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they are so very...
small and delicate
plump and oh so pink
these little hands
with tiny nails
that rest curled
upon your breast
I watch them  unfurl
like butterfly wings

and wonder at their beauty
it wiil be a while before
they are useful to you
at present they are just
object of amazement

oh, but the newness
of them, is beguiling
to both me and you.
I have just lost (or should that be found) the better part of an afternoon
watching my friends first grandchild watch her hands, as babies do.
I feel hopeful once again ....
Pollinating  a red flower in a frenzy, a blue butterfly ruminates:
"This act,a prompt, nature coincides with time,is hardly appreciated"
"You tickle me, in a way I haven't known ever,Yes, I love it"
twitching involuntarily the flower seems to hold on to that moment.
" After all, we couple in the interest of  posterity, let's not forget"
on rock
in centre stream
I balance,ungainly

slick dark green algae
and well worn sneakers
do not provide adequate
friction, to maintain
perpendicular functions

in centre stream
on rock
I sit, hard and painfully
now, hours later,
on cushion
centre couch
I lie gingerly.....
 Jun 2017 Where Shelter
Born
When poets thought I was dead
When my ashes were  scattered
When I was  running
and my heart was stuck on a barbed wire


When I am  too old to create rhymes
couldn't pull heartstrings with my ink
or color a beautiful city with crayons

When my words were plagiarized
and I fell victim to the inevitable  

When the tsunami tides were approaching
and you sent me a rhythmic piece
to keep me company

When I could barely form words,
that would impress my shadow
When you lighten up my bolt
by commenting a sacred criticism and love for my pieces
Dedicated to all the poets in HP
I was a dense forest of wild desires
love engulfed it as a sudden wild fire,
lit by a spark your kohl rimmed eye emitted,
Never do I want to put it out, not in  this life,
as burning for what you've kindled within me
is pure bliss,I realize, mon amie
The embers are alive, giving warmth
while the forest of desires regenerates
at a speed I  haven't known ever before.
                         *
നീ പകര്‍ന്ന പ്രണയച്ചൂടില്‍എരിയുകയാണ് ഞാനിപ്പോഴും.

ഞാന്‍ വന്യകാമനകളുടെ സാന്ദ്ര,നിബിഡവനം,
നിന്‍മഷിക്കണ്ണിലെ  തീപ്പൊരി തെറിച്ച്
പെട്ടന്നതില്‍ പടര്‍ന്ന കാട്ടുതീയാണീപ്രണയം.
അത്കെടുത്താന്‍ എനിക്കീ ജന്മമില്ല,മോഹം.
നീപകര്‍ന്നു തന്നതിനായ് എരിയുവതേ എന്‍
പ്രിയ കാമിനി, നിര്‍വൃതി യെന്നറിവൂ ഞാന്‍.

കനലുകളുടെസുഖോഷ്മളത ഉള്ളില്‍പ്പടരവേ,
ഇതുവരെഞാനറിയാത്തൊരു തീവ്ര മാംത്വരയോടെ
വികാരമഹാവിപിനം വീണ്ടുമിതാ ഉണരുകയാണിവിടെ.
(In Malayalam translation)
you float
so lightly
upon the waters
of my soul

and when
in the sun
brightly
iridescent
do you shine

sometimes
you hide
whisper quiet

often
found though
in the strangest
of places
putting smiles
on sad faces

always in reach
for those who
extend their faith

light as feather
able to lift
the heaviest
of weights

like a smile
from a friend
or a sun shower
always welcome
especially  in
the eleventh  hour

intangible, you are
the small flame
that starts big fires....
Napowrimo Day4.... write an enigma poem...for more details
http://www.napowrimo.net/
the surprisingly sweetest clementine

amidst the marble and stone pillars
of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall,
a woman grows faint and woozy,
and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old,
re-proved as reusable, sustainable,
as leaning-against-posts
for the dizzy

the boyfriend well familiar
with dehydration side effects,
from pocket pulls a natural pill of
a sweet clementine,
restoring the well
to the good

she marvels at
how came I
to place a survival kit in my
coat pocket?

smiling, he confesses
his fondness for
providing
for all her needs,
known and unknown

even carries an inventory,
with back ups to back ups,
assorted sundries,
he calls it,
proving his point too well,
reaching into the other
pocket and offering
yet another,
a second helping
for his,
oh my darling,
sweetest clementine

she, undecided,
laugh or cry,
both equally attractive amazement solutions,
says only:

I love you for reasons,
known and unknown,
now,
take me home
for reasons
now known,
and others,
as of yet,
most happily,


unknown
a  true story.

P.S. he hates carrying anything
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