Once there was this little tree
Whose soul was completely free
Branches like willful souls
Fill them in tropical bowls
Whisked onto a sea of pristine canopies
The world itself slowly atrophies
Every word itself an apostrophe
Not even trying to avoid a catastrophe
Wondrous flights shape the continuum
Swallowing speech by disarticulating consonants
What will be the clouds departure
To see that the rain falls through the aperture
Come to see the creations so dexterous
With a resonant jewel in their necklace
Underplaying the quickness of the wind
Just with a dash of feeling chagrined
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
The folks bring forth waves
That light up these days
These dogs, these strays
Strange are their ways
Pen, paper and burning midnight oil
Rhyme after verse, relentless I toil
This imp in my mind, his plans I foil
Soon it shall rain, I can smell the soil
Lumbering in the night is this train
We desire pleasure, but we need pain
The hulking beast has been slain
Nothing to lose, everything to gain
Inch by inch, yard by yard
Singing and dancing with the bard
Your precious soul shall we guard
This night sky, so beautifully starred
These words make little sense
At times we can be dense
A quarter, a paisa, a pence
A stone wall, a picket fence
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
My playlist on Youtube writes itself into a poem
It elicits Love, Lust, Loss anger along with a few other emotions
Ratatat takes me on a tour of Rome
PHOX shows me how to dance in Slow Motion
John Denver joins me on the tour of Country Roads
Highlight Tribe encourages me to Free Tibet
Bioshock Infinite do I dream of with Schyman Elizabeth
Kavinsky with his beats, urging me to Outrun
Lose Sight now and again with Andrew Bayer and Ane Burn
Abandoned Pools take me down the memory lane in Clone High
Foo Fighters whisper in my ear that I too can Learn To Fly
COCAINEJESUS, Akira, beats and samples; I have PINEAPPLEKISSES
Cloud Nothing reminds me that I should Stay Useless
Discover A Little Opus as I take a ride on Little Comets
Sky Rabbit opine and observe the present In Our Times
Joey Badass shares with me his funky ideals of *World **********
Coheed and Cambria describe brotherhood in Key Entity Extraction
Geroge Ezra sings an ode to fathers in Listen to the Man
Perfect shows me the other side of the coin with Simple Plan
The Peppers tell a story of starting over covered in Snow
Shakey Graves says takes a chance and Roll the Bones
John Wayne Gacy Jr. the serial killer is immortalised by Sufjan Stevens
Imagine Dragons, the subconscious and fears come alive in Demons
Owl City tells a fantastic fable about insomnia in Fireflies
Ellie Goulding finds sweet slumber even in dark times in Lights
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
The smell of freshly cooked roti wafted through the air and enters my nostrils
As I walked by the construction site laden with debris, metal, tools and drills
For the first time in a long time my mind subdues its chatter
My eyes come to a rest on a *** of soon-to-be cooked batter
The destitute woman sat by a tiny fire with a handful of pots and pans
Cooking for those whose hands would bring to life the Architect's plans
The look in her eyes wasn't that of servility or resignation
She struck me as one who practised mindful meditation
Two little ones played with a stick within their mother’s line of sight
It was hard to believe that a piece of wood could bring them such delight
Their ages four and seven from the look in their exuberant eyes
Hardly did they know that they were born to be chastised
A stone’s throw away, under the only light bulb, sat a girl in her attire from school
A few books on her lap, a pencil in hand, she sat studying on a wooden stool
She was a dreamer this one, dreamt of making her mother proud
She gave in to nothing but knowledge, for whom humbly she bowed
In the darkest corner lay the father on a wooden cot; bottle in hand
His back to the light, drunken mind wandering through promise land
He had been broken this one; no man’s free without being the master of his own will
Freedom he had never known, for since birth another’s land has he always tilled
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Among these endless windows
I catch a glimpse of your world
Playing the oldest of games
Your fingers you twirled
Mesmerized by your gentle fingers
As they dance to a muted tune
Your chatter breaks my silence
No longer am I immune
We can't stay apart any longer
That's my version of the truth
Glorious were our mistakes
The stupid ways of youth
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
You decide to rekindle
Your love for camping in the woods
You drive 5 hours
To get to the Reserve
The one you loved visiting when you were a child
Only to be welcomed
By a giant ******* shopping mall
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
I hate school
because teacher Giraffe is always
picking on me
in his high and lofty manner
He's always pointing at me
with his prehensile tongue
and snorting: *"Maybe you'd
like to stop laughing
and share your joke
with the rest of animal class?"*
But I don't know no joke;
I just laugh
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Programmers are the new age Necromancers
At a keyboard and screen, for aeons, they tap away
With the finesse and precession of tap dancers
They converse patiently with the cold and lifeless machine
With the love and care the rest of us reserve only for children
Filled with bewildering communiques is their lifelong dream
Their eyes dart back and forth in a room full of people
Hoping to avoid the gaze that leads to a conversation
In a church, at mass time, you’ll find them in the steeple
They are the toy makers of our current times
That provide your life with leisure and joy
To them is their code, as to us, our rhymes
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window panes
There will be time
There will be time to prepare a face
To meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to ****** and create
And time for all the works and days of hands that lift a hand to drop a question on your plate
Time for you and time for me
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And time for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC