Short Unshaped Poems

Her skin as soft as shadows touch
Eyes portals to lands lost
A smile naturally unnatural
and lips kissed by airs needy adoration
lost in her fondness
and find i am found
A voice that reasons sound
her body undulates with unshaped perfection
i am spoilt by her gaze
my unconquered maze...

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Within the soul of my experience
Unconscious seeds of tomorrow's joy,
Awaiting the warmth of encouragement
Lay dormant,seeking inspiration's light;
Words,verbs,adjectives,aimless,without form,
Times,past,times present,amalgams of verse
Unshaped,until imagination's birth,
Bursts from the spring of my maturity....

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all glittering is not gold!
we the dweller of world
live in enigmatic glittering
dream to posses everything
run after the mirage of desire 
oh! Nothing these shining are 
at last all entrepreneur  find alluring ashes 
ash is changing in shape to unshaped gases
turned into seen to unseen
sigh fill up despondency bin 




-January 17, 2019 Chattogram...

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Existence

Can we experience
existence
without reference
to the body..?
Is this frightening..?
Or is it real freedom..?
Our bodies simply
are thought's boundaries
which corral 
the multitudinous flow
of inner thoughts and
sensations and
of outer perceptions..
All of these mind things
are temporary shape-ings
of our true nature:
an infinite and
unshaped Existence......

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Within the soul of my experience
Unconscious seeds of tomorrow's joy,
Awaiting the warmth of encouragement
Lay dormant,seeking inspiration's light;
Words,verbs,adjectives,aimless,without form,
Times,past,times present,amalgams of verse
Unshaped,until imagination's birth,
Bursts from the spring of my maturity.

Inspired by the words of RS Thomas'Poetry for Supper' see my blog today...

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WHITE FLOWERS OF BEAUTY
Within the soul of my experience
Unconscious seeds of tomorrow's joy,
Awaiting the warmth of encouragement
Lay dormant,seeking inspiration's light;
Words,verbs,adjectives,aimless,without form,
Times past, times present,amalgams of verse
Unshaped,until imagination's birth,
Bursts from the spring of my maturity.

Listen to me read this poem on youtube under name of ichthyschiro...

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the heights - too high - can't reach 
the head, the hands over the emptiness 
it stands like the earth pole line - unshaped 
dead all beneath the roots of it 
running - driving - tuning with the stormy winds 
and then losing - and then disappearing 
the heights - too high; none can reach 
but the mind - the imaginative mind -
the confident faith - all in one day will be
Faded glory 


04.08.2020 Chattogram...

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WHITE FLOWERS OF BEAUTY

Within
    the soul of my experience
unconscious seeds
      of tomorrow's joy
waiting 
      the warmth of encouragement

lay dormant
   seeking inspiration's light

words verbs adjectives
     aimless    without form

Times past   times present
              amalgams of verse
unshaped
       'til imagination's birth
 from the spring 
      of my maturity.

repostfrom 2010...

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Shifting Sands of Youth

youth was squandered on me
young
as I forgot the song
I’d sung
was worn away by
roiling surf
edges of my unshaped
soul
succumbed to living’s
churning toll
time and tide
relentlessly
had their changing way
with me
as youth was hardened
beneath smooth shell
its shifting sand
story’s to tell
youth can’t be squandered
on the young
who’ve found another song -
and sung


John G. Lawless
©12/10/2018...

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A life created,
not yet rated,
plenty to bend,
to escape and reshape.
To exist in the lost and found.

Spill my full glass,
make me empty,
then half empty,
then half full.
When I do refill,
spill and spill again,
till I'm once again empty.
Spill a life created,
a version unrated.
Spill the glass.
Smash the glass.
Bend and reshape.
Exist with no shape.

The mess of a life created,
your place,
your shape,
unshaped,
and erased....

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Scratching the rusted face 
of the dust storm? 
to read the message.
   
             I have come very far,
             from the old stinks.
             It was not the escape.

The unshaped sap,
spills from the cut end?
of treetops. I gather your cones.

             The fall begins abruptly.
             It was a landslide of
             leaf drop. Yellow and brown.

I wait for the red.
It reminds me of blood 
dripping from your poem.


Satish Verma...

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