Trickling tingles bubble, goaded from the verdant body
As a butterfly’s flutterings coax the flow
Widening and filling
With a gentle lapping of inlets
Ripples tease the reeds into turgid tremors
Merging to waves
Wave upon wave
Curves slide over curves
And at the Delta’s swollen, gaping breadth
Crests slip over craving crevices
Slapping froth in desperate gasps
Milking cruel spasms from the urgent need to reach escape
Until with turmoil resolved
A gentle calm inundates the great ocean of sleep.

Kashmir  

Known but uncertain.
A macabre aura in her lush green valley
Swirls along the lanes and the by lanes,
Humming the death songs, and
Mocking the mother's lullaby;
Inundates the spring of love
Reeling under the gales of remorse !

I- Pulwama

Pulsating pain,
Unbeknown to the servants of chair,
Leaches out the marrow of tolerance,
Wobbles the calmness of quiet sea,
And reduces the sane to stupors;
Mayhem clouds the canvas of peace
And ruins the crop of pride!

II- Shopian

Singing the songs of hope, but-
Hearth of ignominy blazes its zenith
Over the apple-bough bedecked contours.
Perforated is every bud that dares to live
In the middle of the 'dance of death'
Akin to the blind devastating tornado,
Nay, a fair of cherishing right to cease life!

III- Kulgam

Kind enough to lit the candle of austerity,
Unknown but to decipher abysmal cause of
Long lacuna in a journey called life;
Gog and Magog they name them
Arraying the apostles of deceit;
Machiavellianism it is, do they know!

IV- Anantnag

Amplified agony of terrorized souls
Nibble at the crumbs of shattered dreams
Along the periphery of devastated 'Lal-Chowk';
Nomadic but still the images find abode
Tethered with mournful sand of 'Sangam',
Nay, undulating terrain stands it firm
All denizens are but a reflection of
Galeanthropy!

V- Srinagar

Schizophrenic- An epithet
Round the clock they wear;
Illusionary clouds all around
Neap the momentum of ship
And strangulate everything in a fit of despair
Gushing out the marrow of patience
And leaving behind infertile soil
Regretting what it had?!

VI- Budgam

Beseeching to blossoms of almond-
Unlearn to rely on the artifacts
Destruction with their only aim;
Gabel otherwise bound to pay we are  
Along with the honour and digity,
Mundane- a certificate to be killed?!

VII- Bandipora

Beside the 'Wular Lake'
Antiquarian lot with over burdened brows-
Nothing to do but recollecting the days:
'Demons when were worshipped, and
Idols of falsity followed';
Pine high dreams kissing the ground
Over and above that can be documented;
Rolling is the agonising arid pain
Aching all the wasteland of wounds!

VIII- Ganderbal

Gloss of undulating terrain
Anguish in the paroxysms of swindle
Notches of which still bleed
Darkness of dark demegogues;
Eating up of the grey matter follows
Relying on the spoon feed, and
Blackout of the nursery of the intellect
Among the denizens,
Lost in sighs and sobs!

IX- Baramullah

Black and blue still explicit over
Amicable land of dreamers-
Roasted they are from decades;
Along the banks of Jhelum
Mutilated memories are hung
Under the hovering black clouds-
'Lost for words' is the expression,
Living souls visiting this garrison;
Alas! Caught we are between the deep sea and the devil
Heros we need in a land of sheepskin prophets!



X- Kupwara

'Kiss of death' is for the democracy
Unabsolved case of 'Kunun Poshpora';
Pacified unmarked mass graves
Welcome you to the countryside
Amidst the loaves of corpse, and
Roar of egos
Asking the citizens to prove their identity!

streams of salt and H2O leak
down reddened cheeks and condense
in a golden beard. a war-torn nation,
half-a-world-away, crystallizes clear as dayspring
in an insomniac's screaming and fragile psyche
at half-past-three in the morning.
what strength must a seven-year-old posses
to persevere amidst the perversity of cluster bombs?
munitions bought and paid for with the taxes
we fork over to the United States. will her blood one day
stain our hands with crimson? will her mother's?
a girl who just wanted to read, to escape
the tragedy that inundates our surroundings,
to a magical realm of pure imagination.
where we can summon spectral stags
to save us from the misery of humanity
and learn to disarm those who would harm  
us with the charm, Expelliarmus!
the bastion where i found the first seeds that grew
into a rebellion opens its doors to you, Bana.
there's a crater where your house used to be,
rubble strewn in Aleppo, Syria. but know that Hogwarts
will always be there to welcome you home.

The Empire State Building is a giant *******
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of ****, grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate 
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror 
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "*******" State  of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your *******
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths 
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware

I dispelled arduous watches tick on laborious appareled macrocosms scatter spitting patter, teeming paved labyrinths searching for something to own orbiting the bench I sit on, envisaging celestial bodies slinging transonic ripples. Ether colliding into clouds masking infinite galaxies from a suffering and crawling universe destined for a hole in the wall, where the rats live; nibble, scratch, deconstruct, and reconstruct, cannibalize, ****, and die.
         Does silence exist amongst the deucedly hot and dense state that incrementally dilutes vociferous dissonance illuming dynamic hurricanes, merciful gases, and asteroidal moats guarding engraved anthropomorphic landscapes?
Probably not; fauna whisper, tear down, and settle, birth exigent infants and zealous appraisals, ***** towers and castles; consciousness capitulates, inundates prisons, cemeteries, and landfills. Silence, in precipitous day dreaming, auspiciously reverberating webs espying arpeggios tomb the suburbs as one navigates in and out of trepidation to avoid being caught like a gnat, a quiet ******* bug with no cigarettes to burn.
The impact flung me from the bench in the commons toward dusk disguising 16 acres with streetlights and homeless asking for squares on the roads to spurs and oaks, scattered acorns crepitating under my soles. Each  compressing sound pulling like gravity, transporting down roads with bouncing winds, subtle aglow, guides from defiant contours of Gods in the clouds, dandelions erupting side walks like tectonic plates seismically tear apart earth, the fog’s mist like ships floating into suns swimming like tadpoles; air undulates as I wave my hands against the wind, molding the space as clay.
This city is mine, I tumultuously grow with it, and I mercurially oscillate with it as a memory inevitably plays. The past as a dream, is mine. The abstract present is mine, and the infinite future is not, yet they are given away for possession.
Inept graffiti cartographically stain bricks providing a simpler search for portals made perfect for laying like a crescent moon near their opening edge, watching dawn lift dust and my eyelids, glaring off windows building and kissing the satellite towers on roofs, waking the mountains in the horizon, painting the sky, one could give a **** about the past, present, and future, the beginning is just as imminent as venturing any further.
Embryonic sun rays mixing fluids and this coffee I nabbed to wake the day, having it enlighten the conversations one has with oneself; consisting of bellicose thoughts filtered, taboos accompanying bleating people, ubiquitous t-shirts, satirical newspapers, and indecorous magazines perpetually feeding me preliminarily eldritch reconnaissance as they dress into strangers.
It could be time for another cup of coffee and cigarette? Or am I just floating off into enigma over the road becoming a sea?
Gypsies contort into seagulls, shingles moving like tsunamis smashing down on metropolitan brick cities, Atlantis generation XYZ resting in an underwater valley, mountains sew gardens on the ocean’s bottom, signs buried, and I’m simply lifting back off into space.
Complaints will suffocate; I’ll be out of town, however, I will miss those whom drowned.
Good riddance.
“Hello,” a soft resonation shaking the atmosphere.
Resuscitation; back to reality…
“Hello”, the voice repeated, “Are you going to be alright?”
“Pardon, what happened?” I slurred.
“You just fell several stories and your head is missing. This is astonishing how you can hear me, how I can hear you, are you in any pain?”
“Um, I apologize, but I’m not really certain of what you are saying. My head is missing?”
“Yup, it detached from your atlas, when you hit the asphalt, what is the last thing you remember?”
“Having my head…well sort of, I remember staring at people on a bench in the commons it was kind of turning my stomach, making my head feel heavy, so I got up and walked. Explains the headaches and visuals, Where am I?”
“You’re in my basement. I could hear your voice when I found you, even with your head, well, skull missing.”
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“I would have called an ambulance, but you told me not too, you wanted me to hear you, you kept insisting I hear your stories, so, I listened to your stories as I basically dragged you here. You would go in and out, talking then silent the next, and now you seem like you’re in at this moment; without a skull, your heads there.”
“Well…I can’t see you… or the basement… and I am not in any pain… How long has this been going on, why did you listen to my stories, and what did I say?”
“You know what you said.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the only one who listened.”

there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt

rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology

will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism

or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more

as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we

challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves

abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of

solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance

our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore

the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness

Knowledge teaches us
How much is our need
Vices inundates
In the swirl of greed.

Increasing knowledge
Lessens the needs
Guides the soul
Towards wisdom and peace

Vices are like
Cancerous germs
Increases the greed
To destroy oneself.

Goal of life
Is to attain love and peace
With greed
We can never reach that place.

Greed is
Like a hunting trap
It allures, attracts
And ruins at last.

Increasing knowledge
Lessens the needs
Guides the a soul
Towards wisdom and peace
=====================
Amitava (4.11.2014) 7-00 am



