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 Sep 2012 Kaycee33
Wuji
There's an odd boy,
He stares into the glass.
You can see the longing in his eyes,
His whole body in a cast.
Marked up,
By all the ones he loved.
Saying get well,
"You won't be broke for long."

He knows he isn't broke,
But he still stares through the glass.
Trapped in his own cast,
Comforting him at last.
Reach for it boy.
 Sep 2012 Kaycee33
K Balachandran
Forgive my wallowing in words
my lapse is not light, words are fire,
creative use of them with more care
with out raising a curtain of smoke
and uncontrolled flames, if expected
it's only fair, not to scare you, gentle readers
unreasonably with all the  heat
it could generate.

A gentle fire, at night, a golden glow
where you would sit around
and partake my fare is what I dream.
Every word has deep roots, and laughing  flowers,
cryptic connecting codes, tunnels
that augment the flows channeled to hearts,
music that connects words, unexpected
fire works of meanings that explode,
metaphors that amble and gallop forward
with spectacular beauty, you watch
without batting an eyelid, that's what brings
clarity, and a gentle ecstasy mind licks up,
and goes to sleep purring in delight.
Signs pointing to the unknown, even unsaid
become evident, like in magic, how it unfolds
how can I say, what's the  well spring
of an oracle's revelations, amazing!

Imageries arise along the flow of creation,
evoking, love, pain, hope or remorse-
whatever feeling that invades human psyche,
that demands an immediate emotional response,
and from there leads to catharsis, mind's elation.

Taking you to the forest route of words,
- that blankets and blocks the view
of elegant trees, you love to look at
and to forget everything
for some moments, at least -
was my fault, I was carried away,
**yes, I should learn to control my excesses.
No rules of course, but verbosity sometimes becomes too much..sound and fury signifying a wee bit.
 Sep 2012 Kaycee33
martin
The time may come to say goodbye
Who knows when
Who knows why

But for now let's have some fun
Can I play bongos on your ***?
What are these bands around your wrists
These frayed stories that barely cling?
And what are these enchantments held
That cradle your touch between each ring?
And what is this ancient writing here
That’s inked from shops of yester-year?
Is there a relic about you yet
That makes your brackish past run clear?

What is that place your eye seeks out
When your steady gaze is aether-bound?
And what steep truths have you traversed
To gather poise as you have found?
What shadows passing now have stayed
And fears upon tanned shoulder weighed?
Can mysteries be unraveled here
That in your piercing focus played?

Oh wandering mystery mountain man,
Oh sweet conundrum of my dreams,
Oh distant altruistic love,
Oh ponderer of whispering streams,
Wherefore do the stars yet speak
So I can hear their secret calls,
But ever in their praises keep
Your hidden name in cosmic halls?
Yes, to my ears they murmur deep
The stain-ed truths of earth and sky
But never leaks that hopeful peep;
Verisimilitude is shy.

Forever my enigma: you.
The heavens sagely made it so.
For I have solved the their secrets through,
But so much in you left to know.
09/10/12




Written for the ranger.
 Sep 2012 Kaycee33
Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.
 Sep 2012 Kaycee33
sapthepoet
IT’S COOL TO BE BLACK

I can use the word ***** even,
When I’m talking about a TV character
It is fun saying it’s because I’m black huh
And no matter what race they’re they start laughing
I like hearing the saying once you go black you never go back
Because it’s usually true

I like President Barack Obama because he goes
Against the grain of those negative black stereotypes
It’s tight how even though people hate on black folks
They listen to our music, copy the way we dress, talk,
Slang terms and the way we walk
They pay a lot of money to watch us play sports
I love how when people want get a good laugh out of life they:
Watch our movies, comedy shows, plays and poetry

I love walking up to my homeboys, home girls, family etc.
Saying: What’s up, giving daps, hi fives, making crazy handshakes,
And sometimes nodding your head as a sign of respect
I love being black because we are a beautiful race.
i love to write poetry with food
the clickety-clack of the knife on the dining board is my metre
the veggies going choppity-chop are the words
the masalas are the embellishments
that lift them to another level altogether
the pressure cooker whistles,
something in the frying pan sizzles
the flavours rise and fill my home
with the smell of cooking
the gravy thickens
the pulse quickens
in anticipation of the tasting
the aromas tease as i’m tempering
a little coriander for the topping
and I’m done!
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   09.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
"There is no sincerer love than the love of food." - George Bernard Shaw.
Just realized that a foodie like me hasn't written any poems about food! Had to set that right!
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