Textual Poems

Social Media Princess

We first met coasting the blurred lines
of the information superhighway. We 
exchanged polite words and respectful
kindness, though we seldom saw or heard
each other.

I am the old man of touch and eye contact,
you are the princess of text and illusions.
I adapt to your hot realms, to your affinity
for glittering screens because past and future,
old and young are but shadows cast 
over the now. 

Once I learned the rules, I believed in you.
You are alive and fragrant within the text
you deliver each moment of each day.
In the photos you send, in the stories you share,
you thrive and brighten my journey!  

Social Media Princess,
my apps erect you through your words,
like the heroine I love in my favorite novel,
the perfect Eidolon in my dreams.
You return, making your offerings 
again, and again. I somehow hear your
whispering words soothing my
solitary hungry heart. I somehow awaken
to your textual passion and kindness,
                           to my love and longing for you.

The Fifth has Fallen

the fifth has fallen
cold, dark and mysterious
as votes are counted
cream pies no longer aiming
free land’s textual silence

Sublimity a Freed Verse

SUBLIMITY
fantasy
 explored
sentimrnt
  romanrtised

pleasing
  feeings
embidied
in
a
winding
 sparklinh
future
a foretaste
of
convention
  splashed
in
textual
theatre

complexity
  confounded
in a
stunning
respose

Seclusion An Open Form

SECLUSION
observed
patterns
 transcribed
in
creativeness
&the
reception
 in paradoxes
o
literal
originality

quality
fragmented
with
mandatory
fidelity
inwith
the
existence
to
preserve
a
 willingness
 undertaken
in
textual
      alternate
deviation

The End of Herstory

The End of Herstories

It used to be called senility
now Alzheimer’s, or dementia
but in Agatha’s case I’d choose
primary progressive aphasia
in which her language capabilities
slowly and progressively became
impaired as the author of more
than eighty novels lost the ability
to swim in the Alphabet Soup.

Postmortem textual analysis
suggests her vocabulary decreased
by fifteen to thirty percent.
And was her last mystery
“Elephants Can Remember”
an explanation or 
a cry for help?

Sick Words

(A linguistic experience)

Was there any argument that justified 
the existence of the word-disease?
something more was said of this 
at the beginning of the completion of the understanding
who disputed any logos establishing the new negative balance
on the influence of the word on the general condition 
of the illiterate impatient patient?
scary demon-letters! 
they run through the phrasal labyrinth 
and the fat of leftover vowels
it smears the verbal walls and there is no law 
that limits the limit of the limitless
sick phonemes accept any pain 
there is no medicine and there is no leaflet insert 
it is all unpredictability
I've been using gerunds around 
like when who doesn't know
or not knowing in all a textual body
goes astray to where they call where...

It Was Written

i got caught
thinking again
and stupidly took

the bait
thus setting
off the trap but

this was
linguistically
more me then a

mouse because
i kept thinking
Faulkner

but f
uck me
Dickenson
 
misquoting
so not to
be sued

about a best
and a worse
time and i'm

thinking i'm
living on the
border line

thank god not
the actual
textual

line but i
can feel
the way

i write
and how
stereotypically

i look as i look
back on and 
in the mirror 

realizing hey
that's not
or yes

thats
me

Structures

structures of our existence
rankle like fire spewed by a volcano
figurative patterns form by natures way
elements of destruction thought beautiful
mesmerize in formed flight...pathways labeled 
“fixed” doesn’t matter where...up close 
and personal through barriers of sight
textual wisdom reminders washed away by the
flow of existence slowly and surely making its way
stars pinpointed reflect glowing embers
sonic blasts never heard by anyone except trees
one tree falling, one hand clapping never more to
be heard across eternities of the ages.

Anxiety of the Missing

revolutions 
   in the ear
reiterations
  of textual 
        slapstick
mimesis
 mimicry
complicit
in verbal gestures
occupying
    verbal spaces
accessing
   language
shapes
spaces...
    scents
of secrets
    lingering...
               ...lingering

Tribute To Shakespeare

TRIBUTE TO SHAKESPEARE ( APRIL 23 BIRTHDAY)
O! Bard of Avon
You are second to none
Never went to university
But popularised universally
Reigned the Elizabethan age
With unbeatable craze
Caught the pulse of audience
With your textual themes
What a creative plots designed
How beautifully you portrays the characters
Your works still alive & updated
Which reflects old & new world
You are a source to critics
With your plots & sonnets
Undoubtedly you are irreplaceable
Words aren't enough to praise you
The world is indebted to your contribution
With ever lasting impression & passion
We cherish & Share your memories 
To the next era with pleasure
Long Live !! Long Live Shakespeare.

Penned by
Arun Kumar swarna
PGT ENGLISH

Short Forms

mainstream 
                detours,
meeting,formalising
in
   pared
             down
                       measures:
erudite
peculiar
often despised
yet full 
             of meat!
elevated 
              by genius,
creative
reactive,
              textual
              metaphors
of
     poetic
               novelty

Sequenced Forms

credible
         diologue,
pervasive
graphic
amalgam
          of forms-
infused
by the poetic
became
             visual
             textual
ideograms

Teenage Human

I’m not a Teenager,
I’m Human,
Sometimes,
Parents think I’m an alien,
Strange language,
Textual misdemeanours,
Designed to confuse, bemuse,
Abhorrent behaviour,
Perpetual beautification,
It’s just a phase.
Maybe.

I Can'T Forget

I wake
cold and uneasy .
Fitful, next to 
fate’s anonymity.

The savannah interior
frees me,
from local textual thoughts,
and the worlds addiction.

Refused
the inheritance 
of earlier memory.
The girl, a dream of trains and weight returns.

We had histories
You know!
Rain washed lives,
late to change, distant in the burden of experience.


And I think I called
her,
but in burnt mornings
the words scrabble for numerical sense.

Always my superior,
I couldn’t arrange
for my sentence
to compete.

Not when your up against a champ!

I lull, 
back to Solomon’s song,
the morning of sleep
and dark water.

I believe,
my phantom body, 
has fooled me again,
and recite………….

I can’t remember to forget you

Tired Babylon

Tired Babylon

poor tattered remnants of great babylon
through poets works walls left battered and worn
she stands a sign of glory all long gone
so used the land is once again forlorn
the erudite temple is all that stands
whose textual beauty is all but dry
the desert realm left far more arid lands
but in these words shan't ever say goodbye
a new paradise needs to soon be found
still fabled ruins haunt each poets mind
forcing the over used into the ground
originals so rarely get enshrined
the legends and centuries do sing
leaving great babylon the reigning king

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