~my poet friends and friendly poets~

(written in anger, then sorrow,
tinged with regret, but in the end one
has no choice but to forgive and forget)

<•>

the ghood poet knows no boundaries,
lays down tracks of a New England
pond of nirvana,
or across Siberian froze wastelands,
another
salves the wounds of dying soldiers,
and gives away comfort to the dying
with the freeing oxygen of
comforting words

the world of self,
that thing we know best,
thus encouraged by the textbooks,
well,
to have at it, plays whacamole
with your  owned flirtatious emotions,
none too imperious or low down or
garbage dump *****, that yet
cannot be validated by exploratory
over-the-line words pithy

even the florid, tiresome nickel & dime ing
rhyming scheming crutches,
we so oft employ,
yields up stuff that ain’t half bad,
periodically,
though, the blunt of words well crafted
needs
no such delimiting amusing playthings
or imprisoning
I-am-amoebic-pen-tata-meter

take you inspiration from here and there,
the proverbial deep dark of the mind’s recessed corridors of
corrupted consciousness,
or, the
contrail whiffs of the steaming steaming of the contradictions of a
newborn first day’s contrast of-
the wet dew on toes cooling,
while the simultaneous sun warms all
the cheeks,
heats the blood with
a thanks-god-I’m-alive
overwhelmingly overall tickling,

or
not.

write with the tools you have, but keep
them well sharpened, with
insight and revelation,
exploring the rain’s windowed
navigable rivulets,
the musical tempos
of waves and their multi-mystical variations,
and the readers will come like
pilgrims to your  holy land,
wearied and yet so delightedly hopeful,
with tingling contrasting dictions,
to capture and release,
by shattering any
stale notions of adulation
will bring your
audience of holy voyagers and voyeurs
to imbibe so deeply your creativity for the quenching, and the
amen gasp escaping tween
their lips is just a simple holy,
gentling thank you

discard the bad words as ornery and
distracting, veiled in pomposity and
highfaluting, self-saluting, arrogance of
those deeming themselves critical thinkers,
who thrive in the low mud flats of
self-pretension and the reassurance
of a mirror’s reassurance

write straight from the heart,
fill our eyes with the
complexity of the simple
and
grant us the write to share,
in your humanity

craft the work
and
the work
will repay
so stealthily
by secretly
crafting you




                                   nml

~For Pradip~*
Pradip: who yet walks among we useless

<>

this
layabout in my drafts,
driftwood in a sea of
******* poems in a circumscribed
hell
for who knows for how long,

all that is certain is that
summer ending dreading,
is in full force
now marching
forward,  
with the end of days

of body chilling whipped winds,
cold so paining no one be bothering
to breathe out white steamy curses
and life is a half a calendar league
too far to be believed

I mate much coffee imbibed,
the cheeks wet incessant,
no error, the death thots~
throes come in waves persistent,
like the monsoons we’ve survived,

it’s easier to recall army of  losses
than the few
teaspoons victories,
who cares,
they plentiful companions,
reliable,
and we
share them with cups of black tea,
salted by our tiny tears that this too
shall past

for:*

it’s the seasonality of our lives,
and these are the  days of
unending unendurable
grayscale

I don't feed the birds for them

I feed the birds for me

Here I find myself again

Having to pay for company

We look for guidance

From a sky born of chaos

Stars think we're insane

Here is us in vortex divinely sligned
~~
You read me like my book
I wrote a million times,
In secret, yet, never alone
Dreams of lullabys for us amor
We read each other's mind!
We've  become poems divine!
We travel in virtual modes, for now,
To deeply dig, in all you give me love.
In poem or in song, our verse exactly rhymes, divine it stems factly.
It's still *US * the memory aptly
in vibe lives true in yesterday's.
wings of love and marry gay.
Sweety pie

Angel k- Rd is also us.
It's HOW I love you cosmic grace
And no
It's never too soon or too late!
True love returns as Seasons do.
It's Fall yet we relax, not too late
for spring will soon return,
Like seasons my love returns
In vortex wing's  
of two halves in love divine
Re United
My Love.
~~~~~~~
Karijinbba