Arbi

Arbi, 8 january 2013

A Lousy Dime


Once upon a desolate and dreary time
That looked very much like wartime,
Too cold and merciless was the clime
I was then at my very best prime.
But, in my pocket were a lonely and lousy dime,
Fully covered with gruesome grime
And next to it, lay the skin of a rotten lime.
Needless to say, it was away past its prime.
 
So hungry I was and so near was lunchtime.
And so hungry I was, anyone could hear my guts chime
But nothing awaited my enraged enzyme’!
For, what on earth could I buy with a lousy dime?
Nothing... Not even the ruins of an ancient pizza full of slime.
Honestly, I began to see myself in endless scenes of justified crime!
‘Cause I just couldn’t stand living on your slime.
Neither did I want to be seen like a mere slime
Especially during the so-called bounteous Christmas time!
I’m so sorry if your Christmas I did spoil with my rhyme.
But, what would you expect from a slime, like me, under the icy rime?
Anyway, Merry Christmas to you all, friends and foes and even slime’


number of comments: 2 | rating: 7 | detail

Bron Dayvid

Bron Dayvid, 7 january 2013

A Letter to Anonymity

 
I shall call you anonymous.
For to summon the strength necessary for your name to pass my lips; requires a power far beyond my hardly humble existence.
 
Dear Anonymous:
 
Seems like eons since our eyes met
And ages since our mouths conducted stale symphonies
Words so translucent that as speakers we ourselves became transparent
Shallow as an empty shot of vodka leaving the throat rancid and molten  
A burning sensation we so despairingly longed for
Neither of us could reject it nor could we even hesitate to refill our glass
 
Sometimes our voices clashed
Violently
Flailing hopelessly as if drowning in loneliness
Clinging desperately to the other’s words in a shameless attempt at staying afloat
 
Multiple times I let you drown
Only to be framed as your rescuer
 
Judas is thy savior
 
But In all fairness
We both were blind
By our naivety
By the lasciviousness that comes along with hormonal adolescence
And by haunting backgrounds that were much too tumultuous to properly prepare us for such an emotional and physical relationship
 
I could taste the vulnerability on your lips
I, with more guile then gullibility, was not deterred
But instead encouraged
To let my fantasies penetrate our innocence and run wild through our minds
 
I asked for your body and you gave me your being
 
You loved with what you could love
You touched with what you could touch
You gave everything you could give
 
I loved only what you gave to touch 
I touched only what you gave to love
And I gave only what I thought you were worthy of getting
 
Selfish is a foolishly mislead understatement
But how can someone who only loves self be expected to be anything but
 
By no means is this an excuse
Only another variable in the equation
The irony being there was never any equality in us
A sad but honest reality
And to no one’s avail 
 
Temporal happiness is all we could ever have hoped for
At such a young age love is mythological: fairy tales and misconceptions
 
In a way what we experienced was a kind of love; though unhealthy and vague
At one point we shared a mutual friendship that I admittedly couldn't handle at the time
 
Then, still struggling to develop into my own person I couldn't simultaneously come to terms with who I wanted and needed me to be and who you wanted and needed me to be.
 
So with patience worn as a peasant’s sole
And guilt mounting as with a sinner in the house of god
 
I gave up
 
On you
And our friendship
 
Instead of conducting more lackluster symphonies and rearranging those illuminating words that obscured and protected my soul
I abandoned you
Shipwrecked with no life boat
 
 
 
I wrote this letter not because I regret my decision I made but how I made it.
This by no means is attempt at rekindling an already desolate, and even back then faint, flame
 
The reality is I've never been more at peace with myself and with who I am
 I've grown into my own; piecing myself together daily
 Becoming more and more of the person I am destined to be.
 
But as my vision clears there are still memories that cloud my mind.
 
You never deserved the heartache or the disappointment
You expected much more out of me as a companion and once lover
And Sadly I didn't honor that
 
Even though my ears had grown deaf to our once beloved symphonies and my tongue became tasteless; immune to the feverish sensation of conversing
You still deserved an explanation or at least a good bye
 
And in writing this letter this is my farewell
 
My apology for not honoring your arrangements as co-conductor
For wrongfully accusing your brilliant hues for poison
For allowing my arrogance to persuade my sentiment
For destroying our world
 
Though I did it with flawed execution believe me I did it with the best intentions.
Better off we were.
Better off without.
 
 Sincerely, Sorry
 
P.S.
I neither expect a response nor do I expect forgiveness
Only Closure


number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

louis gander

louis gander, 7 january 2013

Life Was...

(A true story poem from the summer of 1934
as told to me by my mother, Ruth)
I hope you enjoy "Life Was..."