©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AMITAVA SUR

they say the road to hell
is paved with golden intentions
and they are not mistaken i
see it's latent
hidden within psychosocial declarations
of everlasting love from a narcissistic god
i don’t give much credence to
the insistent proclamations of eternal
damnation in a metaphysical realm
of torment and brimstone but

don’t get me wrong
i’ve seen hell in the
wolfish grins of pilfering preachers
in the glassy eyes of opiated masses
i was careful when i stared
into that dark abyss
knowing it glared right back at me
emphatically declaring that i
was the lost sheep
a fallen brother separated
from the good shepherd’s flock
a prodigal son isolated in
alienating atheism but

i’ve come to love my
outcast status i’d rather
rot in the dirt after
raising hell on Earth
than suffer rebirth in ethereal bliss
espousing endless reiterations
of worship for a
fictitious megalomaniac

god is dead we killed him
deicide stains these hands
in shades of scarlet and crimson
the triumph of humanity will not
fade once again to the putrid
obeisance and ridiculous reverence
or religious references to divinity

salvation lies within

two decades of dedication
to the Christian ideal
left me dejected rejecting the
shallow lies and overt
misconceptions of religion
chose to begin again in the
reclamation of self-determination
i found a dignity independent from
a deity perpetuating guilt and regret
and though i will never forget the
progressive lessons of a radical rabbi
offering a message of hope and forgiveness
i’ve found that those same tenants
are seriously lacking in the
contemporary Christian church

if your god is
omnipotent and not
merely impotent
than tell me why he
needs you to
defend him

come on coward
if you’re real
show yourself
here’s the chance to
prove me wrong
sling lightning from the skies
and take my life i’m
not afraid i’m ready to die
and part from the suffering
that inundates this existence

strike me down and remove
all doubt of your majestic malevolence
a malfeascent adolescent prone
to fits of jealous rage and
temporal temper tantrums

that’s what i thought

i only hear the sounds of
a theological clown show
self-styled scholars enumerating  
passages of mercy and compassion
in the same holy text that condones
**** and slavery and child abuse
which would be ironic if it
hadn't been slapped together over
centuries of violence and bloodshed
and used to justify two millennia's worth of
repressive oppression a
putrescent obsession with control

it's true what Sartre said
hell is other people
and we have No Exit
from the depravity that
obfuscates critical inquiry
in the immortal words of
Shakespeare the nether-realms
are emptied all the devils are here

your god maybe a figment of
fantastic imagination but so
much horror has been wrought
with his name as the justification

so forgive me if i seem hyperbolic
but it is no exaggeration  
when i declare that religion itself
is a hell from which we're still
trying desperately to wake up

Flippant polymaths exude the frippery of travail for lapsed inordinate surgical gains in temporal but temporary acclaim that owes its provenance to the gullarge accentuated by the guttural tempests of silent windfalls that wrestle with sharks and snarky cagamosis with pilfered fame without rulers for rules that own the profligacy of a cineaste game

We cannot surpass our talents with ease when the treecheese of inevitable distance between equipoise and insanity is a tantamount inanity of prolixity for the sake of freedom rather than servitude to the slow meandered steps of trudged verbigeration that needs to be exorcised from the seat of authority for the plodding inconvenience of time earned that shakes the listless yearning people who lie and spurn

Demagogues are trifles because they are anoegenetic and care not for the abligurition that consumes the energy of a dismal life lived on fringes rather than reaped with grimaces for binges that continue to absorb the painful pangs of twinges that hedonists are of interest

We cannot exorcise the demons that give stygian weight to exchequers beyond the gamut of money but rather the currency of velocity of thought that owes its weight to weightlessness of spaces between the spacious and the limited tract of isolative territory that many mendicants looking for sustenance travail in insolence and in perjury of their solemn duties for self-serious honesty they lack a vista to see their crimes as more than just a pettifoggery of disputatious wranglers that wrench and then contemn the objects of their moral scruples to contend with nothing but the vacant expanse of a limitless injury for a momentary slip of cultivation and countenance

Frippery is hard to cobble with lapidary wit because succinct grievances are fallow ground for the permanence of atrocity and the temperance of felicity to conform to the desiccated pathways of limpid but livid excoriations of willful ingenuity met with aleatory rambles that sprawl incalescence with words as a dying occupation that is resurrected from the abeyance of its pragmatic utility to distinguish class from crust.

The triadic fatuousness of snarky sharks recruiting the gullarge of paranoiacs to deputized alacrity lead many strident vocations astray as they pilfer the nullibiety of spectral ignorance and defy the gravitas of the primiparas of a swollen technocracy, an outrage that scarecrows with prevenance have adumbrated against with strident accelerations of sublime velocity

So we swim in perilous straits against the demiurge of inclemency in fated rittles for the turpitude of wraiths and engineer every aborning day a new foofaraw of unalloyed atrocity
Now more than never should be deployed to ensure that the castigation of scoundrels and guttersnipes that exert a rip tide to those stranded on the shores of littoral desiccation might find the pristine beachgoing public an amenable treat proffered by exorcised sheepishness in reiterative bleats that quarkswarm only the antinomy of sentient masteries by shoveled civilizations proctor to horological insistence in design

So we designated an abeyance of heydays to create a rippled nostalgia that creeps in the winter storms that singe even glabrous ignorance with the twinges in absentia of the regal crows that circle the sun as the sustenance of the alighted moon as we reach for the heaved Richter teeming with ablution for venial commination of prolix croons that exert a Palo Alto rhyme

Phenomenological fields distal to the cephalocaudal origination of limber and the ironic counterpoint to that strife in excess rather than dearth of the henchmen behind the exchequer showcase that fluid thoughts surpass the limits of the dentistry of cosmetic cosmology simultaneously a scientific boon but a coarse albatross

We are criminals in a world stranded by ****** apostasy because of the sincerity of minstrels meets plodding human ignorance as exemplars rather than the apotheosis of divine excoriation of wastrels and flattybouches who webdoodle their way into the extinction line in some computer file swiped from eccedentesiasts who often in uncouth barbarity forgetfully abide without the temperance of floss

So what are we to make of magisterial wits of wiseacres who pilot tenable objectives like Indiana Jones flexing his comical whip when the gunfire of cacophony inundates our ears with a lisp of cockalorum imposture rich in chewing tobacco and its ungainly gripes and tenacious grip

Should we seek salvation from the treecheese of arboreous terrain amenable to the newfangled windfall of agricultural whims that dare now with caprice but not quixotic disdain to reconfigure the parsimonious levered engagement of melliferous fungible transaction between sabbaticals and chief financiers dubbing the vociferous limn of the primeval fulgurant incandescent ethereal quips?

We strive for palaces issued with dimes, dozens and scores of retinues that retain the patina of sophistry as the gullarge makes the vangermytes cozy in their defensively mechanized citadel buffered against the unheralded malversations of mammon intersecting with primordial chemistry that give the philanderer a guise of philanthropy despite professed gainsay that perjures because hucksters are winsome with fiduciary risk

So we calumniate with lapsed puns and Potter’s Spells as we dredge the indemnity of bustling heydays that extend beyond the bailiwick stated because of the prolonged trace of nostalgia that frazzles our voluntary expeditions with misanthropy as each libertine instinct becomes subject to stop and frisk

How to balk at such a garrulous repartee as proffered by swanky intransigence that shakes it off in a quaky town that hates the Swift refrain that endangers the fatalism of recuperated foresight borrowed from the armamentarium of corrupted killjoys who swim in a dalliance with the itchy myths that drift from powerlessness to voguish debauchery of insouciant internecine fringes frayed by the tomes that decry Stygian drift

Shiftless and rooted in rintinole absolved by plackiques that enchant the voyeurism of repined squalor of industrious frippery deracinated from the aureate complicity of largesse calibrated to mobilize the skittish mercurial yuppies to a dance with divestiture, taxes and an earthen death, we sprint the evergreen mile toward the scrupulous invention of enthusiastic euphemisms arbitrated by the procrustean silt of the leaky faucet of enigmatic timelessness etched by chiselers to beat “Us and Them” and warn the vanguard of the front rank about the thespian rift

Exhaustive rescue squads prepared for the dearth of monetary heft in times of perilous drought denigrate the authors of famine to the indulgent parents of inordinate sabotage of narrative for riskless arbitrage that is the outrage of sciamachies between platonic indifference and the tantrums of the feckless in the dangerous hearth of the cavernous wilderness of limitless imaginations that stagger so far beyond orbit they become satellites to vagrancy and whittled paragons too distant to dissolve in the ethereal chemistry of incalescent uproar sadly flanged by the Dopplers of ephemeral fate

Squandered by the desuetude of a snarky intervention I issue invective at the proctors of deafferented limbs for barbarous swine meeting expediency in demise, bemoaning the placid distaste of rectified cries that issue candles for each acrimony beyond the permutation of the staid inflexible limit of 88’

Bashfully we careen through argosies of curiosity to fossick the stalactites of timeworn intuition and reckon with their converse ironies that drip faucets of mildew that remain hidden unless poked by plucky flashlights to inspect the paragon of erosive filigrees of a bewildering paradox of polarized design that one meets the ceiling at inception and the cousin strives to clamber empty space to know with faint certainty the bulldozed irony of superordinate coexistence

Now we return to the majesty of a spurned wiseacre that evades the snappy parlance of a wrenched friction between the physical and the metaphysical elements that constitute a commensurate reality so supernal that its ostentation creates lifetimes of reiterative growth that spawns crimson red and bloviated blues to find a fulcrum of balance between the malversation on one hand of criminal sinister machinations and on the other hand the execrable self-righteous ignorance of a hidden vehicles of dexterity that are subsumed by a subtlety of legislative graft that owes its forbearance to the sanctimony of perseveration without the laurels of persistence

Now we wed the concepts between the ambidexterity of a monolithic titan who wanes rather than waxes himself because his glabrous head already exposed requires nothing new because the empire that struck back is denuded by the thorny imbroglio of a sunken Rose

Timmynoggies are perfect for haberdasheries of saccharine and glib excellence as measured by the ****** cacophony of unmerited applause that strains the resourcefulness of the silent mastery of magistrates in mellifluous alcoves surrounded by the soundproofed rigors of an execrable dereliction wilt into the imaginations of the few that watch movies with errantry rather than pleasantries of gaudy nonsense enchanted by a striptease of the wanton zeitgeist that some balk at but everyone knows

