VerseCraft

The incredible tale of Aofus Azarae

2011-11-07T11:41:00.000+08:00

For a monkey to be called an owl,
is an insult of the order 'most foul'.
For it reeks of a sneer most grim
as the one is wise and the other dim.

Yet he endures it night by night,
stays in the dark past natural fright,
he gave up all the hues of day
to be there when she comes to play.

Cupid's not pulled a surer dart
his mind obeys his headstrong heart
In her soft glow he'll sing and swoon
for this monkey verily loves the moon

Tripping (rap attempt)

2011-10-15T14:23:00.004+08:00

trippin up high,
makin my playlist on the fly,
cause I
em,
never shy
seeing music gonna try

Old Love

2011-10-05T15:29:00.001+08:00

Young love is passionate and tumultuous, It is like the boiling river and does not wish to be restrained. It is single minded and waxes your discontent and wanes your interest in things other than the object of your attention.

The distracting force creates a drab gray world in the background against which the shining beacon of you desire burns brilliantly. No other beauty is as beautiful, no other thing as precious and no other desire which is stronger.

Set against this the experience of old love.

Like the ocean it is sure of its depth, It reaches out and wants to touch things around in wonder as if seeing life in all its glory for the first time. It creates curiosity and zest for life.

It is a satisfying surety that makes the world richer, food finds new flavor and pursuits find new vigor. The object of your affection is a brilliant light that makes the whole world brighter and reveals its myriad colors and textures.

Translations: Bhor

2011-09-16T11:45:00.002+08:00

This is the literal translation of 'Bhor' by Indian Ocean (at least its my interpretation)

"
As dawn breaks
a tired flying bird
lands on a scented branch
The sweet perfume
captures his heart
magical with myriad hues

Breath by breath
love works its magic
And time and again
it does the unexpected
Why choose this branch?
What of reason and will?

The bird contemplates
which sky to fly
Where is better than here
a warm golden honey
seems to cover his wings
mind loses the will to move

Even his murder is such
he dies wealthy and contended
By strange machinations of fate
the hunter throws such a net
It scatters him to the winds
One with the sky, high
He finds his real flight
"

I guess it does seem a bit lost in translation

Translation: Phir Dekhiye

2011-09-16T11:26:00.004+08:00

This is the literal translation of 'Phir Dekhiye' from the soundtrack of the movie 'Rock on' it's sung by Caralisa Monterio and the Lyricist is Javed Akhtar

"Those who have some dream in their eyes
The ones who are happy are the ones
who are a little restless

In your life let yourself have
something you desire
and then see...

Those who have a song on their lips
Even when they lose
they still win

Allow yourself to hum the song
that's in your heart
and then see...

For those, who have
someone in their memories
Every evening is like a dream

Let there be somebody, who,
you give your heart to
and then see...

Weave a few dreams,
hear a few songs,
pick a few flowers
and then see..."

Original song here

Twice Truly Terrible

2011-09-15T15:14:00.001+08:00

Of all the creatures of the night

That bathe in ink and shun the light

There is one above the rest to fear

The one to never venture near

Of all the toothed taloned beasts

Of thirsts debauch and grisly feasts

To chance and fate and God entreat

Pray that you mayn’t ever meet

me

I pick a shard and spit the whole
I hit and jar and wring the soul
To me! to me! Ye savage horde
Who pegs the morsels you devour

me

In countless tales who's vilified
for rage & lust & greed & pride
and though the brain may play a part
Its me! I am the human heart

Barren

2011-09-15T13:59:00.001+08:00

No use for prose,
even for form,
for rhymes I found no use.

Bereft of those,
I was forlorn,
Sorely I've missed my muse.

lost farewell

2011-09-13T14:49:00.001+08:00

With a quiet, lost farewell I leave,
this path that you are walking.

No role is there for words to play
when silence has been talking.

Though you never looked this way,
I have held your hand so long.

Warmth of my grip will fade to quetch;
just how you did me wrong.

impairment.con

2011-04-30T15:31:00.005+08:00

To keep up with your racebook
I'd be completely linked-out
If you could even frugal search
You'd still miss my clog-spout

For I don't sweet on bitter
Not liked on peekaboo-tube
Not playing with my waahoo
A total wherewhatwho boob.

Productive nor contented
not informed and not amused
The more I try connecting
the more I feel abduced...

Thistle's tale (Part 1)

2010-12-12T22:04:00.000+08:00

Now Thistle was a merry lad,

his face was round and plain.

His placid smile did well belie,

the four score he had slain.

Rounded arms and pudgy fat

hid a strong a supple frame.

Simple folk had birthed him,

but cryptic he became.

In the keep his secret life

was known to just a few.

These stood in wary awe of 'him'

most, thought, they liked and knew.

In both his lives he served the king

doled out his praise and his rebuke.

Right hand, did, yield a nasty blade,

left strummed his minstrel's lute.

Love is nothing extraordinary

2010-12-04T23:03:00.001+08:00

Care not for the passionate
first kiss on fruity lips
but for the careful brushing on the faded

Forget that moment
which spans an eternity
Revel in that eternity that is endured stoically

It is much harder to live
and work for love
than to die in that moment of crazed infatuation

Love finds its true greatness in the ordinary
Love is nothing extraordinary

Random lyrics

2010-11-29T12:16:00.000+08:00

So what,
if you've got
a nice facade?
You're ugly
in the detail!

Won't do,
much for you,
shiny and shod.
Your booty's
up for retail!

Ever try and
run really wild?
Did you try 'be free'?
Open up your
frightened eyes.
Quit mocking me.

The fiend of survival

2010-11-17T15:10:00.004+08:00

Like a pristine sapphire quarry in the clarity of dawn

Before the industrious griffin of avaricious labor descends

No enchanted realm this, no dearth of homely settled dust

Yet there glistens the azure certitude of the prospect and pain

Mutely sardonic with intermittent cascades of effervesce and serene

As if wrestling with esoteric cynicism of even the penultimate relief

Smile never reaching her eyes, hunger never quenching her heart

She takes my hand as we go jointly to another death of innocence

Used the picture prompt

All words used from the word banks: Penultimate , Esoteric, Quarry, Sapphire, Glisten, Cynicism, Sardonic, Serene, Realm, Cascade, Dearth, Effervesce, Homely, Enchanted, Pristine, Silence, Griffin, Clarity, Jointly, Certitude

You make me sick

2010-11-16T16:50:00.001+08:00

There is a throbbing in my chest
that makes my gums bleed
I want us to be friends
Just piddle in the pool!

Stand by me or lead away
Confide in me and hide with me
Spin the cylinder, where will it stop?
So why bother about me wanting more?

I long to be for you
You make me sick

The promise

2010-10-22T13:57:00.002+08:00

Lingering kiss of a distant flower, sweet and unseen
cold pins that bite my lips and warm me deep
Which sense is false or have I been dead?
Will this softness kill? How won't I touch?
Dew drops that run down lustrous curves
Each savored anon but fans my yearning
Unfathomable longing for the promised glimpse
A promise never spoken but never withheld

Perpetuous

2010-09-05T10:51:00.004+08:00

It is an odd place for mortals.

It’s not surprising that they can more easily conceptualize places where no life can ever exist than understand such a place. Without ‘death’ they lose the cause and justification for their societies, families, work, and growth.

Nowhere does the absence of death’s surety leave a more unfathomable void than the two pursuits that often come to be central to their pitiable existence; worship and love.
For a time, when they first arrive, they cannot even comprehend their own existence. Let alone come to terms with the fact that ‘here’ such existences are commonplace.
To be continued...

The lonely path

2010-08-22T17:43:00.005+08:00

I've stood by since you were born
new life prevails within my grace.
Dark or fair none will I scorn
nor wait upon a time or place.

Of meeting death are all assured
yet few do so with equanimity.
You rue that life is so unsure
then reprobate my certainty.

The flare of pain or angst's storm
are all stains on souls that I erase.
Yet few, ever, see me with warmth
and all will shrink from my embrace.

I squarely trudge my lonely trail
and tend to all placed in my care.
For every trust that life will fail.
Can lay to rest 'cause I am there.

Expectations,

2010-08-12T12:28:00.000+08:00

Surreptitious devotion
tumultuous emotion
breathless anticipation
underwhelmed heartbreak

Entwined and writhed
after, in reflective pause
breathing on each other
a startling discovery

Poets, bards and authors
They all lie,
For one can, only ever,
gaze into an 'eye'

Which sin is this?

2010-08-03T12:24:00.002+08:00

Not nearly brave enough

to try and quell this baying

too weak to even hate enough

to get comfort from the slaying

Throwing stones, not just, in pity

There's some comfort in death

I want to choke this riding guilt

that surges with every breadth

Is it they that kill humanity

faces contorted with savage lust

or does it see my fear and die

smothered in its own disgust

Like licking toads

2010-06-05T22:42:00.002+08:00

The world's an alien artifice,
that skimmed 'feel', it can't nice,
anxiety 'll make you broke.

Mint gum, just chew on it
Strong bean, go brew from it
Each bold an even stroke.

Fear fuels that deep blue funk
Compromises and all that junk
Conforming is the joke.

'dream' tax; ain't collectible
'different' not just 'respectable'
indulge 'it' till you croak.

Course

2010-05-18T15:51:00.006+08:00

The macabre graffiti
of dribbled humors,
raped shards of some
vanilla existence,
'Vanilla' not in its endurance
but by its prevalence.

Ragged throngs of
unresponsive wretches,
The discarded yet
balefully defecated temples,
quickly forgotten but
never forgiven gods.

Crushed throats, broken wings
and frightening loneliness,
gauged eyes, mutilated hearts
and bleeding ears.
The vain conducting the meek.
Gross paying dearly for waste.

Wake up you are not yet dead!

Rend the fetters of delusion,
hear the chafing cries of truth,
fathom the obdurate pain
of grieving wombs,
spit the bitter bait of futility
and requite for an aeon of guilt.

Move the mountains,
thresh up storms,
grapple fast and
churn the world,
To save it,
Change yourself.

Now, before and forward

2010-04-22T15:18:00.003+08:00

Unerringly I've
sifted, like, past
dirt and turns of dark and day.

Reasoned if
time is patient
then it must have its way.

Just a gentle,
glancing touch,
like a tiny almost smile.

'A brook returns
a drop of sun'
with me for, just, such a while.

Now my boughs,
laden with fruit,
of patient years of labored love.

Near, seem to have
been keeping me
from dreams I've not been dreaming of.

And must I regret,
fore'er, I e'er met
that one fleeting breadth of air.

How do I spurn
my world to turn
for that which may, now, ne'er be there.

Dual

2010-04-22T15:17:00.000+08:00

Curled from this world.
I've tried, e'er, it lied.
bliss; remiss
Where is my share?
I cry.

Notes: Each line rhymes with itself

Fairytale

2010-01-05T16:08:00.005+08:00

Oh my diamond shining bright.
Let me be your prince tonight.
A little longer lets pretend.
I got, still, some more to spend.

You know what I say is true.
Cause I can say and feel it too.
I'll love you with all my heart.
You, just, have to play the part.

Two long shifts and overtime.
Give you each and every dime.
Worth it just to see you smile.
To hold you, if, just for a while.

I don't see the other girls,
calling in their silk and pearls.
let'em taunt and let'em burn.
I'll just wait here for my turn.

Oh my diamond shining bright.
Let me be your prince tonight.
A little longer lets pretend.
I got, still, some more to spend.

The Showgirl

2010-01-05T16:02:00.002+08:00

Surely it's not the flame's fault;

That it exposes the coarse
and chides the charlatans
for playing with it.
That it embraces the quick
and refuses the slag.

Does it not dance?
Is it not pure?

Why then may I not love her?

The searching civet

2009-12-16T15:46:00.004+08:00

He'd lived a long and carefree life
No special flings and ne'er a wife
In all his passing years about
Kept to his like, and ne'er without
Some gaiety for his little fife

Then one steamy muddled noon
soaked and wrinkled like a prune
he could not stop airing his song
for coquetting it all night long

and to great peril to his girth
he kept up with his boisterous mirth
with little paid to who would hear
when in the day there's lots to fear
for all his kind here on this earth

She was the wood's fatal allure
cold prowess in a form demure
moved with purpose of the wind
auger doom whene'er she grinned

and she found him singing loud
tottering so foolishly proud
she puzzled; "is it good to eat?"
twas not her usual kind of meat
yet she quickly had him cowed

She hadn't seen a toad before,
her time about, his time to snore,
she sniffed and just a careful lick
test if those tiny spurs would prick

That tiny lick filled her with bliss
where nothing had set her for this
twas dreaming with her open eyes
one with the wonder of the skies
and such just from a fleeting kiss

So this licentious tryst began
buzz through the avid thicket ran
with him so dour against her sheen
for such a love was never seen

for as her wit now had her choose
don't haste to kill the golden goose
She picked her paw and let him go
and even smiled just for the show
he’d had no hope for getting loose

In such a haze the days go by
Each of them on a different high
Friends he drops, now, on her whim
She says she can’t be sharing him

So pleased he was with her regard
Time before seems now so marred
He’s reached a place, he can belong
She strives to keep his venom strong
With caladium leaf and stalk of chard

So more seasons come and go
Her need for him just seems to grow
There’s risk when running at the van
Their story’s not in nature’s plan

While he’s content, with her, to wait
The time has come for him to mate
He must pay what is fair exchange
more and more he's feeling strange
Unsure of what is now his fate

As nature’s cruel joke get’s played
Leaving him flustered and dismayed
The color of his throat goes dim
He’s, now, turned to ‘her’ from ‘him’

And as if that were not overmuch
The new ‘she’ needs no other touch
She finds shes also bearing fruit
and has a fear now most acute
of what 'she’d' do with matters such

She just sneaks away one night
With no way out, now, of her plight
nose to ground, she now runs bowed
They say she's looking for her toad

Entropy

2009-12-15T16:03:00.009+08:00

Awareness came as a distinctly uncomfortable sensation crawling up his throat.

This time his eyes opened to the ship for the first time at 1325.287.22.57.012 just as the final AATRT was withdrew from his person.

He smiled with that unique satisfaction reserved for those special small comforts that take hundreds of rebirths to tweak to perfection.

Status downloads started almost immediately;

Maintaining cruise velocity

Adequate fuel economy

Hull degradation within standard variation

All 300,000 sarcophagi were maintaining optimum function. Passengers, who would arrive at their destination after 3000 years of interstellar travel, in the pink of health, just like they started out

All this was normal and expected.

The next ’status update’ was not.

All three co-pilots, him included, were coming out of ‘automated accelerated tissue regeneration’ and ‘period memory restoration’ procedures which were related to full body loss.

While it was normal and expected for one of the three co-pilots to suffer permanent body loss from time to time in their 3000 year voyage. It was decidedly strange to have circumstances that could breach the procedures and measures that were in place to prevent it happening to two or all three of them at the same time.

A quick scan showed that there was no major disaster recorded recently on the vessel. The most probable cause for something so bizarre but also a huge improbability given the ‘so recent’ bland status update and evidently also not the case.

Strange

The AI automatically downloads the latest information in the system and also the latest memories of the three pilots every three hours. Since he cannot remember anything so violent, the anomaly must have occurred less than three hours ago.

Definitely something worth investigating

After the automated assurance of the Ship’s well being his first conscious thought is for Lt. Apsara.

His love and single minded obsession for over a thousand years

That her regeneration is programmed to finish just an hour after his tells him that whatever it was got to him first.

The tissue regeneration processor is almost done with its work and currently her memory bank is restoring her brain to its most recent stored state.

He can’t resist the almost perverse impulse to peek at her pristine face through the internal camera of her sarcophagus. It’s not against the regulations but is considered a violation of personal space.

Her features fill his senses and his obsession overtakes him.

He is consumed by the desire to know if she too feels anything for him.

In an act now flirting with illegality he orders his display to relay her current memory download sequence.

Memory download data is the sum of all sensory retention of a person cross indexed with the thought impulses. Sight, sound, taste, touch everything right down to the basic pheromone reception is recorded.

And it does not spare him

He feels her deep affection and primal lust.

The kind of madness made possible by many centuries of deprivation of physical human contact.

She has had one obsession since the beginning of this journey.

One impression, a tryst that happened a thousand years ago during this ship's last port of call, which pervades in the majority of her thoughts.

It’s not for him. It’s not his cologne, his shampoo, his voice or even is profile.

He scans the processes and quickly finds the answer.

She wants Joe Bing

A parallel routine brings up Joe’s status as being 22 minutes to restoration.
In time with hers

Rigged as he is, for being a co-pilot for an interstellar transport, with his mind plugged straight into the computer systems, the strong emotional impulse triggers the unthinkable, it’s interpreted as a command by the system and after a confirmation he doesn’t realize in the oncoming panic Joe is executed.

He’s a murderer

In just 18 minutes she will be a witness and she’ll hate him for sure.

And after the voyage, after 3000 years of service, he can look forward to being punished and loathed by her.

He doesn’t want her to hate him

She can’t be a witness

Extreme agony as another wild impulse is executed.

A status monitor informs him that he has 12 minutes before his periodic memory backup and for his crime to be recorded for perpetuity.

He deletes the last system log

The panic won’t go away

What if he’s still left a trace?

His memory; living with the guilt for a thousand years.

He sets his own regeneration on priority

And orders his own body loss

The ship hurtles towards its destination with its sleeping passengers

Awareness came as a distinctly uncomfortable sensation crawling up his throat...

Obligingly contrary

2009-12-08T19:02:00.001+08:00

I'd be a knight on a warhorse with a cross and an astrolabe
I'd be a hermit in the mountains with consuming aesthete
I'd be a spartan in the stadium with insatiable appetites
I'd be a naturalist getting obscenely high on broadband
I'd be a savage with an axe and a penchant for books

I know something about everything and all about nothing
I make acquaintances easily and friends almost never
I am painfully polite and can be frighteningly sincere
I scare, easily, but I like to stare down my fear
I love to travel and often transit to dreams
I'm always truthful but never honest
I love to run but I long to fly

I love my life but I want to live a dozen others too

59

2009-12-01T18:12:00.009+08:00

one broke a nail
and cried and cried
two drank too much
and three just died

four had a job,
got shored away
where five has gone,
six just wont say

seven and eight
and nine and ten
found eleven had
a thing for men

twelve took a ride
with all the teens
the itch wont go,
know what it means?

from twenty on
to twenty nine
skinned to make
this stuff of mine

thirty acres
green as jade
burnt to ash
a road is made

thirty one to
start and end
what's in between
may luck forfend

from thirty two
to fifty six
breed and raise
to watch the tricks

fifty seventh
Charley found
nine point five
and round around

fifty eight adds
seven primes
blink and Lo!
we're out of time

our count has come
to fifty nine
nor fast nor slow
nor rough nor fine

is life just all the
things we know
all that we miss
where does it go?

Death of a Poet

2009-11-24T22:12:00.016+08:00

so now I won't know you
just cut you from my heart
somehow its not for you
this "till death do us part"

of each reverie I e'er lay
are none fit to be true
on every air a sour play
must now you sign anew

portray your every nuance
nine quivers of your lip
paint you a very fair chance
you up and break the tip

how not to be a cynic?
no words will come to me
have you no care for lyric?
you'll kill the poetry

it passes from existence
a score e'er meant to be
It could've scaled a distance
what you despoiled with glee

enjoy but 'ware contrition
how now you translate?
eternity in fond rendition
no longer in your fate

Note: Not intentioned but I think this is a bit over dramatic and even a touch humorous

You loved me best

2009-11-23T22:33:00.004+08:00

Like spent grind
used and discarded
I am the waste left to perish
You loved me best
and peeled me quickly
with the economy of relish

Like a bald rock
smoothened by caresses
I no longer try to reach out
You loved me best
and were quietly corrosive
with your well meaning doubts

Like steppe grass
dried and lifeless
I must wait to be scorched
You loved me best
you exhausted my spirit
Who cares how now I am torched

Reckoning

2009-11-22T01:13:00.016+08:00

Before my eyes are open
I start to fight my war
my nightmare's just beginning
when I can sleep no more

As I'm laying down to sleep
I call up on the god
giving him my soul to keep
don't think I like my odds

I run to air my conscience
I run to heal my scars
I run to hide my failings
I know I can't get far

I know I'm worse than guilty
and the jury's not my friend
its got me cold and sweating
wont let me fate fore fend

I long for what is normal
freed from this sullen sky
I'm scared and worn of panic
wish I had tears to cry

I fall from lies and trickery
I fall in this show bizarre
I fall for everything I did
can't take things as they are

One day they'll see my colors
they'll know what I have done
put me in a cell with me
the dark and light'll be one

How will I see the mirror
with what to wash the stain
can't bare looking into those eyes
how will I face my pain

I hid I heard it coming
I hid from that fateful day
I hid but I was feckless
no more glib words to say

Small Things

2009-11-12T23:58:00.006+08:00

It is the faintest of blushes
and if you don't know her
as well as I do
you'd never notice it

but every morning
when he first kisses her
she blushes, every morning,
ever since I can remember

He'll kiss her,
she'll blush,
he'll reach to hug her
and she'll bolt

Then he'll roll over
to his favorite spot
where she just was
where its still cool from her

And he'll smile
warm smiles for everyone
a really odd old couple
they're my friends

then there's that brat
who flits across the fields
never washes his face
a big ball of dust and straw

he loves to startle the crows
and run off with old ben's hat
he'll rattle the hen house
and they'll cluck like popping corn

No one knows where he came from
and only god knows where he goes
but he lightens up hereabouts
and for that hes my friend

I also like the old lady, very much
with her white snowy tresses
her gentle swaying
and her hushed, rustling, whispers

Often when
curious young city couples
will come to watch me work
she'll watch them watch me

I've worked every day, now,
for eighty five years
And I still stand straight backed
and work with no complaints

So what if I'm out in the rain?
and I have to work through storms
till my arms literally creak
So? I'm a bit scared of lightening.

But, if someone was to ask me;
Wheres the wealth of my years?
its not in all the mundane laboring
it's in the little bits

Notes: from the point of view of the windmill

Basking in the sun

2009-11-08T13:45:00.015+08:00

A little Gecko

in the sun.

A riddling bit

for everyone.

Is today so

lazy for real?

or is she just

an easy meal?

Did she chance
under some feet?
Who killed the birds
that like such treats?

This must foretell
some major strife.

How could she

really have a life?

What is perfection?

2009-11-07T19:15:00.002+08:00

If symmetry is beauty
then find me odd
Each fleck should mirror
and the rose is flawed

Else

As we, all are, so often, wont in life
to openly flaunt, our blemish, to hide
drink in my form and read my eyes
and forget about the other side

Note: Inspired by a picture prompt:

with all due credit:

http://www.trendhunter.com/images/phpthumbnails/42744_1_468.jpeg

Teletrained

2009-11-07T00:29:00.011+08:00

With the click of a button
I arrived
just in time
to witness four hundred
and forty two die!

A son tries to dig out his mother
with his fingernails,
as the world watches,
unsuccessful!
Tries again!
too stressful!
I click before I realize I'm doing it.

A wall of water,
towering, over a city!
one man can save them

Click...

He had a vest,
full of nastiness,
and he wants
to make a better world,
for the daughter he loves.

Click, sorry!

Bored now

I look out the other window

Two 'must be twenties'
loitering by the bin,
grab empty beer bottles

they shadow a 'Gran'
into the alley below...

I'm really not in the mood

Maybe there's something else to see

Kid Dangerous's lament

2009-11-06T00:00:00.004+08:00

From the fingertip
to the shoulder blade
barely moved to carve
this mess I made

The strength was
forged by daily work
but this devilish speed
came in the murk

Where days they
tilled six inch of dust
six feet in but beats
of vengeful lust

How to cup the
tools of my disgrace
what now to use
to hide my face

They came at me high
and at me low
and I sent them on
where I daren't go

I'd banish myself,
too, from these lands
but wheree're I go
I'll have these hands

Note: Written from the perspective of a gunslinging cowboy who lives by his hands and deals death out with them too.

No Kidding! Look again!

2009-11-04T23:11:00.000+08:00

No kidding! Really?
But you look so fair!
I would've sworn you were white!

I'm not really racist,
and though, you may run fast,
your guys really aren't, too, bright!

They're a tad stingy,
and not quite so fair,
them, ones, with the beady eyes!

And those brown chicks
They're all so smoking!
And they're really into white guys!

All whites are red necks!
All Indians really nerdy!
and all the blacks really well endowed!

Each time we speak,
the humanity is mute,
but the prejudices, they, speak loud!

Barren

2009-10-05T14:40:00.002+08:00

No use for prose,
even for form,
for rhymes I found no use.

Bereft of those,
I was forlorn,
Sorely I've missed my muse.

Senseless

2009-10-01T18:56:00.008+08:00

No memory of
the time before,
a bit sore,
from slumber, long.

No spell is lost
to counting score,
and with oneness
in their song.

With much to do
and a little time,
words, are a few
and far between

What pact is made
is made in mime
scant thought
for what it may mean.

One, they turn,
now to the waste
and as one they
bend and build

All industry, if
with, a bit a haste,
and soon all is
tamed and tilled.

By the time
their work does end,
their own parts
they can't recall.

Now they have got
the time to spend,
and the need for
more work is small.

Work they knew
even untold
and so knew
of herd and stalk.

Look, and lo!
now they are old
and they know not
how to talk.

Tis more vexing
now to disagree,
with more time
to fume and seethe.

Soon no ground,
between, can be,
old swords now
leave their sheaths.

Wearied soon
their aged arms
they may have
moved in haste.

And then they
find to their alarm
their work may
be lain to waste.

Now they want
the fight to stop
blades show minds
of their own.

The weapon's will
comes to the top
they're ground back
to the unknown.

One for the Lungs

2009-09-28T14:56:00.005+08:00

Most of the poems and sonnets,
whene'er, to love, they turn.
Dwell on the heart's exception,
indignant for it they burn.

Seldom, they deign to mention
its affliction on the lungs.
a tale that finds a telling
scarce, on so few a tongue.

Love's work on them is savage
its connivance with the air.
All that labored breathing
and nary a breath to spare.

It cruelly wrings them empty
and in that painful state.
It dangles insufficient gasps
knowing they must take the bait.

Of air how can they be weary?
the very water for their thirst.
"Ne'er mind its poisoned essence,
only, still the wheezing first!"

No taste, note, nor whiff they get
no salve for the part they played.
So here's one to acknowledge
all that they've so gallantly paid.

Alone

2009-08-25T00:39:00.005+08:00

It's strange!

Here lies the husk,
listless and prone,
that I cared for so dearly.

There is a small voice,
really hard to hear,
somewhere in my head,
telling me I should wince.

But I don't feel anything!

Its so ordinary,
Its lackluster and unkempt
and it always was
If I can remember truly.

I can't imagine why
anyone would ever
have cared for it.
Why I even tried...

I had had hope once

There was a face
which lit up
just seeing it from a distance.

As if it meant something,
as if it was welcome,
as if it mattered.

Maybe I was dreaming

It only felt close
and it never mattered.
It was not special.

Seen in a crowd
it'd been passingly curious
but forgotten shortly.

Maybe I was the one,
who read it wrong,
who did not see then
that it was unremarkable.

Why does it feel as if
since that passing glance
my life is empty.

Maybe its better this way!

My world is just
two inches from my eyes
and mostly dust.

Its insignificant;
I will not see..
not hope..
not get hurt..

Maybe it will be safer...

Dishwater allegory

2009-08-21T15:53:00.011+08:00

Not wise to have shied from love
and not strong enough to cry.
Not game to try and rise above
and not meek enough to die.

Unlike those tragic stars of old
this infatuate is dull and trite.
Professing a bleeding heart is bold
but look down his shirt it's white.

Rankle, taunt and cripple him
care not for what he may feel.
No affecting sore is marking him
surely, his love, is not ideal.

Desperation

2009-08-16T12:19:00.005+08:00

Dear Katie,

Good health and good wishes.

We do not know each other...

Like everything else in my life
everything else I was geared up to say
I cannot say, even, that definitely.
Let me rephrase...
I do not know you and in all probability
you do not know me either.

I breathe in, breathe out and repeat.
I've been doing it all my life and lately
even consciously.
If I was swimming I would breathe in water.
It might not be air but if it's there that
would be enough for me to breathe it in.

A creature of habit I would continue to do
that most basic thing even when
I could not have any more air.
I would eventually breathe in no matter
where I was and no matter what
I was breathing in
just to satisfy that habit.

You've hear me and that is response enough.
You hear me and I talk.
You are not my air but for now you are there
and I talk.
Like breathing water, in my desperation,
I do this with little regard
for what would happen later.

I fell in love.

Really 'fell'

For if I had had some control I would
not get so shocked. It would not have been so sudden
and it would not have hurt so much.

Also, like all good falls, I am more conscious
of the indignity of my situation
than of all the scratches and bruises.

Also, as would have happened on any road,
I did not leave an impression. No trace
of having fallen that does not exist on my own person.

Well, I fell, It hurts and it didn't make a difference.
Over time, I've come to appreciate, just how much,
the scratches can sting and how long the bruises
can be sore.

I can't see the road anymore. I don't know if I ever will
but I can't get past, what I'm convinced is,
my own fear of it.
I can't get myself to forget it either.

I fell and all I've ever wanted since is to be there
again.

I fell and feel sore but the road doesn't even know I existed.

I'm sorry if I've made little sense so far.

I'm talking to you today with a heavy heart
and a confused mind.
I talk with words that even while I use, I know,
cannot describe what I feel.
Words that I did not coin, words I borrow, words I steal.
Words that I grasp and use with
utter disregard for what I do to their meaning.

I talk with a voice that I could not have known will not fail me.

I hailed you with a tone that, I hope, was clear and
I've trailed off to whispers hard to hear.

I talked with no control or knowledge of the texture of my voice.

And even though I've been talking ceaselessly
and you've been listening generously.

I feel like...

I've not said a word.

Wistful

2009-08-11T12:54:00.005+08:00

Near those breathless moments, when,
the bright and early, new sun will,
first come and kiss the sky.

Under dim stars and the languid moon,
who, weary of their night's vigil,
will bid these shores; goodbye.

Restlessness, like an amorous midshipman,
long and so unrelentingly shrill,
will come and take my heart.

Just like the tides that wax and wane,
I'm sure that misery's had her fill,
and freshly, the longing starts.

As a lonely, spent and thirsty tree,
will vainly use the gift of speech,
to implore the passing clouds.

Now that I've hoped that we may meet,
cold fate itself I now beseech,
with ardor that can't be cowed.

Gray

2009-07-28T17:04:00.012+08:00

If I'm not too good!
And I'm not that bad!
Am I fine?

When I'm no one's slave!
Yet I can't judge for myself!
Am I mine?

When I'm not that wrong!
But I may not be right!
Am I precise?

And If I know less than some!
but I know more than you!
Am I wise?

When I have countless wounds!
Yet I do not feel!
Am I alive?

So If I can't be white
yet I am not yet black
Do I thrive?

Witness

2009-07-27T23:04:00.014+08:00

picture from www.istockphoto.com

So much happened when we last met.
Mute and flustered I bid farewell!

I heard you may not go again to
the place where we always meet.

The place where you shine.
The place where you wane.
I loathe that I cannot curse
the place where we first met
where we've met since
but I would do anything
to help you leave.

I saw your anger and resolve
to leave it behind.
I saw your frustration at knowing
it will be hard and you
may not be able to.
Maybe not today but
someday, hopefully soon.

I know you can! I know you will!
I've seen your spirit endure.
Like a diamond cast in filth
you never lost your value.
Even assailed as you were
you shared your light with me.

