:
Monks mystify in pregnant platitude,
Sufi fakirs-- nigh tipsy bards as are,
Do flirt with God. Profane is never prude.
Perhaps, to tease is profoundly to love,
Nor things sacred may always solemn be
That raise love to regions so rare above,
In trust, friends and childhood chums curse freely.
Profane to me then seems pitfall not flaw,
But verbal hug of communion in creed,
A book that can a wide readership draw,
Be it a sage in rage or sane indeed,
The clarity that comes in letters four,
Sane words four hundred strong can’t bring to fore.
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Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 19.12.2025 | friends, God, love, profane, sage, words
Emotions sit no straight to meditate,
They look for an emergency exit,
What’s sane and sound gets caught in a Zen state,
Seeks profane whilst a safety valve’s remit.
Raised on a diet of good behavior,
What sane nigh prude do but ponder and brood?
Being quicksilver and nigh cavalier,
But not crude, vaults profane in words plain nude.
This is no way to wield vandalism
Of verbal brand way bit a wounding kind,
Profane words ventilate wrath with wisdom
To bring back lost balance of a sane mind--
A fair device to open up floodgates
That cools raw rage and pre-storm peace creates.
______________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 18.12.2025 | profane, peace, sage, words
Note: The part - III follows.
Gram saw the comicality of the situation
She never put on airs or lived above her station
The rest of them took themselves too seriously
Enormous eye-rolling was done by Harry and me
Gram smiled at our ability to see through the bull
She thought the rest of them had far to go
They were dissecting the new neighbor’s every word
Most of our kin can be outrageous and absurd.
today,
thinking time
flowing…
no peace,
children dying
in war…
victims,
all those dying
in vain…
iced war,
cold melting life
flowing…
love left,
the war took her
away…
justice
looking…but not
seeing…
Beyond the hills, the storm,
oh, yellow queens they quake;
poor Autumn aspens feel
old weight of weakened leaves
the hostile winds will steal.
Beyond the hills the storm
it brews, like coffee black.
A bitter sky will fall
—dainty saintly sunlight
a martyr for the squall…
Beyond the hills the storm,
My dreams in strobe-light flash.
Engage in shadow dance
the clash of sane and bane;
a silk and burr romance.
Beyond the hills the storm—
yes banshee gonna wail!
The gray steel rain a strafe
a suitor six-shooter.
My tongue; a silent waif.
the gullible are too many, the sane too few ~ what will voters do
barbs being thrown, tit for tat, red states, blue states ~ I've had enough of that
tired of all the political rants ~ they bite each other like red ants
Best bitters; black bar beer,
Brewed brown but ~
bottled blue.
Drunk dirty; delays drag,
During dark ~
dreadful days.
Though taken through tough times,
Thoughts turn to ~
tingling taste.
Confusing consciousness,
Clear conscience ~
clouded case.
Still sip slow, sounds so sane,
Same songs sung ~
safety strong.
Brains behave beautifully
Breeding bright ~
better behaviors.
You owe no one no detail
The deeds you did were your tale
Oh! The lovely long rain showers
Whose outcome is today’s flowers
Colour of it not so white nor red
Signifies whatsoever you fed
Holy was all that you said
The rich attention that you paid
Made them all wise and sane
But it’s they who chose the lane
Mighty is the bread
Right is for what I prayed
No longer I need a shade
The price I have already paid
rising from bed in the morning
seeking shelter when it's storming
idly whiling stray hours away
dreaming there will be better days
fabricating a self-image
with a more prominent linage
doodling on back of a letter
shunning life as a go-getter
paying of various taxes
wielding rhetorical axes
stopping by the grocery store
dealing with muscles which are sore
waiting in the queue at the bank
musing why the page remains blank
finding the proper words to say
quickly dealing with come-what-may
filtering life's little lessons
leaving positive impressions
contemplating all that might be
if we'd just win the lottery
making life much less exacting
all in the action of acting
discovering what keeps us sane
among remains of the mundane
"I am a writer. Therefore. I am not sane." - Edgar Allan Poe
We all go a little mad sometimes
... In the middle of the night,
Our minds raving words and rhymes
Hands compelled to write and write
In the middle of the night ...
Wide awake with a troubled brain,
Hands compelled to write and write
Soothes the self gone near sane
Wide awake, with a troubled brain
Crazed scribblings and a fury of ink,
Soothes the self gone near sane
'Til dawn turns black skies to pink
Crazed scribblings and a fury of ink
Nothing else matters, right this second,
'Til dawn turns black skies to pink
When the notion, so nearly beckoned
Nothing else matters, right this second
Lest lines be forgotten by then ...
When the notion so nearly beckoned
Grasping for lamplight, paper and pen
... Lest lines be forgotten by then
Our minds raving, words and rhymes,
Grasping for lamplight, paper and pen
We all go a little mad sometimes ...
To learn to pray,
I stay awake on my way.
I need my space,
So no one can interfere;
Between me and my Lord.
Well! I know my Lord;
Never judged my mind;
That never stops being weird.
It's late! And...
My eyes... refuse to recline,
Keep looking around my senses,
Perhaps! Reveal something.
Yet, I don't know what this thing is.
O! Lord! Help me!
To stay sane,
To accept what my eyes see,
When everything collapses around gazes.
In this journey... within those prays,
Inside those vivid scenes,
It challenges your senses,
And..only...
Few of us could leave it... Sane!
Their minds are a paradox,
A riddle too complex to solve.
Their thoughts like a labyrinth,
A maze of madness that evolves.
They walk among us, hidden in plain sight,
A puzzle to be deciphered, a mystery to unfold.
For they are the sane mad men,
Whose stories are waiting to be told.
Their creativity knows no bounds,
As their minds dance to a different tune.
For in their madness, they have found
A world that lies beyond the moon.
They see beauty in chaos,
A different kind of truth they find.
Their imagination runs wild,
For they have a different kind of mind.
Some call them crazy, some call them mad,
But they see the world with different eyes.
They are the ones who never conform,
For they are the ones who dare to rise.
Their minds a canvas, their thoughts a brush,
They paint a picture that's uniquely theirs.
For in their madness, they have found a rush,
A feeling that only a few ever dares.
So, let us embrace these sane mad men,
For they are the ones who make life a bit more fun.
For in their madness, they have a gift to share,
A new perspective, a different kind of sun.
Insane swept away, banished
are assisted in life by
crazy people on occasion... graduates !!
Jose's in the snow
Oh don't you know
He shovels it out
But it still comes back down
So he builds snow angels
To stave off the danger
To keep himself sane
And get through the game!
Written for a friend - 02/01/21 - 11:30 AM
I keep seeing the railway tracks in the left hemisphere of my brain
The logical sides solution to end all this pain
Application put to practice sees the creative hemisphere strain
A horrible ride cycle when delusion keeps sane
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