The blank field is a whitewashed wall
between
eyes and incipient thought.
A neatly printed line
emerges out of nothing,
fingers sleep
as they plant words in inky rows.
Meaning searches for meaning,
each symbol is a cracked seed
shed from a blacked-out window -
brain particles blindly seeking.
There is meaning here,
but it is as yet formless,
what is seen is slough and spillage,
mind-molt
struggling into an appearance
of notion and idea.
Now the word is flesh, a glossolalia,
a mute speaking in tongues, yet
breathless of any spirit.
At once the painted parody of self
is free to wriggle forth,
to sew and bind together
discernable images,
it must surface above the silent page,
lift up the emblematic
as the hammer-arm
of the insubstantial, until deciphered
by other necromancers
who then speak
for the dead-voiced word.
This then is the tipping point:
the space between sight and seen,
a place to speak into existence
the once immaterial
or surrender all coherence
to the un-lettered reticence of God.
Although
it’s a hard row to hoe
a rough furrow to harrow
and a tough trench to plough
there’s many a meadow to mow
I hereby avow
and tho' it may be news to you
farmers have the need
to sow their seeds
where milkmaids milk the cows
swineherds feed their sows
and shepherds have their pie
and eat it too
in Slough now
It's a fresh day
To play in a new way
To convey each light ray
More pray, no delay, fair pay
We stay where we lay
What can I say?
Stand up, quit your sit
Take a breath, rest a bit
Ensure you stay fit
Get ready for the hit
Grab your jumping kit
Fall not into pit
As he'd walk into your block
In seconds, he'll knock
This folk you name clock
Needing a talk but you lock
It'll mock you into shock
You can't stalk the stock
You can water the seed
And extract all the weed
Indeed growing at speed
But when you succeed
Never mislead this creed
We need to impede the greed
As it sheds its slough
My skin is no longer rough
No batter, nor pastry, just dough
So chewing ain't been tough
This stuff? Calling it enough
You laugh until you cough
Step clear in your gear
Hear this, oh my dear
Here the end is near
This day, this month, this year
Every tear will disappear
What do you fear?
The sun having a frozen side~
a wish like a snowball in hell,
or netting the wind while oceans b o i l
in f i r e.
The rage of its heat needs curtailing.
I'm melting...
like chocolates and candles~
roasting like chicken in an oven.
How then
do I hide the cry of my fat?
With the frozen side of the sun,
snowflakes fall but never thaw,
painting my doorstep in white,
chilling my bones dry,
shaking my limbs stiff.
Birds hide their faces...
and songs become faint echoes in snow-draped distance,
while rasping hoots of early-rising snowy owls
mimic the whispers of restless winds—
announcing the coming of an impending
dark sky
that will not abate...
the ceaseless dropping of white flakes.
I'm b o i l i n g—
a tempest brewing...
not as a boiling frog syndrome
but like a fish out of water
in a slough of despond.
My skin scathes,
heat burns leave sores on my soles.
Long rays of shine pierced my sunshade;
sweat formed oceans on my skin.
And I w h i s p e r e d—
in the absence of ears~
"I need the frozen side of the sun."
All of me is open for review
every moment spent in time with you,
the wakening with the rise of the sun
washing, dressing, breakfast on the run,
warmly heated cars rushing off
driving along the pothole streets slough
a bumpy start then no paths to ride
smooth and steady glides,
stiff chairs and desks set prone
e-mails, urgent papers shown
the daily grind keeps us here
in the physical reality sphere;
but somewhere in the daily quests
there is an escape but little rest
as all the efforts I have made
slip in and out of the twilight shade
and this here and now is not the only parade;
my life exists throughout the days
finding refuge in the clouds at bay
here the senses ignite to send me reeling
exceeding seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, feeling,
it's an emotional flush
wrapped in imagination's rush
a virtual escape
why would you hesitate?
Slip up, slide in and out your personal shroud
to the virtual reality up in the cloud.