I heard from you that you rode
again the crystal dragon.

I heard how you got singed.
That you escaped getting
scorched and burned and
how you queued up for another ride.
I saw you deny to yourself
that you would ride again and I saw
also the helplessness in your eyes
because you knew you would.

Though my armor is not so shiny,
I'd be your knight and I'd
face any foe for you.
but dear princess,
in this, all I can do is stand
besides you for this dragon
you must face and slay yourself.

You will find the strength!
I have seen it there!
I saw it in your eyes,
how you could see past
the glamor of the dragon's
seduction and recognize
its naked corruption.

I heard that you may go far away
and I may never see you.

I saw how your eyes shown with
quiet anticipation.
I know what it means for you
to be able to fly, to be free,
to explore the world
and I fervently wish it true,
I wish you live your every dream.

I wish you smile and shine bright
and if the wind that helps you bloom
takes you away from me,
I'd gladly spend my life
missing a happy you than see you
wither away slowly
in front of my eyes.

Know what you dream
and know what you are!
Your path may be hard
but you wont quit.
Quitting is not something
you've ever considered and
not something you'd do.

I read what you would say to me,
if we could talk and it made me cry.

The tears were of joy and sorrow.
Joy for knowing your heart
from words you wrote on paper
and sorrow for knowing that
I could never hear it from your lips.

I stupidly held back my tears.
I know not now whether I was ashamed,
overwrought or confused.
All I know is that
I may have passed
my chance of being honest
with you, about you.

I must drink from the bitter
cup of my own futility.
For against that which holds
you my resources are feckless.
The only significant thing
that stands in your way
is whether you will try.
So I do the only thing I can;

I believe...

Notes: Picture prompt in a contest at allpoetry.com

The hard way

2009-07-26T02:11:00.002+08:00

Scant vestiges of a memory,
of light, also fast fading,
are all that confirm to me
that its now pitch black.

Of the source of this malady,
what consciousness remains
is assaying; it lies in denial,
not in light or color held back.

Perhaps its a misbegotten hope
to which my mind now clings
"If I stopped the labored beating,
with it, ill humor, too, may pause."

How weak it is? When it knows
that it would rather shirk life.
Than choose to acknowledge
that it knows full well the cause.

I acquiesce to the dogged reasoning
of some obscure faction, of my mind,
that refuses cede to this cowardice;
"I know that I will yet live on!"

Enough that I may not truly 'live',
as I mayn't take the easy way.
and I shall find a reason anew
to 'be' now that she has gone.

Dancing in the dark

2009-07-24T14:39:00.007+08:00

At first I didn't notice you!

In the pulsating light, air heavy
with smoke and alcohol fumes
and the pounding music
I could not tell one hazy
made up face from the others.

I didn't really care either,
I didn't want the haze to clear,
didn't want the blurry faces
to reveal features I would remember.

I didn't trade names just smiles.
I didn't care where they came from
or who they were as long
as they would dance with me.
I never cared who they were
after they danced with me.

Oh I always latched on
to the pretty ones,
only the 'pretty' here
is the kind that needs
to be washed off every night.

I don't remember how
we started talking or why.
I never did that!
that was the one rule I never broke.
Never talk, never get close, never care.

But for all that my earliest memories
of you are of things we talked about.
I guess it’s not strange then that
the voice I'll always remember
came before the face I can't forget.

Now it seems sudden because
I can't remember when it started to happen;
I didn't like the noise anymore,
I didn't want to see the lights,
I wanted the faces to be clear.

I needed to find you.

You became the highlight of the nights.
Talking to you was far more important
than trying to forget.
Slowly, without my noticing,
I became yours.

The days became long and unbearable
and the nights I didn't see you were torture.

I'm never saying that you ever claimed me.
I'm not saying that you even wanted me.
It has nothing to do with you
even though it’s all about you.

"I" became yours.
You ruled my thoughts 24/7.
I cleaned up my life, I did things differently,
I changed myself so that I could be
what I thought you would like.

I wrote, I sang, I smiled, I ran
and I finally lived the life
I had been missing.

With my renewed sense of self
I started to look for you.
I wanted to share with you my joy
and of discovering that I could love myself...
I could love you.

I wanted to love you all the time
and not just at night
and I began to seek you in the day...

:)

That's when the real agony started.
Even the pain you gave me was exquisite.

At first I thought it was all a game.
How could I think that I would get
the most wonderful thing in the world
just like that?
I thought, I must surely pass some test.

Then I thought 'hey maybe you don't
recognize me' maybe be you can't see
how you've changed me.
How I'm different now
from the soulless zombie you knew.
The soulless zombie I was.

You did not know that I could see past
the smeared makeup and polite excuses.
My exultation turned to despair.

It took time but I understood.

You weren't being mean
when you politely refused to let me intrude
into any more of your life other than
the glitz of the night.

You didn't want me.
You didn't care.
You changed my life and
I never registered in yours.

You didn't need my gratitude
or my friendship.
You didn't need my love or exaltation.
You didn't need me.

*long pause*

And no I don't feel anger or regret
nor frustration with my fate.
In fact I feel a deep sense of gratitude.

You saved me from myself.
You ended my cynicism
and redeemed my sense of wonder
for this world.

For if you can live in it, then,
it must be glorious...

That will have to do.

Notes: A different style of poetry than my norm. I've tried to concentrate more on the building a narrative than the form. Hope you like it. This one began it's life from a picture prompt in a poetry contest on allpoetry.com.

Misfit

2009-06-22T17:57:00.006+08:00

He would've clenched his fist,
if he had not the fear, that,
he would break off his fingers.

Strangely, he knows, surely,
that, he has died, precisely,
because consciousness lingers.

Trapped in a cold, hard stone,
he screams his bitter outrage,
though no sound escapes him.

Is he to be cursed so cruelly,
to bear hapless mute witness,
eternally, on some malign whim?

That they trapped his spirit,
he knows, witless? it may be,
but 'they' have carved this stone.

That he is here does also bare,
that even in death, as in his life,
he is neither missed not mourned.

He, who singly fought their foes,
he, who spared their petty purse,
to whom they owe their very lives.

He, who would've been their lord,
but who'd instead quietly borne,
their tongues as sharp as knives.

Wherefore did they spurn him,
if not for their craven hearts,
resolute in their own ineptitude.

And in their fell callowness,
that he was always noble,
had won him no gratitude.

And now, as if willfully, to add
lasting injury to lasting insult,
they carve in stone his likeness.

There is no reverence in their act,
and that, he is sure, is his curse,
they only cover their own vileness.

Overcome by rage, he sees,
them, in a solemn procession,
lay a green wreath at his feet.

This last of their indifference,
now, animates his marble limbs,
the stone heart begins to beat.

In his death they carved him
same as they'd made him live
sword and spear in either hand.

Therefore, now, with these two,
his only true and trusted friends,
he'll wreck vengeance on their land.

Yet, as he sees their wretched forms,
He wonders if its him that's at fault,
that 'he' should have drawn the line.

He sees, he didn't need their love,
that he was truly above, and needn't
have cast pearls before the swine.

Now truly free can his spirit soar,
he's not tied to them, he understands.
He leaves the statue in a single leap.

His reward is to be unfettered life,
he moves now unburdened by stone,
all attachments left in a heap.

Anticipation

2009-06-19T17:30:00.005+08:00

Slow it is, few grains of sand a day,
yet, also sure as time's own march.
We'll have our love's virgin embrace.
Like water's kiss past ages parched.

O'er that line the spent sun doth set,
I know my love, too, does pine for me.
I catch a whiff of her sweet perfume
when friendly winds will cross the sea.

Perchance a tide may send her my gift,
I freely give whatev'er they may want.
I stand fast and will them back her way,
and ne'er retort to surf's irked taunts.

How it'll be, pervades in all my dreams,
and each of my every waking thought,
that fortune time we'll merge our form,
that endless love that we have sought.

I cherish those, scarce, traces of her,
that come with folk that cross the sea.
I cling to them, so if they may return,
they'll take, to her, some trace of me.

Entranced by this ageless, patient love,
I know what the beach, now, wants of me.
I commit to words what he has confessed,
with fervent hope that his dream may be.

Justify

2009-06-12T02:38:00.006+08:00

I labor over the mundane and
absurdity, logic and morality.

One day I must stand and face,
I must deal with, my mortality.

I must account for my life;
"How did I live?"

"How?" is one question, as is;
"Did I live?"

Colors

2009-06-09T01:43:00.004+08:00

They all went walking,
together and alone, lost in their own thoughts.

Laughter chirped gaily;
"The sky is so yellow with an orange polka dot!"

Love didn't look, as she, fondly,
watched two pink roses dance, cheek to cheek.

Curiosity, too, was intent,
rapt, on the bubbling waters of a vivid blue creek.

As Empathy looked up
her heart reached for the dutiful sun burning red.

But Passion was quicker,
and the sky went purple, as she burnt in his stead.

Faith moved to succor,
and soon they all joined the green fields in applause.

"We're like a merry rainbow"
Life noticed as they, all, acted as one in this cause.

Despair shook her head,
"Fools! Don't you know? The night will soon dye it black!"

Hope nodded "That's true!",
"But it'll pass! There's another bright day at its back!"

Things I should do

2009-06-04T15:05:00.009+08:00

Work and eat and walk and lie
is all the life I'll live and die

Surely something is amiss
Surely there is more than this

I should walk into those woods I spied,
the green ones, I pass on my morning ride

I should swim that lake, I daily see,
the one that seems to beckon me

I should pet that dog who trails my bike
right past that brush whose smell I like

I should stop to talk to that old man
who plays the lute next to that van.

I should stand in the falling rain outside
and watch it form puddles long and wide

I should make a yellow paper plane
and throw it out my window pane

I should smile at that shy parlor girl
who gives my cone that extra swirl

I should buy stacks of paper at the mart
and fill it with pieces from my heart

So work and eat and walk and lie
is not all the life I'll live and die

Note: What I'm trying to say here is that every life needs: adventure, energy, affection, consideration, satisfaction, mischief, romance and fulfillment.

Instinct

2009-06-02T22:42:00.007+08:00

He screeched in terror
and clawed the rocks
but they gave him no purchase .

His mind contorted
and thorough bafflement
showed plainly on his face.

His beak, desperately,
dug at her side,
tore flesh and drew her blood.

Yet on she came,
pushed him off the cliff,
tumbling towards the flood.

His mind grew numb,
his limbs were locked,
in fright's contracted cage.

Just yore, they'd together,
watched the foam
and marveled at its rage.

And even now,
mere moments ago, when,
she'd proffered him the snake.

He'd not backed, this time,
from its hissing maw
nor balk at its rattle's shake.

