Depth unfathomable yet earnest and felt, like
Electric eels elusive from an amateur’s grasp.
Nickel and dime’s got nothing for her knack to thole
Impossibilities, but never for sadists, brute, or insolence.
Savors solitary walks to confront oblivion, if not,
Embraced in late-night revels with kindred spirits, or blank spaces
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
Just imagine, just imagine
Just imagine all the things
that WE could've been
Imagine all the places
WE could've gone and seen
Imagination's no longer
fun for you and me
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Is it just the fluorescence behind you...
or you seemed to glow in glee
while discussing the play's flow?
I do not know if time went slower
but everything around you froze;
when your eyes locked me into a stare, and I... flare.
Is it not our classroom too dingy and dark,
thanks to your sparkle, though 'cos
my warm days there weren't a dully dull.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
If I was a mountain
That soared towards the sky,
With craggy snow caps
And stormy grey eyes-
Then you'd be the clouds
That swaddled my peak,
That silenced my thunder
When I tried to speak.
If I was the earth
The desert, in fact:
With arid dry soil
And mud, baked and cracked-
You'd be the rain
The downpour that soothed;
The balm to my bruises,
Relief to my wounds.
If I was the Moon
In the indigo night,
With stars as my blanket
And silver; my light-
Well you'd be the Sun
Just always behind
That lent me your glow
And caused me to shine.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
i
a m
positive
that you
are made of
s t a r d u s t
and water balloons,
oil pastels and the
collection of
settled sugar
at the
b o t t o m
of my
c u p s
o f
t e a
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
1, 2, 3...
Everyone chorused gleefully!
People scatter
Others chatter.
'You again!', I said
Then you cowered your head
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Spoiled her appetite in the ruins of Italia
Deemed devotion in a town in India
Found balance in the two-thousand-mile-long Indonesia
To heartily ask for Grace and refresh her life's page
That is what Liz Gilbert did
What can I say, it is a brave act indeed
I, too, want to explore this wonderful abode
As to marvel the life from the mighty Above
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
The keyboard's noise
The reader's squeal
The churchgoer's prep
Compose, make up
the killed mountain top
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.
Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.
The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.
The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.
All flexing builds muscle.
Rough bricks form castles.
Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring
Too much
To keep painting.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC