"agnus" poems
When we
Are alone,
Me and Ammini
Make another
World to play in.
Like the ever vacant
Sand houses
Some adults build
With their kids
On the beach.
Then,
I will get angry
Even if the gentlest
Of breezes
Passes that way.
She will turn livid
Even if a *****
Passes that way.
If
Single
Single
Memories
Or sighs
Or their scars
Appear on the face
She will
Wipe them off
With
Kisses.
After playing
For long,
We will fight.
Ammini will holler
Louder than
The way she laughed.
I will keep mum
Louder than her.
I will
Lay her down
Holding her close
To my *****
That will beat
Ammineee, Ammineeee.
As she pretends
To sleep,
I will shoo her off
Go away pussiiii!
As if the masculine
Of pussee is pussoo
She will shoo me off
Go away pussoo!
I will retort
Go away Poochamma!
Ammini will retort
Go away Pochamba!
Go away Kochambi!
Go away Kochambra!
Go away Pochambra!
Go away Sochambra!
Go away
Sorambi!
Go away
Soramba!
Go away
Soorambi!
Go away
Kooramba!
Go away
Koorambi!
Go away
……
At a loss
For words
She will
Change the tune.
Goaway
Slate!
Goaway
Bag!
Goaway
Tree!
Goaway
Pencil!
Goaway
Pen!
Goaway,
Ant
Goaway
Mosquito!
Goaway
Matchbox!
Goaway
Straw!
Goaway
Book!
Goaway
Cot!
Goaway
Chair!
Goaway
Window!
Goaway
Door!
Goaway
Mobile!
Goaway
Button!
Goaway
Computer!
Goaway
Trousers!
Goaway
Shirt!
Goaway
Sky!
Goaway
Puppy!
Goaway
Star!
Goaway
Well!
Goaway
Girl!
Goaway
Boy!
Goaway
Calendar!
Goaway
Fan!
Goazway
Doll!
Goaway
Broom!
Goaway
Tiffin box!
Goaway
Poetry!
Goaway
Annakutty!
Goaway
Appakutta!
Goaway
Ammikkalli!
Goaway
Appakkalla!
About to lose,
I will show the
Trump card.
Go away
Agnus Anna!
Her face will change.
Hesitantly,
She will say
Go away
Kuzhur Wilson!
Then
An
Intolerable
Silence
Will
Spread
There.
When Ammini
Turns back
To
Kochu TV,
I will
Enter
The bathroom
Shut
The door
And
Puff on
A cigarette.
Then
Another
Kind of
Game
That
Makes
Life
Intolerable
To live
Will
Pool
Around me
There.
Translation : Ra Sha
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
Church Lady Dearest
Says she’s grown old
“Silver’s not so foxy”
Says she is quite practical
Serious with her moonlight moxy
Now no use
For Face-off make-up or
Delusions of grand magic
Says she
Don’t worry—with age comes
Pragmatism, Sister Agnus Wisdom
Sure bound to
Have fractures / cracks
With such antique
Foundation…
Old lady Golden Goose
Giant wisdom, beanstalk limbs
Sullen dreary sunken
Lost princess whims
Thoughts like her hair frosted,
Thinning…
Says she has nothing to whisper,
Sweetly cannot hide
A great old oak’s age rings
Inside
There’s no use for abusive rouge
Mirage of glossy lips kissy
Thing in headlights
Make up with oneself, forgive, and confide
Besides
because
Your hands tell your aches & true age
Church Lady just smiles…
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
~~~
for Lucy: who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration} then disappeared
~~~
the spume,
the sea foam concentrate, a greener white,
from the the salt and the souls of million dead organisms,
the natural compost of its formation
it, watches the poet, who watches it,
the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation
which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's
Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this
fooling, swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine human shape,
by the sea,
its passage and welling swelling,
is prepaid for too
expiration by evaporation
as all the white wooly lambs march to the sea,
transmigrating,
returning to spume
~~~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 4:06 AM UTC
Falling in darkness...
Arms out for help...the void extends its hand
Sadness and despair embraces me...
A blindness overtakes me...
For now I see the truth
The once fading light of a candle was the creator
The smoke that rose once gone...his ghost
For it fades into nothing...
Nothing from which it came from and which it returns...
In measurement of time man is a grain of sand in an hourglass as big as the universe itself. Every moment captured in memory makes that hourglass fill...Every failure...every triumph is another grain that falls....in time it will be covered by others...in time we shall all be forgotten....Can you tell me what moment in time did the first grain fall? What moment will be the last? Who will tilt the glass in the end?
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 1:14 AM UTC
you scare me, a hidden gem
i am afraid of what could happen
i wonder where you walk and i wonder what you think
has the cross corrupted you
who has turned you so cold
i will be there when you get your wings
and the soothing echo of those classical sounds will pass
into a new choir of faith and acceptance
maybe then when all becomes bright, i will see your eyes
for what they truly are
a black ocean with enough depth to deceive me
into thinking i am only stepping into a shallow pool
a bitter tongue with the tonality of an angel
you can rest your voice as the tears take over
dómine fili unigénite, iesu christe,
dómine deus, agnus dei, fílius patris,
qui tollis peccáta mundi, miserére nobis;
qui tollis peccáta mundi, súscipe deprecatiónem nostram
i will be with you until you find yourself
if you are lost
i will be lost with you
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Martha holds
the plaster statue
of the Crucified
and kisses the head
and feels the cold plaster
on her warm lips
smoothness
taste of salt
on her tongue
holds between fingers
thumb rubbing the head
feeling the beard
the chest and Sacred Heart
holds Him to her breast
tucks Him in closer
mothering Him
or is it other?
