Doming o'er his stature
A sparkling splash twinkles
Captured in a moment
The Squirrel frozen still.
Free and home
Roams in green.
Guard is thrown
Groan from hose
Splashes shown.
Bewitching Beauty,
Whence hast come this unique skill--
Shooting darts at will--
Thy skill O to hit man’s heart
By sheer merit, not with dart!
___________________________
Translation (Tanka) | 28.08.2025 | beauty, heart, arrow
Note: Here is a verse (in Anushtubh meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Here the poet wonders from where has she learnt the skill to hit man’s heart, without ever releasing any arrow. Here is the transliteration:
Mugdhe dhanushkata keyam
Apurva tvayi drshyate |
Yaya vidhyasi chetamsi
Gunaih eva na sayakaih || 3 ||
.
i had thuh one
Such hern
she
Kiss'd mine lips
Pled uv me
oh did
she
Ink by thuh inch
Az hern frenetic mitt's
Digits
Stir’d
mine see’z think
mine imagine
vanish’d
unto whut
y'all
uv my
spill'd
read
tap
*yourn: 1350–1400; Middle English, equivalent to,
your + -n, as in mine 1
(i uv course)
')
Monalisa is smiling there, mounted on the wall,
eternally to be understood and felt along
I saw many digital mimicry,of this, many carbon copies,
but never the original subtlety of a song
That never meant to belittle you, the one who works in a subway
to earn with six inches,or even a footlong
I never knew if facebook portal could allow her to rank the smiley
of our sibling photoshoot, fading for so long.
Many years flew by, to revere the painting, but never the original lifeline, to let down the trickling warmth,
rolling down, winning the gravity of a sunday and unsung.
Did I ever tell you, the sunlit sun has a way to reflect upon
The pupils of the bright eyes, my morning chant, and often one muse, lifelong?
whence con clues on, about intellectual depth and wrong!
Whence are sonnets sung, full-throated and deep,
with bars of dulcet bliss sweetly echoing;
how inspired rhymes, so happily tuned, make thee weep
within thine innermost, and lofty, being?
Such work of genius the divine inspires,
so purely expressed are those lines profound,
that through the ages light Avalon's sacred pyre,
and lift the lover's heart to realms heaven-bound.
But what Muse's audience can godlings know,
tap powers bane, and forces pro-elliptic;
or with mind, bolts of inspired lightning throw,
work miracles through prophets hypo-manic?
These strange, rare, bizarre, but beautiful minds,
are lightning loosed from superhuman kinds!
From Whence You Came
Lie straight, lie bent
It is all the but smooth
The fur upon your back,
As your tongue rolls over
All the same, all the same
The eye quivers in sight
Behold! There comes nothing
But a sad, sudden light
Come forth! Forward, you go
For I am all the same
All the same, all the same
Warmth brightly tickles
Every standing fur on your back
Haste not away, for the warmth
Is not easily driven away
For it is all the same, all the same
Spiral inward and out
Come away and come again
I love you–the warmth
The lightness of your purr
The excitement lit in dull corners
For I love you all the same, All the same
What can presence possibly write about,
except bliss that enlivens feeble form,
caress sublime, that erases all doubt,
engulfing heart in love’s magnetism warm?
Transcending fear, we plunge into the storm,
one with the universe, penning a verse,
of soul’s vibrance, with no need to rehearse.
.
'twuz 'hind an orchard
'long a bumpkin's
road
where'st she caught me
in her rain barrel
white yet
burnt
unto mine
red
yup
whilst mine jeanz
dry'n
on an old
mailbox
post
In regards to contemplating life
What do you yourself think you will see
Flash before your very own eyes
Supposedly if what they say is true
That what actually happens and you see
Just before you are about to die
Personally just for me
I hope and pray and trust
It certainly isn't or will be
The color of money
Or any of the faces or heads
That have ever appeared on them
As I cannot miss what I never had
Or placed no actual real true value in
Otherwise I might as well have
Never have been here
Or been alive in the
" 1st place "
As I have gained nothing of worth
Over my entire lifetime here
To take with me
Or memories to leave behind me
And therefore also should in real terms
Not nor never be
Missed
As after all what on earth did I or my life
In actuality really stand for
If all I actually loved and truly cared about was
Money
As money can't buy me love
The dragon
goddess sits upon
clouds of pure
white, watching
countless ponds of countless koi,
seeking the most rare
and wondrous
from the myriad
mass to be
transformed, freed
from gravity to become
dragons in the clouds.
Whence and Hence Dear Lord
David J Walker
The Father of Heaven knows best
I guess
Mother Mary hear our prayers
Are these the stars
Are we the heirs
Is this the dust from whence
We came
And hence we shall return
Dear Lord
I shall go hence
back whence I sprung
to shed, disgorge, eviscerate
all that I have ever known
all that I have ever learned
all that I am
all that is me, I be.
A full hard refresh
to be what I could be
untainted, smirched
unbiased, neutered.
Hence to whence
and thence I be,
freely
impotent.
Whence passed the verse of bitter love
The words of birds and trees that sing
To what age belongs the voice of muses sweet
How long since poet parsed a thing
A man could understand? a line that
Speaks emotions, curdles the blood of men
Or makes the blithe spirit soar upward
Moves a wounded heart to make a tear; then
Gently wipes the tear and make the grief complete?
Not long ago the sigh invoked by careful lines
Was heard, but alas is heard no more.
The passages set down in haste do not belie
That they are something of a dreadful bore,
And I have sought a piece with gentle tone
To find that published poems read like Webster's page
Laid out in patterns, yet are cold as stone.
L. Milton Hankins, 1968
Alive in me,
A crystal sea.
A growing tree,
It needs to be.
Incased in flesh,
A Spirit's breath,
A vine, a mesh,
Past time or death.
Words flow,
I know sometimes,
They're mine...
Others though seem
So sublime.
Where do the springs
Of poems flow from?
A universe of awesome things?
They flow, they fly
As if on wings.
Words wake us,
Take us,
Lift us up,
They pour out
Onto paper cup.
We drink them in,
We sing a hymn.
We sink, we fly,
To depths or high.
A poet's life,
Through joy or strife,
Poured out to see,
Complexity.
Let the seeds grow,
Sow and plant.
A joyous song,
A tear, or rant.
The living ink well,
flows through a pen,
It ebbs or swells
In us again.
Whence souls depart, and rise above.
What comes to pass, no push and shove.
As air lifts up the rising dove.
We get atonement for our love.
Angels on high, greet us, up there.
Their wings aloft, with their angel hair.
The brightness of the place we rest.
Bestowed on us, for doing our best.
Then God steps in, and sees us there.
And gives to us, our angel hair.
Our wings are short, not yet to bear.
We show our love, and then declare.
God guides us though the clouds above.
What comes to pass, no push and shove.
As air lifts up the rising dove.
We get atonement for our love.
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