Worked like a mule, when not in school, below the scorching sun.
I couldn't treat my calloused feet. My work was never done.

Near idle plows, I milked the cows. A barn, we didn't have -
but under stars, the land was ours and where our cows would calve.

With weary hands I filled the cans. Their tails they would flick -
and sting my eyes while swatting flies. Then bucket, they would kick.

Two hours flat, was done with that, from my familiar stool.
The cows backed off their drinking trough where I put milk to cool.

The morning after, I worked faster, hitching up the team.
One called Nancy, the other Topsy - hauled our milk and cream.

Those two old nags had swayback sags. They were a stubborn lot.
I must confess, they lacked finesse. Race horses, they were not.

The wagon bad, but all we had, so up my brother climbed.
The little whelp was not much help, but "Giddy-up!" he chimed.

As we would sing, the cans would cling the four miles into town.
Population: Twenty seven - but that's if we're around.

With morning sun, that work was done - but now, another day.
We'd fertilize while bread would rise and maybe bail some hay.

I always worked - and never shirked - my duties. I was nine.
But God gave strength to me at length - and life was truly fine.

©2013 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------


number of comments: 1 | rating: 2 | detail

Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 7 january 2013

There are times

There are times when a new tomorrow is almost touchable,
when the sorrow, pain and heartache of yesterday disappears,
when people feel as if every new day holds something special,
when a person again wants to trust like a child
and does know that God holds everything in His hand
when there is something joyous in the sunshine
and nature in the garden rejoices with secret knowledge
 
and there are moments like now
where your presence brings joy,
where I know how absolutely precious
our love, your company and friendship
and every moment can be, where I want to save it,
want to nurture it as if I can save it up
when our hearts both sing of joy,
when the sun glitters outside on drops of dew
 
when days stretch out and I am aware of your beauty,
when times become as they are meant to be
and are without any fear
and nothing is more important than the being together,
when I read your own feelings in your eyes,
when nothing can curtail our feelings
when every moment is full of happiness and is true
 
and just like this I want the rest of the year to be,
as if it’s lying right against my fingertips like you.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Kahlia Mazacalletti

Kahlia Mazacalletti, 7 january 2013

Somewhere in Tiajuana

She sat up late to contemplate, what life would be like with all the strife
Problems here, Problems there-some larger than others, but still everywhere
It seems that her time has taken its toll;but she's still fighting to reach her goal
To be the woman she wants to be, with all her wealth in her memory
For sometimes dollars aren't worth a dime
It's what she had stored for all her time
She spent looking back over the years of lost and found and planted her feet on solid ground
It's not easy going down memory lane,and re-hashing heartache all over again
But she stayed in time with herself-one on one; until her inventory was done
She forgot about the bad and kept the best;threw away the garbage and kept the rest
Put X's on some boxes and closed those doors;she'd already been down those roads before
Then she smiled and let it all go.......
On a dusty road in Tiajuana, Mexico            
               


number of comments: 0 | rating: 3 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 january 2013

UNCHARTED SELF

Do not go like a rose,
stay like poinsettia.
Now as a brutal encounter
holy color will descend.

Polygonal wound was too proud
to bleed on the street.
The scarlet morning will bring
night’s blood.

And mystery of love between
outcasts will never smell the hate.
Insane discretion wraps a baby
of a cloud to argue for parents.

Questions are raw like sea
rocks under the hoofs of a
whiny horse. I had found you
sitting in a graveyard.



Satish Verma


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Geetima Baruah Sarma

Geetima Baruah Sarma, 6 january 2013

SOJOURN

Nature embellishes with
The advent of autumn,
The blooming of sewali,
The swaying of kohuwa,
To herald Divine Mother,
Who alights with her children,
For an annual sojourn,
Bedecked in ornaments,
Equipped with weapons,
To represent
Elimination of evil
And symbolize
Victory of the virtuous.
Her earthly sojourn
Delights every worshipper,
Enthralls the youngsters
And elderly equally,
To the rhythm of dhak,
To the sound of uruli,
To the illuminated mandap,
To the instant jalebi.
Her sojourn ends
On the tenth day
Of the moon's phase
And she proceeds
Towards the river
With divine grace,
Along with the crowd
Who follows her
With utmost reverence.

[Published in the e-magazine 'Enajori' in October 2011 issue]


number of comments: 2 | rating: 3 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 january 2013

FAINT WRITING

You wanted to live
inside a shell
and step outside, in
a bowl of habits, sometimes,
nudging accumulated sins
to offset the aftershocks.
Tsunami is here to stay.

The crowd was swelling
lured by candles on the sea.
Each candle for one living grave
carried by each person on the head,
for the raging waves of life.
In one minute you will become a shadow
of long legs.