the O'Brien boy's a ****
with his touching
and words
as if she would
Mary introduced
he's a good catch
she said(Mary)
touching her
and lifting her skirt hem
lets us see them
he'd said(O'Brien)
she rocks the Crucified
against her
lets Him be near her
His arms crossed
against His chest
one finger pointing
to His Sacred Heart
she kisses His finger
licks His hands
hey
O' O'Brien said
what's the deal
why are you so stiff
with the holding hands
and such
Mary gives us a feel
she walks with her Crucified
to the bed and lies down
on her back
the Crucified held
against her
His eyes staring at her
blue and black dots
what am I to do
with the O'Brien boy?
she whispers
her warm breath
on His plaster head
it's Mary's fault
she will introduce
them to me
and I'm not wanting them
He says nothing
stares at her blankly
hands crossed
and pointing finger
His heart red and crowned
she lays Him
on the pillow
beside her
turns herself
and gazes at Him
what's to do with O' Brien?
she kisses Him
Agnus Dei
she whispers
runs a finger
along His arm
down to His feet
take O'Brien from me
keep him from me
burn his fecking fingers
for the touching
the Crucified stares at her
did He wink
or nod His head?
**** you O'Brien
Martha says
you're as good as dead.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Tall bell tower
caught in moonlight
Moorish design
I stood and looked
as bell tolled for Compline,
campana suonò
per compieta
smell of incense
as I entered the church
with only altar red light
and Dom Peter crossed
from cloister to bell tower,
sans Dieu nous
ne sommes rien
the French monk said
as he came to the guest room
to talk of the monastic life
to me I sat in the armchair
he on another chair
in his black robes
hands folded together,
manos juntas
skin on skin
prayer mode
knees aching
with kneeling,
we are nothing without God
Dom Charles said to me
as we picked apples
from the orchard
after lunch
in warm sunshine
a turn of the hand to pluck,
die Menschheit ohne
Gott verloren sind
the Austrian monk told me
before supper walking
from the cloister together,
stars in the evening sky
the moon bright
as a polished coin
chill in the air
standing waiting
for Compline to begin,
agnus Dei
that time in Mass
sensing the host
on my tongue dissolving
segno esteriore
di grazia interiore
Bruno said each
outward sign of inner grace
the sacraments
sacramenti,
monks chanted
the night office
and I stood and let it
flow over me
like a pure sea.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
L'agneau cherche l'amère bruyère,
C'est le sel et non le sucre qu'il préfère,
Son pas fait le bruit d'une averse sur la poussière.
Quand il veut un but, rien ne l'arrête,
Brusque, il fonce avec de grands coups de sa tête,
Puis il bêle vers sa mère accourue inquiète...
Agneau de Dieu, qui sauves les hommes,
Agneau de Dieu, qui nous comptes et nous nommes,
Agneau de Dieu, vois, prends pitié de ce que nous sommes.
Donne-nous la paix et non la guerre,
Ô l'agneau terrible en ta juste colère.
Ô toi, seul Agneau, Dieu le seul fils de Dieu le Père.
327
Une jeune et blanche novice,
À l'ombre des bosquets cloîtrés
Rêvant à son pur sacrifice,
Promenait ses vœux timorés ;
Et sur des agnus consacrés
Chantait des cantiques sacrés.
« Ici nous vivons, disait-elle,
Mortes aux terrestres douleurs,
Et les Anges sous leur tutelle
Nous gardent des tendres malheurs ;
Nos soupirs, sur l'encens des fleurs,
S'en vont aux cieux avec nos pleurs.
Amour ! laisse en paix ma cellule !
Sœur Isaure dit qu'autrefois
Une sainte jeune et crédule
Te prit pour un Ange, à ta voix ;
Et que l'ange, au pied de la croix,
Te ressemble, sans ton carquois. »
L'Amour alors prêta l'oreille ;
Il dormait sur l'aile du vent.
Un soupir l'offense et l'éveille ;
Hélas ! qu'il s'éveille souvent !
Comme un ange ami du couvent,
Il apparut tendre et fervent.
Ses yeux bleus, riants et perfides,
Amortis par la piété,
Lancèrent des flammes timides
Au cœur de la jeune beauté.
« Dieu ! dit-elle, à votre clarté,
Je vois un ange en vérité ! »
Cet ange aux mystiques paupières
Est un Dieu cruel et moqueur ;
Tes pleurs, ton encens, tes prières,
Ne guériront pas ta langueur :
Tu ne fuiras plus ton vainqueur,
Jeune sainte ; il est dans ton cœur.
Ses yeux illuminent ton âme,
Ses soupirs répondent aux tiens ;
Les autels brûlent de sa flamme,
Et tes feux ne sont plus chrétiens ;
Grand Dieu ! ses trompeurs entretiens,
Séduiraient les anges gardiens !
308
noticed a change in colour
of pace
he walked with his bike
most folk ride
it used to be a railway line
flat and straight
he returned back past me
said he forgot something
further down the track
the bike was propped
by a tree waiting
while
sparrows muddled in the dust
cattle reached for the lower
branches
leaves are changing
and there is mistletoe
on one branch
the runners came after seven
lithe and nimble
smart headphones
pony tails bobbing
i walked on and saw a young heron
close
it rose. flew through the trees.
agnus dei
you tube music
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 12:19 AM UTC