Sans Poems

This world is gloomy night sans thee

With lamps, fiery skies,
Pearls and spires all so many,
Sans thy light of eyes
O thou doe-eyed young beauty,
This world’s gloomy night to me.
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Translation (Tanka) | 29.08.2025 | beauty, dark, world
Note: Here is a verse (in Anushtubh meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Here the poet imagines world without his doe-eyed beauty--

CHURCH SANS GOD aldravia

      church
      skeptical
      word
      bankrupt
      without
       God...

Sans Stilettos

Nancy took a tumble
And went falling down the stairs.
The slickness of the marble
Must have caught her unawares.

Yet who at 84 years old
Wears shoes with 4-inch heels?
Though since a hip replacement,
There’s a photo that reveals

That Pelosi, back at work,
Left her stilettos in the dust.
She’s sporting clogs, a look to which
She might have to adjust.

We all make

Joy sans grief, a groom-less bride

Full moons fill you with joy, seldom the New,
And pleasure you conceive as good, not pain,
Let me like New Moon that stars can I view, 
As some poets devise ways pain to feign,
Which, helps them pen dirges and elegies, 
Funeral hymns and odes of laments long,
Let them. Days-nights on an eternal lease, 
One can’t be

Sans you

I sketched my emptiness, called it ‘sans you’,
Which, the walls too confess, call it ‘sans you’.

How many years of utter loneliness?
I sketched my listlessness, called it ‘sans you’.

A desolate island now stands in heart,
Sketched its sheer barrenness, called it ‘sans you’.

No more springs, life’s all autumn, grey and dull,
This gloomy awareness was called ‘sans you’.

In

Sea hangover sans booze

        

            the Sea drinks no booze
           why then It has  hangover
              if

Sans sixth psychic sense

Sans sixth (psychic) sense...
poise zen dystopian rant

This prognosticator doth predict
potential based at current rate
sinister debacle that will
instantaneously annihilate,
United States storied republic, 
which alarming horror 
points to instantaneous annihilation
of America the beautiful;
(ohm my dog) turbulent
endemic chaotic spate

within human race poised to strike
doom and generate
shock tummy once 
amp pull goldenlocks,
now revealing a shiny baldpate
erratic behavior attendant prescient
intimations

Sans-Serendipity

Normality is what I seek  but the
world revolves in its sans-serendipity. 
So many extra days thrown in, you see
the world on its own course, no one takes pity.

I enter boredom in another world.
I’m not in control of anything real.
But the the dog warms up my feet, unfurled;
my heart wanes of anxiety, and I’m healed.

Sans thought who are we

Know that all manifestation is thought
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
We, as entity that seek, exist not

Let’s look at desires, that from our heart stream
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream

In staid stillness, we’re not by thoughts decoyed
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
Sans desire, we’re in

Sans Thought Who Are We

relentlessly flows on linear time
dragging us through enigmatic space 
it is a silent yet brutal savagery remorseless
compelling us to trauma bond with pain and disgrace

to make matters worse, we know we are doomed to die
lost in myriad illusions, we seek solace in dreams
but what we cling to, slips through our fingers
as we drift rudderless in

Sans Peace Poetrix

Upon a flaming ground
     step on the ukrainian people
   Ukraine, sans peace and freedom

The French Sans Rafa

The red clay’s staining all the socks,
But Rafa’s aren’t there 
And yet, his fourteen titles
Still remain beyond compare.

Most years he gets to celebrate
His birthday at the French.
Today, though, he’s not on the court
Or even on the bench.

Perhaps his little surgery
Will fix him up like new
So all his fans (like me!) can watch
Him do what he

Sans Toi

I'd love to just be with you
An oft recurring theme 
But what I mean is ever since
I had that vivid dream
My heart was captivated
Captured and content
And even though it was a dream 
My real heart did assent

Without you I'd be lonely
Wandering roads and paths alone
I love our camaraderie 
And talking on the phone
I've met so

Sans Sat-Nav

How to get to Forgiveness? Well, it starts out in Blame.

This Isn'T Much of a Poem

A manager worried about how many pens
used in a month
can barely sleep, dreaming of running out
of ink, and how pencils aren't professional-
shouldn't everything be typed now
anyway? Even this poem
is Times New Roman, pondering
the merits of Comic Sans,
while a memo is sent on behalf
of an executive vice president,
wishing everyone Happy Holidays,
but also warning of the need
for

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