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melli7 Mar 2016
Terrifically tragic transportation
Transpires on the tempestuous
T
Boston buffets bystanders with
Banging, belching B-lines branching
Into one of four long
Limbs
Eager to offer obeisance
To their  heavenly preceptor Prajapati,
Gods, demons and humans,
His triple progeny and disciples,
Bowed before him with reverence,
Seeking his parting advice and guidance.
Pleased with their faith and devotion,
The divine teacher called them by turns
And uttered "Da"  - a lone syllable;
Paused for a while
And asked the gods
To explain its significance.
"Great Sire, you say - subdue yourselves."
In a flash, the gods realized
Their powers needed great restraint.
"You advise compassion," said the demons,
Conscious of their nature, too cruel.
"It denotes - give, share your wealth" -
The humans said, for they knew
They were avaricious.
Though the same syllable all had heard,
In different ways, they thought and felt,
In tune with their innate traits
And the master said they were right.
"Da, Da, Da," - the voice of Thunder
Exhorts the world even now,
Be generous, merciful and self-restrained -
To ensure happiness for all mankind.
          *       *    M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.    mgnmurthy4@gmail.com
Copyright: MGN (author)
* This inspiring moral tale is based on the Brihadaaranyaka Upanishad (5 section II). Da, Da,Da - Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata (Samskrit) -Give, Sympathize, Have self-control.
tiredsmiles Jan 2016
Perhaps I will be a cynic
When I do not believe in his false intimacy
Her love for him like ecstasy
She is a child of but seventeen
Teen idle with low self-esteem
I am the voice of reason in this friendship
Full of hope that she need not jump ship
From a relationship too early sprung
Of quickly-gained feelings and false pretenses of love.

Perhaps I am a cynic
But I have seen love fail others constantly
Name my mother my brother and my friend for three
My head is full of romantic notions
But I have little time for a poorly brewed love potion
Love never lasts forever, does it?

Perhaps I was a cynic
I wondered if love could be true
When I look at you
I can believe it.
tiredsmiles Jan 2016
It should not hurt.
My throat should not burn so ardently
Eyes furiously watery
When I see you with her.

I know not of your intricacies
Of your family
Of your history
And yet my heart has claimed you
A person to whom I would stay true
If given the chance.

This pain is not logical.
I side with my brain over heart
Yet it overrides that part
When I think of your hair
The color of sand
The shape of your hand
Which would fit so perfectly over mine.

It should not hurt so
But I am not whole
My mind is confused
And my heart is in control.
Senses, vibrant and restless,
Drive into the depths
Of human consciousness,
Myriads of subtle impressions
And kaleidoscopic images,
While memory, ever alert and mercurial,
Recalls every relevant experience
For guidance in changing situations,
Giving rise to thoughts and impulses
That result in action and reaction.
To keep the mind well balanced
In life's daily toil and turmoil,
Intellect strives to harmonize
Conflicting thoughts and emotions,
Focussing them on a single aim,
To still the mind and bring calmness
To unravel the mystery of existence
And sages call this meditation.
            ***  M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.  mgnmurthy4@gmail.com
Martin Narrod Dec 2015
I've waited so long, I'm walking to you
If you'll walk to me by dawn.
I'll give you red diamonds and the black pearls
Give you something for your finger to have on
I'm standing in the street waiting for crunch time to calm me,
I thought I knew you better than this, I know you knew me better
Than you would ever let on.

The way you wore your father's Captain's uniform,
You are the stewardess and pilot both,
I'm the admiral of this flotilla racing across the Aegean to meet your coast,
But often it seems I'm rowing a dinghy into the arms of the storm of your ghost.

Meet me in Palo Alto
Where the devil's giving me dollar for dollar on my soul.
Three thousand miles of traveling the brainwaves
To California, to San Francisco I go.

Some women wait, others they lie, some they hate just for sport
Some men find it troubling to live in their sins while the rest of us
Weather the storm.

Brown paper poetry scribbled on bags,
cut throat couplets, haikus and prose
Drinking and tripping and looking for junk
Just a collection of madness in its throes.
The petals have draped themselves over your body,
Can you taste God in your foils?