Time earns the spangled banners of sloganeering because of the fastidious creations of pole folders that maneuver between quips borrowed from antique movies and swindled affectations of yearning of many of all fears inevitable with the malevolent passage of the technocracy from cheers to vehement inveighed jeers

We should fear the watershed because it necessitates the evaporation of winsome ambition and implores the subservience of a guiltless fascination with abominable regress concomitant to the acceleration of money preceding a whipsawed downfall ensured by the funereal spates of requiems to oneironauts who plunged to their deaths on headlong flickering whims past the craggy landscape of lunar concordance and through the abeyance of qualms to flabbergasted self-importance in the eradication of provident fears

Memorials exist encoded in the temporal twinges of agony that straddle the cardiovascular throbs of impermanence that sweat with each simple beat to blather about the repetitious nature of a livid nature scrambled in exodus of the emigration of senseless blather to the subroutines of regimented sleepless paragons of travail in every pedestrian feat accelerated with each passing foot traversed by vigilant and eager feet

Tempests crowd the cluttered hamartithia of dredged incompetence leading to the foreclosure that precedes the simple derelictions that amount to grievous uncertainties that squawk in the plumage of the frippery decay of an autumnal fall from gracile riches landlocked without room to sprawl rigged against every track that is a surefire gleeful keepsake to meet, greet and serenade the claques adorned with the monikers of the Greeks

Trembling beneath the weight of mellifluous sauntering dingy designs that exude the anguish of our provident but incidental remonstration against the plodding indifference of the artistic clerisy we sputter against intransigent annulments of the emotive human engine calibrated with creaky pistons that rumble with furor of abrasive protest in timely haphazard elemental designs for vanguard ears

Tridents shed the fossicked leaves that are divisible by two but not inevitably glue that solders the identities of people congregated around a situation of gleeful sprees rather than wistful regress into a temerity without regret that gets dangled in the purview of the spiteful wings of armies that drawl when they sing vapid songs for vaped bongs but not the soberly cheers because of the deafening din of conformity oblivious of the honorific crescendos that still peak after so many restless years

Confederates line the avenues of bustling caverns of cumulative human disdain so willfully flouted by the wrenched corrosive frictions of vibrant deformation of the cultural narrative that encapsulates the collective bubbles chewed and jettisoned like bandied candy and then defamed without justice because  hurricanes churn up the reclusive emergence of protective vanity chased down as a sunken cost for a siphoned glory of tribal pride despite the strictures of logic

Creeping with insistence is a subaudition of governing gravel that entombs many steadfast lies that embodied people living delusory lives under a paradigm that has been subverted by the feats of science into a morass of irrelevance and the chances are many of those so deluded still breathe the air now more polluted but balk at the memories of the fallen passengers on the convalescent train that accelerates sunblind but respectfully toward a systematic engrossment of swollen intellects whimpering about the tautologic

We finance our prescient rodomontade with rodeos equipped with zany clowns who spurn the tridents of Poseidon because of the iridescent gloss of sheepish and flippant zealots who churn against the wrestling match of televised irony with accentuated eccedentesiastic disdain amended by a tolerable diversion of ennobled gallantry zip-zagging among the many valid quodlibets and missing the mark entirely on purpose to vacate the possible raillery of those who balk at time’s chosen serpentine tracks because of limited pedagogical tracts

So lets solder a forceful brunt against the senseless regalia of modern omphalos and return to the plenipotentiary fields of resourceful human inquiry into the chagrins outmoded by convenience but amplified in vociferation by the prosthetic extension of a grangull humanity outfoxing itself into a zugzwang inevitable in the future with collateral losses because of senseless invidiousness orchestrated by the immiscible dermatology of divisive facts often about race and ineluctable tax

We conclude with the optimism that refineries become gentrified by the superlunary squadrons who bask in beatific beams of anonymity and that the pollution preceding our evolution is just adventitious rather than central to the amelioration of wavy screens ennobling so many upstarts to teach themselves the majesty of lucid dreams and to capitalize on ludic ideals divorced from the urchins of radical idealisms that ironically poach rarefied air with smug pollution of narrative scares

Without trepidation we can muster the largesse of civility to create a progeny that has a recursive progeny of heirs that defiantly imagine a world bereft of specters of the soporific imagination enforced by the lapidation of insight from termagants who stride with ursine acrimony naked bare and envision a global meliorism that is careful, picaresque, pragmatic and filled with meritocratic care

With those ornaments of an aureate measure in mind


We leap beyond the enumerated infinity in time's proper design

Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,

Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.

Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.

Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget

your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.

Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.

Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.

After much evaluation,
I do not think
this place to be the trouble
or to warrant change.
I am the trouble, and I am
indelible from it.

Guilt inundates the mind
as a byproduct:
nausea and exhaustion are an
ungodly synthesis
indicative of something--
something...

And if I were given a dollar
at each instance,
I could buy a carton
of cigarettes.

At first, I thought that
funny.

Now I think I should not think
at all.