He'd surely seen her
surge with pride
when he'd torn it into rends.

He did not know why
then she'd turned on him
and wanted for his life to end.

As he struggled, unsure,
with his untested wings
as he tried to pull and stretch.

He could make out
her bent and tired form.
He felt loathing for that wretch.

She watched him
slowly find his flight.
She watched him take the sky.

A tearful longing
marked her face
her son had learnt to fly.

The Hunter's tale

2009-05-29T11:39:00.045+08:00

Welcome stranger
come share my hearth
and warm your weary bones

Tis a foul night
with thunder claps
and shrill the ill wind's moan

To walk such nights
these treacherous paths
will beget the reapers kiss

And if you hide
your head to dawn
it assuredly won't be remiss

Though I can't sleep

and you mayn't talk
We'll not be alone tonight

And that simple fact
is in itself good
It'll surely ease my plight

For tonight I bear
a restless heart
and feel disposed to prate

Sleep as you must
pay me no heed
I may mumble on till late

In my youth I, too,
trailed big game
and even hunted with my bow

Fangs I'll not risk,
now, hunched like this
and a motherless son in tow

'Birdman' I'm called
for I trap with skill
have been doing so for long

The rarest birds
you can buy from me
only I can read their song

don't be too quick
to judge me cruel
I, too, do work for bread

and a pretty bird
in a rich man's cage
will long retain its head

I'd have been out,
in these fell woods,
past three moons, tonight

with burning lust
I trailed and trapped
a fair bird I saw in flight

If you had seen
his radiant plume
You'd too be struck with awe

A finer bird,
I've never trapped,
flawless from beak to claw

Where is he now?
you ask of me
I'll recount the sorry tale

Pay close heed
for as I confess
in truth my voice may fail

When first I'd,
glimpsed him taking wing,
startled from a blooming bush

Twas though many
myriad flowers flew
charged by some fey push

To snare him live
took all my strength
n' skill in the woodsman lore

What happened next
wrenched at my soul
the like I've not seen before

Once in my net,
all kinds of birds,
will strain and squawk alarm.

I must be quick
to pluck them then
lest they may come to harm.

So, this one, too,

I Should've plucked
right quickly from my net.

Curiously I
waited and watched.
a curse I'll long regret.

Unlike all game,

I've ever trapped,

all quarries big and small,

he tested at the net,

just once,

and then suppressed his pall.

to be continued...

Kernel

2009-05-27T14:29:00.015+08:00

We were born free in spirit,
with infinity ours to embrace,
but we covet base indulgence
and we slowly lose our grace.

Taut frame supports the sinew,
lithe sinew moves the frame,
plying this husk, rigid and pliant,
we forget from whence we came.

Yet in this clay that forms us
our spirit still faintly endures;
in ice that congeals our logic,
in a flame whose warmth is pure.

And though the mind is higher
the heart should be placed above.
For where one turns to reason,
tis the other that answers love.

And even as we preen ourselves,
vainly with scraps and baubles,
picked from dirt with our own hands.
We neglect our most winsome virtues
are that we can love and understand.

In his Shoes

2009-05-25T18:04:00.008+08:00

I'm in his grasp
and I struggle in fright
I can feel a warm,
moist pool under me
Its starting again!
I needed to sleep tonight!

Tiny stars speckle the spinning mist
it flows in form, sometimes, a studded boot,
and sometimes, like now, a massive fist

for a moment near my eye it tenses
and then it explodes into a, brilliant, red,
I think gratefully, as it numbs my senses

I grin, though, I can't feel my lips
I'd have bowed, if I was standing,
if there was some sensation below my hips

I cough and it leaves a metallic taste
the wetness on my chest, should be blood!
and I was wearing my new shirt, what a waste

I'm gloriously thrashed, it is very well done
I didn't see it coming, and it hasn't relented
and in this alley it'll be seen by no one

If I wasn't so punch drunk, I'd giggle
I've always been ticklish near my waist
in my pocket I can feel his fingers wriggle

Whats up now? this is strange, no new pain?
I stifle a sob, nearly, with a grunted laugh
it's funny, I have nothing, he sweated in vain

What a lovely, bright, welcoming light
I think I'm meant to just walk into it
God! I'd really like him to remember this night!

I lie cringing, curled, like a cur!
If ever there was!
this night too is wasted,
I'm done sleeping!
he never cursed me, didn't fight
and still I've lost!

Sparrow and the caterpillar

2009-05-20T17:01:00.007+08:00

Just as she took, to her wings
o'er the dancing golden wheat
A little sparrow, spotted
a scrumptious wriggly treat

Not far from where she'd roosted
on this long lazy summer noon
Now this is new she wondered
maybe Christmas has come in June

A fat green and red caterpillar
had climbed up a tall thin stalk
He flailed his arms and motioned
that she and him should talk

Just as she chuckled to herself
at how strange the sight would be
A question flickered in her brain,
what could he want to say to me?

Not that she was the oldest sparrow
to have flown above this land
Never before had she seen a morsel
take such an openly inviting stand

All this complex reasoning happened
in but a few flutters of her wings
How strangely he stood unafraid
and said "come lets talk of things"

"Just because wise mother nature
made me to walk and you to fly
A sparrow isn't so unlike a caterpillar
that they can't be friends, if they try"

Now we can eat the leaves and kernels
and discuss weighty matters as we walk"
"Not that I've heard before", she said,
"ever, of a bird and food, to talk"

this is precisely why my dear
we've not been friends! he said
How true it is she wondered
and she pecked off his head

Clash of Titans

2009-05-19T17:18:00.008+08:00

One had the fury of a tempest
the other a mountain's strength
one came on and on untiring
and the other kept him at length

One must have had an inferno
that fired him in his rage's vice
one fought with cool deliberation
as if his veins were filled with ice

Of all who watched the struggle
there was nary a single one
who could deign to meddle
with how this fight was won

For in camps of both the heroes
were men both proud and brave
this was a contest of champions
with no place for craven knaves

yore, two hosts stood ready
to charge boldly across the field
and bathe the swords and spears
till one of them would yield

It had been an awe inspiring sight
to see such mighty bristling hoards
prepare resolutely to go do battle
to march fearlessly on death's road

These hosts had fought each other
on every of this past fortnight
and many scores of warriors
were lost already to this fight

Both side had had good measure
that the others strength was true
no coward's son amongst them
and they would court death anew

And these very heroes had spoken
that they two would wager their lives
so that their men and brothers in arms
could go home to mothers and wives

For the end that they both could see
with the hosts so evenly matched
no single, woman's man, complete
no single, mother's son, unscratched

For if the horns of battle
were to be blown again
scores more of their brethren
would die fighting in vain

For somewhere in the middle
soon there must be found
a place of understanding,
a peaceful common ground

a fair duel to decide the war
as the armies both stood by
so vultures were denied a feast
this day just one would die

The two blades expertly yielded
each by a different heroes hand
clashed in thunderous explosions
that vibrated through the land

long did they thrust and parry
they dodged and danced with skill
till late into the furious even fight
perchance both tried for the kill

One blade cut near an open neck
one blade sliced low into a flank
no single sound of joy of sorrow
could be heard from either rank

both champions, now on their knees
looked and saw in eyes of their foe
neither thirsted for the others blood
and twas time to let this quarrel go

and as they both regained their feet
both the watching hosts as one did sigh
for if either wound had been deeper
the same distraught mother would cry

Omission

2009-05-19T13:39:00.003+08:00

Night and day
he strove on through
loathing to break pursuit

Until the time that
his frame was spent
and then on past that too

Right through the rain
drenched to the bone
he kept true to his quest

Jarring falls and knocks
did not slow his step
though he sorely needed rest

Anger or hate or any spite
as one would guess
was not what drove him so

No greed, nor want
did taint his mind
twas hope that made him go

Now he can see
the dust of the host
now he can see his king

And perhaps tonight
the war will be stayed
by the tiding that he brings

How strange it is
that no one will record
his heroic ride or even his name

And none care today
for there are no spoils of war
peace's heralds have no fame

The Oyster's treasure

2009-05-17T19:42:00.003+08:00

She dances with easy abandon
of only clouds, young and fertile
her long dark sensuous tendrils
shimmer as, gaily, she smiles

Ordinarily white, blazing and stern,
as he rides by, boldly, each day
The sun, now, blushes with soft hues
as he, coyly, watches her play

Pink borrowed from spring roses,
with daubs of blue and gold dye
with his most winsome bearing
he stands resplendent in the sky

How beautiful it is! she wonders
as she watches their first embrace
and a quiet longing for that love
shows openly on her lined face

In the simmering high heavens
she, happily, espies it's birth
and prays softly with purpose
as she sees it fall to the earth

Even as she catches the drop,
of that ageless love, she is sure
her task is to form its memory
into a pearl, flawless and pure

Delirium

2009-05-15T13:42:00.002+08:00

This is not a good day!
it's not even an agreeable day
it wouldn't even be an average day!
in fact, now that I notice it,
its no longer even a 'day'!

#$%'@! How low can it go?

It won't be a good night!
it won't even remotely be an agreeable night!
gosh! I'd happily take an ordinary night!
but, at least, that burning day is done
and now its just me and this night!

#$%'@! no regret, remorse and no mercy!

I wish this wind would stop!
I wish this cold biting wind would stop!
I was melting, now 'I' want this wind to stop!
my own sweat is freezing me
whats up??? with this sudden crazy wind?

#$%'@! I know its going to get worse!

there! I had to evoke the rain!
I have sand in my eye and now this rain!
What crazy desert gets sudden rain?
and now, this sand is running
here I am spitting sand into a torrent

#$%'@! wuss!!! that the worse you can do?

Ouch, dammit! that hurt!
That really, really hurt!
foul mouthed obscenities! that really hurt!
which, brainless bumbling dune has a rock?
great, now I limp too! yip[clucking]eee

#$%'@! is that it? do you want to see me cry?

I give up! I need to sit!
every bone and muscle needs to sit!
every tired, sweating, freezing hair needs to sit!
I'm just going to fall here!
right here and nothing you do can stop me!

#$%'@! next time I should fall back!

Why is it so hard?
Why is the sand so hard?
Who ever heard of [clucking] sand being hard?
No kidding! this isn't sand at all
it's a road! muuaaaahh! a gorgeous lovely road!

#$%'@! scratched my [clucking] lips!!!

Every thing is spinning fast!
This [clucking] road is spinning fast!
Why is this [clucking] road spinning fast?
I think I'm going to sleep!
If the spinning would stop I will sleep!

#$%'@! take my arm and give me a pillow!

It feels so soft!
Soft voices and some hands too, soft!
this glowing, spinning, slowing, light is so soft!
I'm being lifted! how am I being lifted?
well its softer anyway, I can really sleep!

