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 Nov 2019
Sarita Aditya Verma
Word wrapped

Rapped

The hidden thoughts

You have had

The indent
              The opening lines
The flow
Or not

  S   ~    L  ~  O   ~ W

S.    t    e    a.   d.   Y


  













Sudden




Thoughts
Flight of words
Rhyme and prose

The title you chose
Or Not

Words forever
Written and Read
 Oct 2019
OC
I sometimes ponder
of a phone call that will never be
of silence stretching between two receivers
of a heavy sigh that exhales
years’ worth of air caged in the lungs

Yes, I’m still here
How have you been?
How is life?
How many laugh-lines did the corner of your eye accumulated?
How many past mistakes still drag around your tongue?
How many days since than have drained onto your windowsill?
How many nights were spent sleeping at the foot open front-gates?

Am I as you remember?
Are we where you imagined us to be
back then, some years ago
when both our paths diverged
when all we left behind
was dust and a sense of waste,
and a pair of phantom us, gazing onward
that shared the same time and space

Yes, I am here, but different
which may describe you too
no wonder, since passing time
kept kneading us like clay
and all our efforts to keep straight
were all for naught, we are astray

But
sometimes I still ponder
if thing did not transpire
if times unraveled could be wound up
and knotted, at that single point
then moving forward, just maybe
both of us were different now
but different altogether
For analogous "classical" results see: 17th Installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This one is a bit different, as it is not inspired by a "classic" result in physics, but by my own research.
For analogous "classical" results see:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persistence_length

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
 Oct 2019
CK Baker
it wasn't as though he shoulda seen it coming
(God knows he muddled through that one well enough)
and it wasn't as though he thought it in the bag
(the whole **** thing had always seemed ****** daunting)
but these now recurring tasks
and pop-up commitments
were wavering him
a great big pain the ***
burdensome, machine like
lacking, of any particular meaning

now there was that element of perseverance
that he had read and lectured on (oh, how he had lectured on and on!)
but he was not fully accustomed
(having flown on a wing and a prayer)
to the shattered routines
and fallen plans
obligatory iterations
and post-mortem like sessions
(seemed easier to stack em up, and
shelve em in a somewhat manageable way)

but a rhythm evolved
in simple momentum, and truth
new plateaus, and revelations
transformative unfoldings
and cosmic events
(which appeared as gifts from above)
and they paved a path to growth

eyes opened, to the wonders of the world!
a grounding in an earthly connection
narratives reclaimed
adjustments made
faith, and fellowship
first steps, compromise
and gratitude
filling the center stage
(in kaleidoscope colour!)
in this glorious
and ever evolving
play of life

~

was it worth it old friend?
you bet your *** it was!
 Oct 2019
South-by-Southwest
School is the sieve through which mediocrity passes .

It takes all manner of forms of personality and forces them through the same sized holes
indiscriminately

The end results are ground meat for brains
 Oct 2019
Graff1980
It is a lonely god
who counts the ticks
on eternity’s
broken clock,

as time’s terrible
tidal forces
force him on
in a world
where all other
old gods
are long gone.

What a horrible place
where the last
of his race
lay in the waste
of human destruction.

The lone survivor,
late in life light shiner,
bruised body
who tried to
teach humanity.

His shadow sees
as much as he,
yet rests coolly,
while that immortal body
burns with sorrow.

Mushroom clouds
of bitter smoke
that choke the broke
cord of hope,

temperatures rising
as he is realizing
there will be
no great fantasy
or redemption
of humanity,
just a worried wanderer
who walks
on wavy ground
where no
joys are found.
 Oct 2019
Onoma
rusty dusks

leave twinges

of sunlight that

may not lift from

where they lie again.

shadowed corpus

growing late to rise--

the psudeonymn

of the last stranger.

revealing what was

so perfectly hid away--

delivered by the cost of

articulation.

bared--that's all, who's to

say?

as no one can see what that

bareness saw.
 Oct 2019
M Vogel

This bridge is faulty
there is dry-rot  taunting
    the girders
Its spandrels:
all knobby-kneed..
  Its pseudo-elaborate  trusswork,
    as if   designed  
    by a lonely drunk

It's pilings..  questionable
Its deckwork, treacherous.

    Its abutment--
    aw,  **** me..   

    its crumbling.
.  .  

If we cross over  
under the lie of darkness
we won't be so afraid..

     But these structural-flaws,
     when revealed  by the sun
     are so incredibly intriguing.



  Let's take that step
  and see if it holds us.

There are shadows, 
steep  on the horizon
They leave us scared,

   and so afraid

As the fallout of a world, divided..
It brings her tears,  and so much pain

And so we take cover from the dark
hoping to find where we can start
~Miles Kennedy

https://youtu.be/ywQutN0j33o
 Oct 2019
South-by-Southwest
.

Everytime I hotwired reality

I took a bite out of animosity


I followed all the wrong examples

Danced to the music I didn't know

I never knew the new ground

Before it brought me down


In the end we all dance to the music alone

Twirling until we are nowhere to be found



. . . . dancing our sorrow away . . . .


. . . . all the dying years enthused . . . .


. . . .  in the end keep the fire burning
         in your eyes . . . .


. . . . until the light in you reaches the sky . . . .
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