BLINDFOLD
I hear childrens voices
filled with laughter and noise,
hopscotched in endless streets,
mingling in sometime dreams.
I hear childrens laughter,
pitching above the hum drum,
of spectacled, so called carers all !
For your own good merchants.
I hear childrens tears falling,
In a rain storm of scary thunder,
beating a retreat in bricks and mortar.
Those merchants of care, no where.
I see the gaggle of childrens tongues,
burning in that mist of cordite,
spectators; comment do nothing.
Carers eyes burn in guilt and greed.
I see children, i see children,
I see nothing, commiting to human!
In hells morning, in flames of religion,
I see dead children, i see nothing.
Shh…..!
Don’t scare them away!
Let us watch this macabre dance
and enjoy the art in rivalry!
A battle between
two champions.
both in the arena,
armed with nothing
but
teeth and fangs,
stationed immobile
face to face,
eyes emitting sparks of ire.
A cobra
with spectacled hood wide
hissing and shrieking,
spitting fire and fume
and a mongoose
with bushy tail up.
Who would win
this murderous combat?
Yet to see!
Golly… gosh!
"Amid the jagged shadows of mossy
leafless boughs;"
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Earth Rips different
Not like cloth
tearing, sharp, painful sounds
Thicker cloth nêe bursts
baritone harshness
Ripping from earth, done
solemnly, knowing greater
calamitous unearthing is
certain, feels like bursting
Buttons, brief Eyelash
Flash of shock, something
missing, phantom pain some
Describe
My drying herbs, roots and all
Gave up this way, by my hand
As the 70' Norway Spruce Pine
in front of 30 Rock NYC
Slowly weeps tears of sweet sap
Squeezed from constricting veins
Machines surprising vast
Vascular networks of life below
Ground
Forced abscission really
Slowly dying, withering, shackled
In stantions for all to admire in
Spectacled holiday lights
Politicians virtue-signal righteous
Uses for its sublimated limbs
Sticks of assorted stature for
Sordid assignments...
I'll spice my curries
with my hand-pulled
Herbs
November
2019
I’ll never forget what’s her name;
That teacher who bored us to tears
Whose voice seemed to drone on and on
And lessons appeared to last years.
Her minuscule lacklustre eyes
Peered over a spectacled nose
No glimmer of passion in sight
No colourful facts to expose.
She reeled off the kings and the queens
The plight of Marie Antoinette,
Victorians, Tudors and wars
And all with a face firmly set.
I’ll never forget what’s her name
Oh how I was left uninspired.
It’s rumoured her smile first appeared
The day when at last she retired.
16.09.19
'I'll never forget what's her name contest' : sponsored by John Lawless
Traffic circle sloshing;
pedestrians pressing up
against tensile city regulations,
flashing horns and sweat,
university student afternoon,
wiping off iced coffee condensation.
I am a dedicated historian of
lunchtime stories and
park bench vignettes—
a spectacled lesbian runs her pinky
through her lover’s curly purple hair,
as she looks on at the cyclist, filled with regret,
stumbling to avoid the picnicking workers—
together by convenience and ambition—
who pity the down-on-their-luck in their dehydration,
trying to find a pillow on the steps of the fountain.
The rims of my glasses eliminate the peripheral,
underlining the weight of disjointed conversations:
a chuckle, a skipped step to avoid a puddle
sweeping the storefront, eroding the road,
I remain, trying to separate scenes from the bustling.
The circle never exists the same again.
What does it mean if I dream about you?
What does it means when I see your face in nothing…
ONCE UPON A TIME
I felt bold, placing an Ad in New York's Village Voice; see
I needed a friend, a guide, a conscientious lover of my choice
But as I read and read, one unusual two page letter
Stated that they'd be my slave, and loyal house sitter
That was start and end of that; but meanwhile,
I met a lonely young woman wanting to commit suicide
I showed her warmth, serenity, and rest; then I went to work
Leaving her with view of Hudson River, and lush trees in the park
That summer, I introduced her to her very own cozy space
Next door. Lo and behold, she found and looked like grace
One afternoon, as I hurried to fetch my usual subway train
This once lonely girl stopped to model her gold engagement ring
She stood hand in hand, with a spectacled gentleman I'd seen, so
I simply smiled, said farewell, and played back tapes of old scenes.
*
Love And Its Irony by Sumisha Chandan
With love right around the corner,
a checkered pink pant
fitted well with a manly mink
has its own alibi.
With a pink pant and the trinket down its part,
no one loves love for a while.
Loneliness takes you to the same corner
this time it is a white and a blue collar,
with black checkered pants.
You run into love this time
to find, it wearing a fine dress
around its corner.
You want it to come your way
but the ways have changed.
The distance is enough,
for a retake of the pink pant and the two piece collar.
You run towards the same corner
You find love waiting with its red dress,
waiting to be kissed & hugged.
You realize it's a mistake you make,
to think love comes in beautiful ways.
The next time you see a purple faced pant
don't forget to carry it home,
to stitch it well with pink.
'Cause it hurts
the love who could be yours,
sitting on the same corner
begging for someone
who could be you
A spectacled disaster!!!
cold rock, who's gnashing teeth
beget torn lips and tidy legs
loveless creature clothed in rind
future queen would nary pine
fondleproof my guest
gentle curls no effect
your veinous tarmac brings organasms arrest
abandoned crusades confer pontiffregrets
what! the spectacled porpoise awakens!
the breeze suffocates
the sun withdraws
now must I greet your desire and drain your ample limits
~La Gala Grandeur~
Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid
Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing
Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace
This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when...
...is then
~Azaza~ June 19th,2010
All my mortgage years
This featherless gosling flightless
Kept chickens for peers
Suffering gravity's wretched pain
While dreaming of the southland
Coded in my bones
Like a chicken I circled
The pond of tears, while the lake
Brimmed with spectacled
Difference of salt ambition
O how the memory hibiscus
Withering seared my heart!
I did not know I did not have to pay
For home if I let it go again
To the bankers that count day's
In piles of cents, I shed
The modern chain and fled the shed
Of tumbling debt to joy.
I shed her savage memory
That held like a cyclops
Gripped my fledgling history
And all the goats there
Were too starved to carry whom I am
Protege of the risen lamb
It was time....
The clock stopped ticking...
Hummed in bliss, a few dwarfs
And sprites.... somewhere....
Droopy leaves glistening in late-night dew
He slipped into the blanket of ink-blue sky
Comfortably snugged
In the pillow of pink clouds
I conjoured upon him
With a gentle kiss, wrapping him
In dreams woven by my lullaby
And I whispered....
" Sweet Night! My White Goblin"
The stars that spectacled
Marvelled subconsciously
At the thing called 'Love'
And burnt and vanished
In their own envy...
He leaves last
For he knows how hard it is
To let him go
And ere my eyes could open
He kissed 'em gently
And whispered
"Goodbye! My Sweet Champagne"
And I knew then that
It was time.......