#$%'@! who would have thought? fairies...

The Bloom and the Butterfly

2009-05-13T18:13:00.004+08:00

I can vividly recall,
those intriguing lips,
with hungry tenderness

they dragged my being
from languorous sleep
to a spirited wakefulness

I've never seen before
quite so many hues
or such a graceful comely form

and every rainbow,
I have ever seen,
was pale next to her, this morn

I can still feel,
her lingering touch,
that reluctance to be apart

she took a trace of me,
when she left,
and now it verily tugs my heart

an urgent need for her
vibrates through my
every pore and every vein

I am most certain
that I, soon, will wilt
if I don't see her again

These snow white blooms,
my friends and kin,
cannot see this truth, somehow

They say I was, for her,
but some passing fling
she'd have forgotten me by now

I can almost discern
the whispering of the spring
It's saying that my love is near

should I go to her?
would the wind help?
and me, to her, would it bear?

I try to calm my heart
as I supplicate the wind
to server me from this bough

I feel angst rising
of parting with my kin
and not knowing where I go now

where the wind goes?
would she be there?
would I live or would I die?

here may be safe
but she's not here
and therefore I choose to fly

Tally

2009-05-11T13:27:00.003+08:00

I am like God! I do great things, easily
I am like God! I can love, anyone, freely
I am like God! I bring light to the earth
I am like God! I trade sorrow for mirth
I am like God! I make things with my hands
I am like God! and my glory expands

I am a man! I work for my bread
I am a man! I can please in bed
I am a man! I end what I've begun
I am a man! I can labor for fun
I am a man! I met calmly my fears
I am a man! I can drink my tears
I am a man! I can sincerely laud
I am a man! I bow to the God

I am a wretch! I covet and begrudge
I am a wretch! I am quick to judge
I am a wretch! I have struck out in rage
I am a wretch! I've mocked wisdom and age
I am a wretch! I lust with my eyes
I am a wretch! I have dealt long in lies
I am a wretch! I've reveled in fell spite
I am a wretch! I've misused my might
I am a wretch! I've made sure she cried
I am a wretch! I stood by as love died

Choice

2009-05-10T01:28:00.022+08:00

She was a slight and tender flame
of delicate hues and soft light
he was a sharp and vibrant moth
with a lively dancing flight

moth and flame, they fell in love
and as happens once in many a turn
it was cruel fate in guise of love
when one was near the other'd burn

it would wrench that gentle heart
he'd suffer whenst near he came
and yet he would not stay away
he'd always fly towards his flame

I know, that our love is true,
yet, what we are we can't deny!
so that one of us can live,
one of us must surely die!

so you must live a life for me!
and fervently she'd hope to die
he'd look, down, forlorn at her wick
how my love? he'd softly cry

Moonstruck

2009-05-08T18:03:00.004+08:00

a careless bumbling green frog fell
right headfirst into a deep old well
fate landed him on a narrow ledge
a cold abyss waited just off it's edge

even his legs couldn't jump that high
to get out of there, were he to try
the walls were moist with grubs to eat
but he was alone with no one to meet

so he sat there croaking all day long
and the old well echoed back his song

then sometime very late at night
the moon looked in, to see his plight
on seeing her, his heart did swoon
he fell in love with the silver moon

he croaked and begged for her to stay
but some angry clouds took her away
all night he croaked and cursed the sky
but the clouds ignored his every cry

yet he sat there croaking all night long
and the old well echoed back his song

no sign of her even as daylight came
he wondered if she too felt the same
his heart said that his love was true
and he was sure that she felt so too

all day he taxed his lungs and throat
he tried every sonnet and every quote
he sang of things that the heart delights
of sweet flies and gnats and spider mites

so he sat there croaking all day long
and the old well echoed back his song

as the day set his spirit began to wane
he didn't think he would see her again
his throat was dry, yet she wasn't there
he felt overcome by deep despair

he hung his head now over the ledge
gazed at the deep, beyond it's edge
his croaks now soft and hard to hear
the yearning now was hard to bear

yet he sat there croaking all night long
and the old well echoed back his song

and then sometime very late at night
his heart jumped up with great delight
to fool the clouds that stole her away
she had chosen to come another way

and poof! he felt his weariness subside
and he tensed to be there by her side
his pulse raced and his heart did swoon
and down he jumped towards the moon

even today when the moon shines strong
old wells can be heard to echo his song

Fancy

2009-05-07T13:27:00.014+08:00

Sleepily the pretty little girl,
with very lovely laughing eyes,
walked into that secret land,
of the talking butterflies

On tiny toes she stood and saw
frogs heatedly discuss the rain
they fussed at how it went about
as they all croaked at it in vain

Putting on the shiniest of frocks
she danced under the faerie lights,
as happy rhythmic music played,
it made her smile with great delight

Hush fell amongst the quibbling frogs
the butterfly talk also took pause
all stared at her fair dancing form
and supplied her freely with applause

In the oddest hour of the night
all the frogs and the butterflies
moved together to join the dance
awkward in their varying size

Enchanted by the fanciful fete,
time passes as the music plies
the waking world mayn't see again
those very lovely laughing eyes

Goodbye

2009-05-05T18:05:00.021+08:00

Nearest to it's setting, the Sun
will give the sky the most wealth of gold
a shameless and deceitful bribe
as it leaves the heavens dark and cold

Under the retreating tide
shoals of shells that will be left behind
abandoned on the sullen beach
by the one they followed rapt and blind

Regret firmed to one word
vast sky, slight shells both ask me why
we shared a quiet tender love
when I left I ne'er said goodbye

Name

2009-05-01T16:07:00.008+08:00

This is how you shall be known!
others decreed at my birth

yet others now roll it on their tongue
as if to measure what I am worth

all my labor, love and very life
must answer to it's ambition

not called a rose would it smell as sweet
the bard was wont to question

far beyond my few and numbered days
it will preserve my life

twas given free, yet I must surely pay
and be forever in it's fief

Note: this one was written at the behest of my mom while driving down a mountain.

New Life

2009-05-01T15:46:00.006+08:00

The tall majestic pines applaud
the passage of the breeze

they offer it life in fine flecks of gold
to scatter as it may please

as the solemn rays of the molten sun
filter through their boughs

to attend this turn of the range's guard
o'er the emerald troughs

Note: This one was recorded by me at Chail which is a beautiful mountain resort in the lower Himalayas.

Regret

2009-04-23T19:07:00.005+08:00

Near enough for me to touch
yet you seem so very far apart
your poise and easy nonchalance
my poor strained racing heart

Unlike all that is the stuff of dreams
my waking eyes too your beauty see
every beat of my heart will know of you
yet you can see and still not know of me

Ruefully I reflect that fateful trice
when my guard slipped on my heart
when I surrendered to love's temptation
and let it's torturous yearnings start

Irrational

2009-04-21T12:29:00.006+08:00

Jagged knife blade lodged
deep in an old sore wound
in a tortured body attempting to heal

A constant soft and dull pain
that will strongly resonate
till its the only sensation I can still feel

Not kind and caring enough
to end my continual misery
not kind in the final way, that pain can be

Not caring that It's unwanted
that its wantonly invading
inflicted on my person it persists willfully

And why should I blame it
why bemoan only the crime
when I can't look at the culpable with hate

How can my wronged being
look past pain, fondly at her
who, mayhap wontedly, put me in this sorry state

Notes: inspired from a contest

Break her

2009-04-18T21:29:00.009+08:00

Somehow her grunts have that effect
they seem to make my nostrils flare
our bodies move glistening with sweat
it seems too small this wooden square

On every side I've tried to stroke
I've really tried to make this fun
I've tried new things and also old
I've not held back since we've begun

Patiently I had nibbled on her resolve
till she did consent to try again
I've failed once and it frightens me
that I may squander this chance in vain

How it had stung when she told me
that she wanted to improve her lot
she told me that she felt my better
that I didn't give her enough of sport

I think of that and it makes me mad
that she thinks me on a lower level
and that seems to snap something in me
today she will wrestle with this devil

Even she will cry when this does end
her every pride this time I'll quash
I am the man and I'll use my strength
.
.
.
.
I'll beat her at this game of Squash

:)

had you going didn't I

Read again and the sexual innuendo is all in your mind and never in the poem. I wrote it about a sport I love ;)

Clarity

2009-04-18T12:15:00.007+08:00

The bitter taste in my mouth is comforting
it distracts from the bitterness in my mind
the stinging on my tongue gives me relief
unlike the stinging in my eyes it seems kind

I should have stopped a very long time ago
and perhaps I should not have started at all
at the time it seemed reasonable and safe
to indulge well past the limit and simply fall

Predictably it has not worked out so well
and as my faculties randomly begin to fail
I'm left at the mercy of the very thoughts
frighteningly clear even as all else goes pale

Somehow I've gone past the ability to stop
though now I clearly know this won't work
all the spirit before has been treacherous
will this one too not leave me in the lurch

Yet now all I can do is but reach and pull
the fleeting comfort may be all that I've got
and as my body goes numb and mind refuses
maybe this one will help finish my thoughts

Notes: inspired from a contest's totally inappropriate tag line

Utopia's radiance (Part 7)

2009-04-15T18:23:00.031+08:00

continued from Part 6

[VII]

Najeed looked, first, astonished, at the purse
and then with askance at his beaten band
bewildered by violence in righteous Khus
and at fortune returned by the slight of hand

Under the shadow of the Mosque they stood
they felt uneasily alien in their own home
their magnificent city was overcome by decay
it's great mosque covered with grime and loam

continued in Part 8

How love should be

2009-04-08T17:11:00.017+08:00

Sometimes when we are together
just talking idyllically, as we often do
I do sorely ache to use my reach
and in my arms encircle you

Of course while I would wish for this to pass
and can likely guess how it could ensue
I must not force this play of fate, though,
perhaps I could be losing you

Possibly if I do confess my heart
not caring of how your heart would be
I may just compel some part of you
so that I could have you loving me

How it would be I can but guess
near you as I have so wished to be
but I need for it to take its course
and have you find your love for me

I believe because true love would know
and it need not use words to convey
and I don't believe love can transact
ruefully, my heart, I must not say

Even if I don't get your love this way
how can I change how love should be?
whensoever therefore I yearn for you
alas my love itself must censure me

Inspired by Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi

Utopia's radiance (Part 6)

2009-04-07T17:22:00.025+08:00

continued from Part 5

[VI]

Nebulous mist danced with the fading light
creating a cold eerie feeling of quiet desolation
and yet fine perspiration stippled his forehead
as he searched frantically for a safer location

Under the silvery moon on the streets of Khus
even men of his ilk now cared not to walk
for an unrelenting gaze seemed to track them
and invariably their every enterprise would balk

Rumors ran thick about what the shadow was
a rogue thief, a cursed wraith or covetous ghoul
whatsoever may it be the guild now fully agreed
they must somehow end this menace most foul

Judged from his peers to have the most resource
that he was selected had filled him with pride
for he was in the craft most uncannily adept
sharpest mind, keenest dagger and surest stride

A fortnight ago he had started his pursuit
and till a week ago he had made no advance
eight nights he stalked the assiduous shade
refining his edge and waiting for his chance

Ninth night into the hunt he had made a move
mistakenly assured he understood his quarry
he struck out at it as it swooped on its prey
a stroke that he knew no mortal could parry

Now since they had met on each passing night
and every and each of his strikes were in vain
it had not even sought to evade his pursuit
he was clearly not equal that much was plain

Anger and frustration had made a bitter taste
his mind had clouded in fevered desperation
he ran now for his life punch drunk with fear
and cursed fate and chance and fell inspiration

Hassasin Suwayd now knew death would come
he had courted it this night by his despicable way
when blinded in fury for yet missing his mark
he had buried his dagger into it's hapless prey

continued in Part 7

Utopia's radiance (Part 5)

2009-03-31T12:28:00.020+08:00

continued from Part 4

[V]

Nobility was a pretense he had now abandoned
he lived now in Khus unnoticed like a wraith
he was an old shepherd who now had no flock
the disabused minister of the guardian of faith

Under a regent who proved a sluggard and false
who readily bobs his head when offered a bribe
the old cleric ventures no more towards the keep
and the palace asks no more what faith ascribes

Ranging till the red desert to the far south and east
as much younger man for the then Caliph to be
arrayed in chain mail and astride a mighty steed
he and his men had brought kings to their knees

Junaid they called him for the strength of his arms
he routed great armies with the force of his will
his dread band would lead each charge at the head
they danced with the swords with magnificent skill

Astonishing was all that they had done for Khus
and he oft checked himself in nostalgic reverie
his chest swelled with pride in those golden days
he was now suffocated by the city's cold apathy

Now from those fiery numbers just four remain
young Haris, now a veteran, still rides in the east
to the Caliph he had sworn his service and sword
passing years haven't slowed him even in the least

Najeed now travels along the long spice route
he took up a prod when he put down his spear
his camels and mules all heavily loaded with ware
he returns with long tales at least once every year

Aaqil the testy surprised them, all those years ago,
when he announced his twin blades would retire
they wouldn't have guessed he'd ever trade them
for fine flour and yeast and the baking oven fire

How strange it is for times to change greatly so
the city that once loved them now cares no more
the cleric and baker sometimes meet to talk of it
they can't mend it themselves as they did before

continued in Part 6

Utopia's radiance (Part 4)

2009-03-24T20:34:00.001+08:00

continued from Part 3

[IV]

Not so very long ago in the city of Khus
no one would have dared to do such things
and wizardry and its evils were not allowed
for there ruled a law far greater than kings

Under the just office of the grand Caliph
a well loved, strong, wise and holy man
crowds gathered devoutly for five Salahs
and he ruled with a firm god-fearing hand

Ramin Ahmed Ali al Khus Abdus Salaam
Saifan, Sanaullah, Khalam, Muttaqi
had ruled all the lands south of Awf's peak
from far east to the shore of the western sea

Just so that tidings could cross his vast realm
there existed an efficiently elaborate scheme
and it took sixty relay riders ten full weeks
driving mounts till their flanks would steam

Ali al Khus was a stock long known as Saifans
and the title had been earned through sacrifice
they had nurtured and grown the lands of Khus
with heroism where diplomacy did not suffice

Nausicaa the daughter of the Macedonian king
the proud queen who stood by the Caliph's side
had borne him a daughter he doted and spoiled
who learnt combat from him and loved to ride

No other child of his wives and concubines
had he ever held so close or trust as much
tumultuously he had named her next in line
there was no precedence for matters such

And so when he left for his extensive campaign
for a decade of moving and living by the sword
to subdue hordes in the north-eastern steppes
the queen had feared for the safety of her ward

Hastily she had appointed a regent to rule Khus
as she went west with the heir, to her father's land
Khus languished under the inept left in her place
'the Caliph will return' stayed the dissent at hand

continued in Part 5

Art

2009-03-24T16:08:00.000+08:00

Softly the wind blows through the trees
slowly along its path it sweeps

then it stops, then it moves again
followed by soft pitter patter of rain

it rains a while before the clouds go
in turn followed by a vivid rainbow

all enrich the splendor of this gorgeous day
yes nature is the best artist in every way

(written in 1993)

Expression

2009-03-23T19:37:00.000+08:00

I want to know how nature cries
what are her tears, her streaming eyes

what does it mean when rivers run bare
what is her sorrow, her despair

can it be known from her art
what she is feeling in her heart

I want to know how nature smiles
I want to know her gleaming eyes

(written in 1991)

Utopia's radiance (Part 3)

2009-03-23T17:27:00.001+08:00

continued from Part 2

[III]

Nine frenetic nights of ample effort
the rousing hunt was in skillful play
scampering like many cats and a mouse
from some past dusk to break of day

Under the pale light of the sliver moon
it was doubly hard to discern the flight
the flustered guards would scream in rage
as again the shadow melted into the night

Running halts across uneven roofs they made
sudden drops, dead ends with nothing there
where mere moments ago in hot pursuit
they thought they had it fair and square

Just when they thought they had surly won
when they did manage to block the flight
the fury of its charge would make them shrink
like some cornered scary beast it'd fight

And so their spirit slowly began to wane
as they grimly acknowledged the loss of face
they tended sores and licked their wounds
and could not put their heart into the chase

Now Haytham was not a superstitious man
and he knew he was good, when it suited him
and he knew that his men were trying hard
how then could it vex them as if at whim

Nor had it wavered from its thieving ways
nor had it stayed away even one night
that shadow undoubtedly was mocking him
would no one help him and end his plight

And so slowly he got more convinced
that these vile tricks must surely be fey
for swords and spears always found mist
and the shadow was never seen in the day

Haytham armed now with this insight of his foe
set determinedly upon a much darker course
and traders carried word far across the land
a call for arcane arms to check this twilight force

continued in Part 4

Utopia's radiance (Part 2)

2009-03-23T17:23:00.000+08:00

continued from Part 1

[II]

Not even once in its long and murky history
was Khus ever even perceptibly challenged
the guards therefore got most sorry recruits
lazy, corrupt and some allegedly unbalanced

Up North beyond the King Awf's white peak
the fearsome frigid waste lets no threat pass
on the east of Khus are Sakhr's sheer rocks
west, across the river, Khidr's forest holds fast

Running first along the wide western wall
the white river that flows from Awf's snow
South of the city walls it curves to the east
which naturally creates Khus's safe alcove

Justice and fairness are scarce here indeed
the privileged can always buy their way
living in the squalor amidst its twisting streets
for paltry day wages many toil their souls away

A tired, dispirited and disillusioned lot they are
trapped in this big city where life's never fair
seduced here by ranging talk of opportunity
they now curse the deceit of the lure in despair

New fools come daily to sleep in the streets
few ever leave, most cannot leave, no place to go
to return thus needs an acceptance of biting defeat
bereft of dreams, wasted effort and nothing to show

Not that all of Khus sleeps thus on streets
and not every street will let them sleep
North of the Mosque are homes and beds
guard patrolled streets in the moated keep

A hushed rumor is making rounds in the bazaar
a curious tale about an angel oft glimpsed at dawn
by unfortunates who had wept themselves to sleep
always as they blinked awake that vision was gone

Half fairly of what they had lost that past night
a quarter more if they had encountered force
a tidy sum for those that toiled for pittance
in a bag of coins left for them in her course

continued in Part 3

Abandoned

2009-03-22T21:17:00.000+08:00

They left her there on the street
with empty hands and bare feet

though with crying eyes they did retreat
moved by her trusting smile sweet

silently she waited for them to come
afraid but trusting though lonesome

far in a church a taper burnt
till the wind swept by
far away her mother did weep
far away her father did cry

(written in 1992)

Lonely child

2009-03-22T21:05:00.000+08:00

They beckon you with open arms
standing alone against each rail
was it their fault that they were born
helpless, alone, thin and frail

we say they are much better off
than their brothers and sisters on the road
who either beg to eat and live
or sleep hungry in the cold

they look to you with innocent eyes
express themselves with lonely smiles
when we care to look at them
even the hardest heart cries

(written in 1992)

My mother had taken us to visit an orphanage to donate some of our old stuff and it really left an impression.

Pollution

2009-03-22T20:39:00.000+08:00

The beauty of the country side
its valleys green and gorges wide

the scent of fresh blooming fields
the sounds of rivers and waving reeds

the winds blowing to the land
waves rushing up on the sand

the breeze scented of flowers sweet
and then the sound of running feet
huge structures of steel concrete

the revolting smell of rising smoke
the disgusting odors that slowly choke

the road full as traffic reels
how imprisoned my heart feels

and how it longs for the country side
its valleys deep and gorges wide

(written in 1991)

Note: I think I can still remember why I wrote this one. I was in my school bus stuck in Delhi traffic after a month long vacation to Nanital which is a hill station in the Himalayas

Mother

2009-03-22T20:28:00.001+08:00

When animals are slaughtered when trees die
man is like a child who makes his mother cry

when there are mass oil leaks
when there is waste in the creeks
it is then mother is moved to tears
its is then that nature weeps

when toxins fill the earth and smoke fills the sky
man is like a child who makes his mother cry

before the time of steel and fire
before the unvanquished desire
man walked and worked on
mother natures wish entire

when there are vast waste lands as pollution expands
they are not waves but tears that hit the sand

As man's wants increase
as the ozone recedes
it is then mother is moved to tears
it is then that nature weeps

(written in 1992)

War

2009-03-22T20:24:00.002+08:00

yet another tear rolled down,
yet another mother cried
yet another baby was born
and yet some other died

the foul smell of burning meat
the hot sun and horrid heat
the bombs falling here and there
taking someone's hands and feet

red blood flowing everywhere
red hot metal here and there
red eyes of men anger filled
doing destruction beyond repair

yet another tear
yet another cry of fear
yet another death is near
someone with pain that he can't bear

(written in 1991)

Sure Death

2009-03-22T19:21:00.000+08:00

have you ever lived knowing you would die in three months
it is then you would know that time is not slow it runs

As we abandon them on a deserted island
not caring not giving a helping hand

afraid even to touch and catch disease
not caring that we only make their hopes decrease

we treat them so that they wish to die
when they do, why then with unreal tears do we cry?