KNOW your fate
Don’t just ******* talk about it or think about it
Let the sucrose of the idea of that fate percolate your mind, know it and all of its idiosyncrasies, and then accept it and follow it
Hound it down and hunt it until you shoot it in the back of its **** head with a Tommy gun
Then grab that ******* by its hind lags, drag it down that dusty road and throw its *** into the arena
Hurtle it over all those wooden barricades and watch it convulse as his back strikes the dirt ground
Then stand over him with your spear
(you don’t know where the hell this spear came from, it spontaneously materialized in your hand, but its ******* fitting so you go with it)
and bellow “Holy, Holy everything!!! Victory is in my back pocket and all the dues in my wallet.”
The crowd in the ancient stadium cheers
You swing your red cape behind your shoulders
(this red cape is also a recent “randomly materialized” sartorial addition)
and grab a magnolia and bite down on it its succulent stem
Oh my, do you taste that?
How does it first settle on your tongue?
Does it fizzle like pop rocks?
Does it glide like milk?
Toe scrunching sweetness
How does it taste when it inundates your throat?
When it spreads in your chest and settles at the bottom of YOU?
Your fate
The stem
The spit
Your head

there is a nascent impulse that
echoes in every heartbeat
living within our blood
to regard one another with the new eyes
science has built for each of us
to see the world independently
unaligned with ignorant ideology
untainted by nefarious nationality
but nurtured rather on the premise that reality
is the faculty of the mentally complete
who realize if we don't pause in our
crusade to exterminate each other we will
ultimately deplete what it is that makes us

sentient beings possessed with the will to
determine our own future
divorced from the vestiges of arbitrary
authority we might still muster the courage
to reject this putrid dichotomy that inundates
every aspect of our humanity with utter
lies and disjointed hypocrisies

we dare feign innocence when
blood saturates our hands
from the drones bombing
Yemen to the murdered children in Pakistan
our politicians are manufacturing new enemies
with every shot that rings out above
blood-soaked foreign lands
our taxes are their supply
endless war is their demand

it's written in our hallowed declaration
of independence which—of
late—seems groundless and impotent
that each of us are intrinsically
entitled to life and liberty
and the pursuit of happiness and that
it is not merely our right but our
obligation to abolish this
representative republic so destructive
to those ends

anarchy is our next great adventure

after all it seems glaringly clear to
me that there are few distinguishable
differences between the eighteenth century
monarchy and our present day corporate oligarchy
the interests of the people are mitigated to
pitched elections between two indistinguishable
political parties that infuse our world not with
democracy but with hegemony
they're content to watch the world rot

this is not the land of the free
it hasn't been since bison roamed
across midwestern plains and
Native Americans communed with
the Mother we all share
everything changed when white
puritans fleeing persecution
spread religion like a festering ulcer oozing
poison into the zeitgeist psyche
a hive-mind mentality that fosters
brainlessness and stifles free inquiry
gods gold and glory

we need to learn to disobey before
it's too late to erase the mistakes of
the apathetic elite who've apprehended
our liberty and co-opted our ingenuity
for projects feeding capitalist insanity

we must rekindle the insurrectionary spirit of
the creative, dedicated minority
who rose up in the 50's and 60's and
fought not with fists and guns
but with words and deeds
against war and poverty and
white supremacist patriarchy

nurture the embers and fan the flames
of the Black Lives Matter
organizers swarming the stages of
defunct politicians like Hillary Clinton
and Bernie Sanders who propagate
the status quo
pour gasoline on the fires raging
in the camps of Occupy
in Oakland and Wall St.
our modern day dissidents serve time in federal
penitentiaries for blowing the whistle
languishing in exile half-a-world away
they wear Guy Fawkes masks and hack
anonymously from the deep web
exposing state secrets and war crimes
sometimes they look a lot like you and
you'd best believe they look like me

no longer can we trust self-styled
leaders of the free world
if we labor to cultivate our
own communities that vaunt
authenticity above authority and
integrity instead of inanity
perhaps then we might recognize that
the impetus rests within the crux
of self-acceptance
and we all will say in unison
it starts with me

The pervasive silence fills my ears, the resonance of it inundates me. I speculate what you’re thinking about, why you are now drifting into nothingness, why we are now on the precipice of nothingness. Maybe I revealed too much, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that you are what I want, that you will always be what I want...that this will never change. My feelings for you are constant, they never waver. They bubble over into hysteria, into rash thoughts, into frantically telling you these things. Things that make your lips still. My lips are still too. They are meant to kiss you with, my dear. They are meant to break the absolute fragility of this silence, the glass house that we currently inhabit. Words right now would be like stones, carelessly thrown. I am living in the reality I have created in my mind. I do not know what to accept as fact or fantasy, for your silence deafens me,  your silence stops me from being able to rationalize my own reality. For I will never know what gears are shifting in your machine of a mind. For I will never know whether this silence is meaningful to you, whether you know the speed at which my spry thoughts are sailing. You could be thinking about how unreal the sun feels on your back after the months of winter we have endured. You could not be thinking about me. Or maybe you want to admit to me that we occupy the same reality, you and I...Or maybe you’re plotting your inescapable escape. This silence will be misconstrued in infinite ways, overanalyzed, thought about incessantly until my mind becomes overcome with you. Until my mind tires of you. Until I force you away from me. Until my feelings are fleeting, and you wonder what I am thinking when I thoughtlessly wander away from you, abandon you...leaving you standing there with your own thoughts, your own mind. Your own reality.

Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With agony, thou cry, thou scream and thou sleep

Staggering over time, the extensions of gore
A morph possessed over the flags: cloistered around throat
An uttering of serene eons, of atrophy and of thaw;
A morass of hegemony, of identity and war
Withered from bullets,drained over the ground
A knock on the coffin of tommorrow and   the past
A chronology misplaced and outdone
And a synapse of presence smothered with the breath of dust

Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With hope, thou bawl, thou shout, thou sleep

Chaotic commemoration ruptures over the streets
Splatters around an arcane, segregated country
Under the mud of enigma lies the rotten leaves of history
Away the tomorrow leans, restless and unknowingly
For it lies awake with the screams of a rifle, the screeching audibilty of ghostly  mutterings, the camaraderie caught on flesh, between the teeth of craved monarchy
For the tomorrow lies awake near the history.
For the past suffocates the vivacity
Yclept the peace, yclept the tranquility!

Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With anger, thou yelp, thou break, thou sleep

A hymn of sigh deafens the petrifying serenity
A sigh outraged with the murmur of life
Seismic ephemerality tears the ground apart
Barges in, the present, whispers a cry
The tomorrow lies still over the chunks of calamity
Lulled to sleep with the kiss of presence,
With the screams of a distant enmity:
The burial of time that has been cloistered around the anonymity
The burial of the ceased, the past, as a euphemism
The burial of the existence, the present, as    a mayhem
The burial of the undone, the tomorrow, with a malediction
All three in the same grave, punching the timeless, imminent reality they delineated

Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With silence, thou shatter, thou question, thou sleep

Down the ground quaffs the time
Of a city that no longer breathes
Out inundates the prayers of a dilemma
For a country is to cleave
Fidelity over a continuum, with faded prayers, shares a discourse
Befuddled with an antinomy, it asks itself, how an epitaph shall be wrought?
Down the ground swallows the confusion
Of a city that no longer cries
Now, which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
To be overwhelmed by a plenitude of halves
In the name of peace, in the name of life!

Which ground shall I die beneath?
To lie awake with an eternal sleep
I no longer whisper over the divided streets
Not to awaken the past, not to revive the wounds and faded hymns
I breathe in the dust, devouring the ceased
For a divided city is to be kissed
Down I no longer hold an impulse to scream:
A gush of presence that arises a breeze
That of which billowing up the grave
Releasing a future for a road ahead
With hope, I bawl, I defy, I beg
Yclept the peace, in the name of solidarity!

A heart is a war, a heart is a shutter
One stream of light is allowed to escape
Far into your chambers a ceiling is painted
Mosaic by name, but truer to form:
An electrical storm we ourselves engineered to
Perpetuate evils eluded before
In the grimness of what lies behind the mind's door
When we met as two fangs in the jaw of a serpent
And you were the flares arcing up towards the sky
And I was the lens overawed by your light
Yes, I was what bent you with colors diffracted
Now I am that glass which your mildew begrimes
Color me flyblown, or color me blind
Marred are the edges around this old glass
The ink inundates and the horn is all hollow
Latched is our gate when the causeways collapse
Besieged now in my ocean of ink
Scanning the night sky for sign of a flare
No whisper, no shutter, no lingering there

data
all arranged collimated
in neat rows columns
speading sheets all laid out
on rooftops with SOS
written in red paint calling hecilopters
help us it says
water is good unless it inundates
and is ***** with sewage and the government flies by
looking but doesn't do it
before it ends there are accountants
adding tallies costs against lost lives on
a white sheet a
gamma line
going steadily up to the right corner
of a clean paper sheet maybe a posterboard for added
emphasis
etchy red line exponentially  rising up up away
in that line are lives against costs the government
sitting on markers
red crayons calculators
basing missions against costs like lives are expendable
how much can we spend for a bunch of creoles or  ****** in New Orleans,
someday white folks you gonna be the minority.
I'm
red
I'll rate in the minority
no matter what.

I met a lady today
Whose face I see in my dreams
Her name is fortune
She wears a beauty that men and
gods becomes confuse

Her virtue is like a torrential river
With an enraging eye and behavior
Her nose inundates the lowland
Her breast brings down trees and buildings

She creates havoc when she passes
Her legs cleanse the land on one bank
And deposit debris on another
Many flees to her direction

As she calms a heart as levees
She drifts heart in stormy weather
Makes you think she is yours
Her deceptive lips makes you hers

As she tease you with glaring beauty
you succumb to her desire hoping she
gives a hand, but she takes the help
for her advantage as she sauntered
away into the dark with her beauty

Written by
Martin Ijir

there are nights i fear you coming, knowing your arrival will plunge me into the abyss, to dredge the emotional depths, i am not ready or willing to explore. i am too fragile, overwrought to plumb those parts of me.

it is intense, exhausting, all consuming, analyzing and dissecting my feelings, so i can pick up a pen, transcribe the wellings, spew them on paper, for the world to see. you are a sadist, but i am the *******, that is the reason i love you, leaving me frail, weakening my mettle, as you show me my demons.

crashing out of our dream, i awake alone, the morning after, left in a stupor, hung over, craving more, lamenting what could have been. how lonely do i need to be, to feel free, how much drugs and alcohol does it take to forget, how far do i need to fall to see.

the depression envelopes, inundates all, in a grayness, as the summer sun leaves, abandoning me to melancholy. that is when you come, at my deepest, loneliest, to kiss me as no mortal woman can, whispering, “ you can’t escape me,” in my ear..

Here I am, sitting on my..., excuse me.........in my chair, trying to come up with a suitable topic. Right now, that  appears to be doomed for failure. So, be that as it may, I decided to go back to the archives and pick a few that I hope you enjoyed, and hope you still will, much like the television network programming which inundates our homes with reruns this time of year. But, I will take this opportunity to wish all of you a "Happy Holiday Season, a Merry Christmas, and eventually, a Happy New Year!!"(which year that will be is unknown at this time.)

richard riddle: 11-27-2016
(re: hellopoetry.com)

I was born into a storm I could never calm,
When wind shaken shutters rattle against the time warped windows,
And the growl of thunder reaches even your very bones, fragile and broken,
Where there is no light, only lightning, only darkened skies, and tears we cry,

I was born on a battle field as blood was flowing,
The angry rage of war, the soldiers last lament, would be the first thing that I hear,
The iron clank of swords, the deafening   blast, the cannon *****
It's a war I fear will wage long after I am gone, and I'm dust again,

I was born into the storm, the tornadoes, the hurricanes
The spin that was the first thing my innocent eyes would see
The flood which inundates and makes most of the world suffocate,
And I learned to breath

I was born into the storm
I was born to love the storm

Amputate them from myself.
Not masochism, but medically necessary.
Do I deserve such a relief?

They multiply, and strip away time.
Their mitosis is parasitic. Alien. Destructive.
This ailment leaches from me.

So glad to see you temptation...
One of love’s demons, life’s meanings

Darkness inundates this plane.
Lone light on what I’m craving.
Perched upon a ring pillow of velvet.
Distant from a vestal white, ****** pearl.
Far from what I need right now.

I don’t want to feel this lurking hostility!
Distracts my complete hospitality.
Stalking me like a meal, I can’t show what I feel.

Not until I break down and release.
Like an animal, on my knees at feast.
Only a small chunk taken from their population.
In mitosis they’ll be back shortly.
To start this destructive cycle again.

vision so vital
to all a poet is;
silent beauty whispers
its miracles only
to those listening.

the poet cursed
with eyes and ears
the clamor of
a living, dying world
inundates
their soul

finding refuge
from the deluge
in a quiet stream of stanzas

never realizing the blessing
of the eye of the poet

until all the words have dried

There's no place to run to
no place to hide
self is dissolved
disintegrates--the tide

of blame and shame
inundates
and swallows up the sufferer
who struggles and suffocates

no help
is in sight
conscience is sharper
than the knife which with all its might

knows no pity
nor shows respite
this is worse than the execution avenged by an enemy
more cruel than words can describe.

Oh, stop talking!
Day and night
uproar, uproar,
useful thoughts
are swayed away,
your 'I' inundates
my ear, room, existence..

Listen now
the whisper of air,
reply of dancing leaves,
songs of Robin,
flattering of bees,
and tunes of a lover's
rosy heart.

You will find in my flood of words
a contrast between the two.  

27th April, 2017.

This day in age really proves these creatures are mythical. A piety for pretentiousness inundates us. Drowning in its waters, our egos float up to our heads. Would it not be exceeding if we were as a Blemmy? For without a ceiling to float to, our egos would stay concealed. We could just drain our ocean of turgid avarice for fabricated intellect we seek to praise ourselves with. On the other hand we would become dull. But isn't it wise to at least conceal ego if we cannot smother it? Without ego we can work as one. Think as one. And when we achieve that, we receive the ability to complete all that is conceivable. To bad most aren't willing to give up what they treasure most. The acreage of Real discovery and accomplishment is a fertile, vestal place with unimaginable possibilities. Hopefully one day we will come together and parade through its pastures and meadows as one.

To keep moving
seek an adequate
sense of balance
is all i can muster
now that you're gone

You let me give you
all i am
almost all my love
You let me give you
almost all my love

what you would not
accept was light enough
to carry as tribute
for passage
to your circle

the greater burden
of my love unloaded slowly
as rushing water through
carefully opened conduits
of acceptance

you closed the gate
on your way out

what i still must give to you
has nowhere to flow
so inundates me
drowns me
carries me away

no gates to close
on my way out

Autumn night trembles
rains inundates hills and fields
all windows are closed