Satish Verma


number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Ye Caterpillar

Ye Caterpillar, 6 january 2013

HALLO WORLD BALL

HALLO WORLD-BALL
Feathery old static fluff-ball
World with its upside down Russias
All over the place-
  Hallo again I say to thee
world scatter-wing a day gone turned
a worldly spin on things, a time
World-ball, I remember you
I remember when I painted your portrait
Yes, I know you.
  Clattering to the ground are
ladles, screens, tunnels, an entrance-way
to other times, afternoons,
a camp a cave a jittney-ride a spin
You have so much to offer-
  You immensely and unimaginably
rich and diverse world
that is in fact a conglomerate
ball composed of many a world
squashed together
on the surface of one ball-
  World-realm-shadow-ball-
Thought-made ball-
  Ball dappled with discarded
Dreams of the dear dead and gone ones-
  Of many times, a World 
of many situations and perspectives
A World
Of so many feelings, thoughts, memories
and sense impressions of dust-like
entities,
A World-
  So to gather up everything that
ever happened in the World
and hold it up to the light
and so to hallo the World
step away and look cleanly at it
Because you know;  what is a World?
  Is it one now I'm looking at it aren't I?
Is it this whale-frothing sea of drops
or this stone-mantled continental swoop
these breezy air-realms sunny afternoons
going shopping in town or hurtling cyclones
around the Aleutians under the auraura borealis
the sand in a fly's eye in Arabian hubub 
bouncing back the glint of light
from mineral silicone frost sliding glimmer-
  In a dirigible's rib-cage telegraphic
morse signals electro-magnetic 
kinetic communique - a scene yes
but not the only because over
here you have
look, another glistening
pallette of shimmering
viridian hues-
  so puff, Old World
And gleeful spin,
Don't damp your imagination
and get done in-
  Moons to your moods they cling
Eyes closed 
Mind's eye open-
Bubbling street stations
and there's the department
of complaints
In a street like this town
you have everything
and it's all going down-
  Lemon-horns blow stawberry licks
and slippery drums pour stacks
rattle
Fresh and green slew plumes of  pine
and gliding fish brined bone-strong
water-gone gads-
witness the manta
sea-square strangeness
to the power of three-
  Light split into beams
blaring on golden morning wall
early white gold light
young light lucid-
  World barely just held together
by cumbersome pins and
antiquated and outmoded systems
of pseudocohesion and psychodrama-
  World enmeshed in myth
World on the back of a fish
and frisson of fish-net prophets
melt the ice of eye-sockets
glossy glaze and gaze through glass
at last glossing the fog with
crystal vision-
  World aflash with exploding Humanity
World writhing in chemical mysteries
World flung hung religiously in space
as though in a glass case on display
as if created by atom-storm-wind
in the nostril of clustering horse-god
in x-ray lightning shattered-
  Living world,
into which the breath of all the dreams
of people's chain of ages whispers 
and ripples-
  World which all look upon and think
You are mine-
  Gadfly World, teasing out illusions
home of distorted ideas, home-world
of the greedy cruel and indifferent
world well-submerged in down-mentality
world almost subjugated by mal
world toxic made not well by man
Old nature fighting back-
  World to the core hot, spinning
in space like the Great Phonograph
of legend-
  Honour to the World of everything
plastic bags and all
But mostly to the myriad creatures
the glittering sparks of beings
the mass of zillions of hearty ghosts
smiling children of ephemera
crude karmic ping-pongs
kind souls, kindred folk, kith,
and atom wind sea-square strangeness-


number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Ye Caterpillar

Ye Caterpillar, 6 january 2013

JACK KEROUAC'S TYPEWRITER RHYTHM UNROLLS

Jacaranda jaculus - jaculus Caractacus
Caraway imaculus.
Hacking haikus home from traveling the page.
Merimac memory-babe, clacking keys
on your portable machine
writing the epic paperback roadflick
lickin' up ink, highways, lush-nights
and scenes of your time, your '50's
w e s t e r n    d r e a m i n g
 
Lost, mocked, most honoured scribe
scribbling in endless notebooks
with your
c h e a p w i n e
sharing-it-with-anybody -
YOU didn't mind - 
you knew we all sprung from the same meatwheel, 
the same karmic revolving circus -
From Mary's drunken Buddha-Heart.
 
In felaheen earth
in tents
in Mexico
in automobiles
in neon city night-lights
in sagebrush coyote deserts
in doldrum drinking blues
in ships of the oily dark sea
loving the tragic world
 
loving the magic words - keys clack
ribbon spins and whirls
unravelling on your cheap solitary desk
tales of ten thousand miles
to bless the dream-soaked youth
an' flying souls to the sun 


number of comments: 6 | rating: 4 | detail


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