(written in 1992)

I am pretty sure I wrote this one for people suffering with AIDS

As the clouds untie

2009-03-22T19:15:00.000+08:00

A ray of sunlight as the clouds untie,
as the wind slowly moves them to a distant sky,

it all looks so fresh, all so clean,
the trees all painted in a fresh new green,

how easily noticed the smile of a flower,
just after the first monsoon shower,

touched by the sunlight the clouds untie
as the wind slowly moves them to a distant sky

(written in 1993)

Music

2009-03-22T19:10:00.000+08:00

clean air, clear water and valleys green,
the rhythm from a mountain stream

the dancing fields of golden wheat
the wind softly whistling sweet

rainbows spread colors with their wing
and raindrops in a chorus sing

listen well and you will hear,
the music of mother nature clear

(written in 1993)

Why

2009-03-20T16:56:00.000+08:00

need for you so deeply resonates
that I 'd willingly spend my life in you
right thoroughly through my very being,
how far 'what is' and 'what should be' true

unto each breath I can feel you so,
and eyes closed your face so clearly see,
how I can connect with only you,
even when you are not here with me

run slow my lips on your smooth skin
to lie tangled in your long black hair
and twine our fingers and firmly hold
to sleep then wake and have you there

just with you is when I am alive
to see you smile true I daily pray
when I've given my heart so to you
and can forever so faithful stay

as there are so many things to know
when there is so much I need to say
why is this need like a physical force?
how mean this trick that fortunes play

now truly cannot this heart comply?
why must this mind my course decide?
how moving away causes me such pain?
why cannot I stay always by your side?

now stand so far my mind and heart?
why can this world my soul dictate?
how does this end which did not start?
please tell me why? I question Fate

as I struggle and keep my face inert
what kind of joke has made this true
that I chose to walk this path I hate
that I cannot be in love with you!

how with this fell lot do I reconcile
and hold these stinging tears at bay
when I know with you I will never be
and this stupid heart just wont agree
but it must learn to beat that way

Ok this does it! you should never write poetry when you are hungry! I stopped working on UR (during the lunch break) to spew this for no reason.

Notes: We can't always take what we need and it sometimes requires immense mental exertion to stop that strong natural impulse and quell heart's rebellion.

Utopia's radiance (Part 1)

2009-03-15T00:04:00.000+08:00

[I]

Nestled snugly in the broad green valley
sheltered from the icy winds from north
winds that speed from across the high desert
where nothing lives as they have their sport

Under the shadow of the three bold Kings
on their feet and someways up their slope
extends the bustling sprawl of the city of Khus
where scores arrive daily with ware and hope

Right in the heart of the huge maze of streets
stands tall the old mosque's once white dome
where worn carvings on its walls once were rich
neglect now has tainted their colors with loam

Journeymen and traders from near and far away
now congregate outside the gates of its compound
where in a bazaar rancid with avarice and deceit
the fell gods they made and so covet can be found

A subdued yet stubborn sanctum is maintained
diligently by a sagely struggling motley crew
they've kept vile corruption at the gate, so far
resolute wise men, aging and perhaps too few

Nighttime when oil lamps moil to fight the dark
blankets of mist descend from the king's crest
wretches of the day's trade drown in drunk stupor
and cons sleep uneasily holding coin to breast

Nimble fingered, agile and very fleet of foot
with a mean quick dagger and a scathing wit
knowing uncannily of the day's fortune flow
a thieving shadow lurks, wily and swift

Afflicted, audacious and angry arrays
indignant at having their spoils divested
have often chased the shadow to exhaustion
and grasped only air for the effort invested

Haytham, the nefarious captain of the guards
heedless of the daily complaints and whining
is finally enticed to move against this menace
though only through much handsome bribing

continued in Part 2

I've decided to tell a tale in verse, kind of like them greeks in the really old days when they didn't have internet and stuff, its purely fantastical with no refernece to anyone alive or otherwise (ugghhhh...I sound stoned). Its a bit slow going so please wait paitently as the saga unfolds.

Empty

2009-03-10T17:09:00.003+08:00

I press against this crumbling wall
and feel the heat of my own back
nor does this refuge calm my nerves
nor this brief recess cut me slack

with one hand I grip the grimy soil
that's turning to mud even as I wilt
one hand gripping cold comfort,
not the use for which it was built

blunt blows it's not meant to parry
it will not stop callous projectile
yet as I caress its cold ungiving form
my lips twist into an obscure smile

it can only end misery with its bark
it deals in death this of cast steel
I wonder what, in this circumstance
what sort of 'glee', that I could feel

I look to what was once my mate
with whom I ate, toiled and talked
looking past, caring not of my fate
limbs sloppily on rubble propped

there is something now unnerving
about those vacant staring eyes
but I wonder if I too should lie down
humor those relentless buzzing flies

I wonder if those listless eyes
will water like mine in all this dust
I wonder that if the horror around
can reflect on their surface thus

I stop to look if they too would
blink in the fury of this fusillade
would it not sink in and then surely
some abhorrence would pervade

for a moment they take me away
from the chaos that is all around
could I see that final view, if I too
lie so and not make a single sound

I guess I should feel relieved to know
that a calm patiently waits beyond
and this mindless consuming violence
is an aberrant ripple in a deep still pond

I've never asserted myself as brave
and can't remember feeling strong
and crouching thus I don't feel free
where is it then that I've gone wrong?

Don't even ask me where this one is coming from because I have no &*%$ clue. Neither do I know what o make of it yet. Seems like some kind of battle scene and perhaps the protoganist is an American soilder given the brave and free reference.

Limelight

2009-03-08T14:06:00.000+08:00

Dark vista to a silent dell bathed in golden light
at once calling to and repelling my heart

quiet anticipation in seemingly a sea of eyes
like a hushed innuendo for me to start

a curious thistly catch forms in my throat
and my legs quiver with nervous trepidation

will I bear my soul today? I contemplate
will I live yet again up to the expectation?

caution! slow moving inspiration above.

Muse

2009-03-05T12:06:00.000+08:00

Celebrate the Muse's fickle presence
for she is never at one place for long
for you will despair the inevitable moment
when she withdraws her ethereal song

the song; both exhilarating and excruciating in parts
pray hold fast for wide and irrepressibly it doth sway
revealing the myriad colors of the dancing rainbows
and exposing too the putrid odors of perpetual decay

sights and sounds all enthused with relish
for her levy's bite enhances our senses
provides nourishment for our very soul
and adroitness to our art she dispenses

Celebrate the Muse's fickle presence
for she is never at one place for long
for what is amiss you will not know
as your soul aches to hear that song

I came on this while writing an email to a friend about this new preoccupation of mine. It exposes some my misgivings about this whole poem writing thing.

Grit

2009-03-03T13:27:00.001+08:00

It was bound to be a monumental race
a phenomenal distance at exacting pace
steadily climbing the mountain's face
about the closest road to outer space

The constant climb so harshly unkind
concentration dulled by the taxing grind
She never knew when she fell behind
she swore to herself sourly in her mind

And now as the long race is nearing an end
three furlongs more from the oncoming bend
another mammoth spurt she's called to spend
a body and soul with not much more to lend

She the celebrated champion of this tilt
She the famed beauty with a Grecian built
She who's always fought right to the hilt
She who the fortunes will now surely jilt

And lose to who? that newborn upstart
the vermin who's jeering is like an art
known for his bitter and conceited heart
who had been trailing right from the start

All she can see now with the end drawing near
moments wrecking the struggle of many a year
disappointment stabs into her soul like a spear
death would be a friend and would inspire no fear

the last few moments pass by in a dazed blur
so hard that even her thoughts start to slur
nothing gained from her last desperate spur
the cheering subdues to a dismal murmur

And so she too passes the finishing line
with cold sweat running down her spine
sorrow brimming in a capacious ravine
but forces out a smile that says all's fine

What is 'loss' she wonders looking to the sky
was it ever worth hoping that she would die
she tried and maybe the fates didn't comply
but she did what she could, she really did try

though everyone banishes it from their muse
loss too is a milestone, when victory one woos
to compete is in her nature, she cannot choose
and so she wins again, she knows now how to lose

This was really incoherent for a small amount of time because I had an Idea about the content and one line but little else to start with. the original line was "and so she wins again she knows not how to lose" but I like the new one better.

The protoganist is obviously an athlete and the poem is about coming to terms with failure and taking it in your stride.

Vainglory

2009-03-03T11:23:00.005+08:00

Festering blackly in the complex recesses
vile Mad Mayhem of the shadows lurks
amidst many flourishing arches and breaches
on the soaring ceiling of the age old church

The church that humble skilled masons built
so gloriously tall and grand in the far days of old
mixing mortar with their honest blood and tears
for two sacks of grain and each a coin of fool's gold

The church that stands so utterly all alone
on the low hill just outside of the little town
its spire jabbing brashly into the dark gray clouds
and splayed steps lazily snaking their way down

Mad Mayhem rules her shadows with an iron grip
the tales of her terror travel far and wide
many challengers and prey have perished painfully
they hush whispers of her even in the countryside

For Mad Mayhem is a ghastly horror
With eight grisly legs and black armored mane
eight eyes that can see in most every light
and pointed fangs that drip with deathly bane

She takes great pleasure in her ignominy
relishes the agitation her ambuscade exacts
sneers as the congregations keep fair distance
no one approached the church if not in packs

One Sunday to Mad Mayhem's great delight
trailing the usual throngs that came at morn
perhaps ignorant of her as none dared despite
a tiny stooped figure entered the church forlorn

All the way to where she made her lofty perch
soft sounds of the sniveling sniffles echoed
they made her drool those dismayed starts
and she moved to claim what she was owed

When rapacity fully consumed her mind
as she flew to her prey as fast as she could
Mad Mayhem glared and soundlessly growled
and launched herself at the figure's bent hood

Insignificant clout
an instinctive swipe
remorseless strike
an ended life

The startled little girl kept looking around
unnoticed the tiny spider's bits fell away
but her parents were still not to be found
so she went back out into the light of day

This one was destined be quirky by the very nature of its conception so please bear with me as it grows naturally. (now that its finished I can safely reveal the inspiration; Me trying to get inside the mind of a tiny spider on the ceiling in the morning while lazing in bed)

Exaltation

2009-03-02T15:36:00.000+08:00

A hand whimsically traces a curve
heady verve that limpid eyes contain
merry smile infectious with delight
a twist embellishes the raven mane
dance accentuates the fey-like allure

As the form raptly attends the beat
hearty measures sizzling with vitality
music seems to touch the very soul
a consummation perhaps of destiny
dance is a candor one cannot censure

This is an experiment with a different form than my norm. I'm not putting this down as a 'work in progress' but will be treating it as such and probably re-write it a few times till I am happy with it.