I'm just waiting to collide into the skin
My fortune said you'd bring
I can do without the tertiary friends like that red-headed *****
Megan whose company you keep.
When it comes to taking every piece of treason don't underestimate
Their thievery. They'll drink from your fountain of abuse, until their
Goblets sear their lips and burn away their tongues.
The universal language of O- blood lust, is just beginning to be enough.

Doctors say you've died, but your heart's on fire
I'm just a conflagration where there used to be a man
My veins sweat the poisons of quiet disease,
They can crash while we burn alive,
Sitting quietly together in Dolores Park,
While our toxicity kills us inside.
Let's just wait here and burn alive.
universal madness t california sanfrancisco poetry chicago devil sea ocean signofthejudgement paper poetry gods body petals drinking tripping dope junk lips lust blood bloodlust poison disease eternity loneliness solitude hurt
Megan L Nov 2015
I know that you love me. That you tried so hard to make me not know, but I do. I thought this place would help you understand that I loved you, too. I was so wrong. I'm so sorry.

You could have had anybody else, but you hadn't wanted anybody else, and I should have helped you more. I didn't.

Once, you told HER and I that you loved us. Said it all the time, though you started sounding less and less sure after a while.

I guess I wanted you to have something that wouldn't have to remind you of me. Something that could belong only to you and the people you chose to invite into it. I wonder if you intended for this attacker to be let in.

Maybe when I saw the letter of my name scribbled along every rock and welded into every building, every shine, you thought you could never live with the knowledge not that we would never be together, but HER and I would be together without you. Maybe you thought that.

No, here, you let me whisper your fears at you in the dark without saying anything. You allowed me to feel at home in this place with you by my side not as a lover but as a good friend who had a deep understanding of all of this. But how could you continue to love me like this? When I am so utterly lost among my thoughts and my long drives and my harsh words?

A glimpse into your eyes, an echo of what you used to be before you met me. Simple, elegant, happy. Now, knowing me and HER and wanting us to be happy even if it means without you has caused you to wither into the walls alone.

There were remnants of us, old photographs and carvings made by my own car keys, but you disappeared the moment I whispered into the dark that I kind of liked HER. It hadn't even been real at that moment, just a small inclination given to HER because of how much we both cared about HER without the messy premise of love. Promise of love. Whatever you want to call it. But I grew to love HER, not you, and though I'm not sorry for that I am sorry that you felt the need to distance yourself the moment we confessed to one another.

Through it all, I had hoped you would stay. Really.

The vastness of this world, that was supposed to be yours but turned into mine. I feel like this is less of a planet now and more of a burial site.

Nothing will ever be the same without you. The cold of this winter was unbearable, but the cold without you to shine sun on the world is vast and unthinkable, undreamable. HER and I lay in bed often, awake, and quietly acquiesce to missing you. It is almost pathetic. We almost need you to keep ourself happy. Perhaps we are simply ticking time bombs without you to defuse us.

I tried to make it clear to you, that even with HER and I together you were still YOU; instead, YOU became you, small and distant and dejected, and while part of me was disgusted by your lack of persistence another part of me was mournful to the fiery nature that I fear I killed.

I thought that YOU and HER and I would all live happily ever after somewhere, away from the hustle and bustle of our normal lives where we could swing on children's swings forever and discuss everything and nothing. But you are no longer YOU. For that, I am sorry.
#t #k
Megan L Nov 2015
I live in a small town with nice people.

Nice community theater people.

Nice non-swearing churchgoing people.

Nice people who keep their mouths shut and their eyes closed.

Nice people who live in ticky tacky houses and sweep their front porches.

Nice people with children who send text messages and drive to nowhere in the middle of the night.

Nice high school teaching, comfortably living people.

Nice mothers-and-fathers people with bright voices and dark eyes.

Nice bored people.

I live in a small town with nice people.

But occasionally they all go momentarily mad.
Written on the night of 11/13/2015, after seeing my community theater's production of Mary Poppins.
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