A slough of love
serenading moonlight
A snowball chance in a dream
Buffalo riders playing rodeo
A lovers touch in spring
petrified on time
Absent friends
on the wreath of time
A slough of moonlight
Singing lost love songs
A firefly playing rodeo
A lovers reach in petrified time
Butterflies, take it on this Summer night
A sweet secret
Waves of depression without waste of opportunity,
Trade with season of whiff of irritation,
Worthy mentioned whirlwind of smoke,
Animates to weight the wiles of innocence,
Tracing the bitterness with a touch of severity,
Train of disasters then transfer factors of agony,
Sweeping the land of tempest of passion,
Surface of events tides the surge of pathos,
slough of ignorance shackles an approach of fate,
A summit of misery with the scrap of adversity,
Staves all rains of life in formless dread,
Rectitude of soul freezes at the thought,
Relishing of its beauty refines the style,
When ravages of time delves crumpled pain,
Qualm of conscience still seems in radiance of morning,
At dusk a ray of hope of peace,
With the pendulum of great feeling of worthy ,
Pules the progress of events with miracles,
Agitation in a sense of meditative content takes,
Sighs at a large contentment over the place,
With a solemn glee possessing utterance of destiny.
Sajid Hussain Pakistan ©
Under the summer sun
The sounding skin wears dun
Hurling the beauty gathered in the winter
Wrinkle with the hot of sun gather
Like a dry ridges undone.
Why! Why this season's life so tough?
Just like a curved nail trying to straighten with fluff
Everyone voices like foghorn
As starving grows like grass with horn
When will the summer sun slough?
No season is certain!
Time for wet and dry must attain
Don't let the time of dry break you
Focus and ready to buckle your shoe
And ready for the summer train.
If you walk up to her right now
And before all eyes quickly bow,
She will you her night's bed allow;
Throughout the night address your slough,
Her lands release for you to plough,
Your rivals warm against a row,
Everything hand you but a dhow,
Because finding one knows not How...
If you walk up to her right now
And before all men act a cow
You're getting a sleek Hausa Cow.
Not in the next hour: "Right now".
It is no debate for sages:
Deserve worshipers their wages.
Flying, jumping from this bough to the bough
Chirping sharp, calling the friends over slough
The foggy smokes are walking away slowly
For the adult winter the rising sun is mossy
The sparrow couple is sipping from bean flowers
Over the plums there are dancing the warblers
Twittering songs enchant the pink rosy fragrance
With flapping wings the butterflies on buds trance
Thru the window glass the sunny ray is peeping
One cup of espresso is fixing my eyes to the link
To natural canvas my darling becomes obsessive
With these pleasure my soul in poetic verse trip
Nature is ever alive; nature is divine, true beauty
Where the chirping birds is the music of divinity
February 06, 2023
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Handcuffs for Chief Craig who snuffs!
No longer seems one who bluffs,
Empty his third boxed up Snuff;
I could not help “An Enough!”
The act capturing as duff,
Performer to nostrils rough…
Pity had I for Craig’s nose
Brownish Powder hoped to close:
Bad Air spreads each time it blows,
East/West: wherever it goes…
Craig’s fights with snuff getting tough,
Off Craig should his thick skin slough;
Keep I shall for him voice gruff
But for a Chief not him cuff.
Some days are like no other
Sparkling gemstones among the slough,
When everything goes perfectly
Days when you just can’t get enough
Of all the things making life worthwhile
Friends come to call, good news abounds
Antics of your children make you smile
Good deeds are making their rounds,
You feel like jumping up and down with glee
Nature has painted the sky a bright blue
Even the air smells liberating and free,
It’s a marvelous day to be uniquely you.
Written November 9, 2022
Renascence, commence
Out with the old
It’s time for the phoenix
The embers grow cold
Renascence, intense
Shedding one’s skin
Slough off the layers
And try to begin
Renascence, immense
No little change
Break it all down
A complete rearrange
Renascence, effulgence
Let it all shine
I could not have done it
Without the divine
————-
“Renascence”
for the This or That, Vol 14 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
written on 11/8/22
When we slough off this mortal coil,
it’s best we die on memory foam,
imprinted on the ones who toil,
the ones stuck cleaning out our home.
H/T to John Grinsell's Thoughts on dying
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