"auxiliaries" poems
895
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me
Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.
Never to pass the Angel
With a glance and a Bow
Till I am firm in Heaven
Is my intention now.
5.6k
I get edgy sometimes-
When I see knots-
I freeze up.
I get upset when I try to untangles them-
Like earphones and other audio cords-
Auxiliaries, usbs and inputs.
I get frustrated-
Easily with entanglement-
I hate knots but.
Our bodies could be a knot, that I wouldn't want to untangle.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.
None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.
I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.
Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
my neighbour came over,
quick impromptu
into the dog collar
and you have your murderer
and the priest;
guilt ridden as if by small pox
she sat on my bed:
no ulterior motive,
no auxiliaries of conscience to back-up
now; a clear would-be **** victim...
jewish so i had to stress my fascination
with the jewish mysticism of kabbalah;
and i did so in all earnest
asking whether i said i am eh yeh correctly:
also the whole bit of original interpretation
the secrecy of the rabbinical
aHa aHe
males as rigid as consonants
women as fluid as vowels ********
missing accents on eden's language of globalization
that's short of tartan english of glasgow
with key stress punctures of trans-punctuation
crafted for either serious distinction on consonants,
or ridiculous aesthetics when given to vowels
of parisian stilettos: fancy ah fancy nah fancy
a mistress in fishnet leggings? yes? no? maybe?
undecided i see. trophy wife material... next!
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
A quasi fog hole is born
An urge to be somewhere
Anywhere but these islands of bloodstreams
Far maybe in Thailand
What awaits next is a scaber of thresholds
It's an unknown world if you fall and land here
Shimmering camels going about their own biz
Wearing demon suits with demon ties
Auxiliaries conversing in Bonomos
Common hats all practicing, choreographing all catacombs thundering novels that are occurring as they scream, pictures willowing one by one, second by second all occurring simultaneously
...and say again
Awaiting ...
Not occurring at all...
Never had occurred at all
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
Look around what do you see?/
No matter what endeavor
Visually/
was dream up by an artist
Realistically/
They create the world
Which we live
imagery/
aesthetic visions/
Precisely
entice thee
kitchen/
television shoes clothes
Cars and homes/
Think about it?
it's an artistic scheme/
optimistic exquisite
An articulate scene/
Step back take a view
Coppistetic articles/
clothed What ensues /
Open your eyes
enclosed in false truths/
Artesian the currency
Naturally Flows through/
artery
Eyelids down/
an optical torrent/
I've been drowned/
in surround sound torment/
cinematic pictures that
Visually pour in/
Articulate with in particulars
Such a beautiful song/
The rhythm of the words
Guide me and carry on/
Music to my ears
The universal art-form/
In a cold world storms
Keeping our hearts warm/
Auxiliaries the art of war
Artilleries
silly me/
Addicted to creativeness
Soliloquies/
abstract attract
In fact an artist
Artistically
Art of Art artifact/
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
James Dean died that year and Mother was in the loony bin as Father termed it but he wouldn’t take you or Joey to see her because he said There’s no point kids she sits staring at walls and talking to herself or gets abusive and comes out with the most choicest of words which I wouldn’t want you to hear and besides it’s too far for you to go on a weekend and you’d only get upset especially you Lizzie you’d be in tears before they shut the **** door of the ward and all those other drooling fools there and that was it you didn’t get to see her not a peek just what he said she did or said or didn’t say or do but you wanted so much to see her and have her touch your cheek and be home again and tuck you up in bed and tell you the stories that she used to do all sat up on the end of the bed reading from some book she had or making up stories right out of her head and you remember the time she sneaked you and Joey up some supper when Father said no you’d been bad and that you had to go to bed without any supper and be careful Christ didn’t send you to Hell and damnation but Mother brought the supper anyway and listened out in case Father came up but he never did he was too busy drinking or playing cards with the Smiths from across the fields who stank of ***** and sweat and laughed too loud and swore and smoke cheap cigarettes and so Mother’d sit on the end of the bed watching you eat and having that bright eyed look about her and that small smile she had when she thought you were happy but then she became odd and out of it and talked to people who weren’t there or went for long walks and got lost and the cops had to bring her back again and again and once she sat in the bath fully clothed saying she didn’t want Christ seeing her in **** or James Dean to touch her up with his ghostly fingers and so Father took her to see some quack who examined her and talked to her as best he could until she tried to gouge out his eyes with his pen and Father had to retrain her and hold her down on the floor until some auxiliaries from down the hospital hall came bounding in and suited her up in a jacket that tied at the back and you never saw her again after that morning with her getting into Father’s car with her dark eyes staring and two of her fingers giving an up you sign to the passing neighbours who stood open mouthed and tut-tutted and you and Joey watching the car go off and over the horizon like a crazy ship going out to sea with one lone captain and a wild eyed woman as his only crew and she looking back waving her two finger in the air at Joey and you.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
I swam across 7 billion people
To find connection
But still
To no avail
Drowning in a sea of motions
Sent up flares
The clouds and its auxiliaries
Oh I am still lonely
It rains
It pours
And loneliness flows in the river
To its abode in abyssal plains
Tell me now
Where can I get connection
As people began to tire
I put my foot on the floor
Switching lanes
Searching connection
But still
To no avail
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC