"availed" poems
Birds have their homes.
This bird made this world,
Its own home.
When other birds struggled
To make friends beyond their homes,
This bird made followers and comrades,
Transformed them
The perseverent leaders of a challenging mission
It put its foot on Argentina and
Set its victorious fight in Cuba.
Availed losses in Congo
Voiced and breathed every millisecond
Struggled recklessly for a mission,
Freedom, peace & prosperity of all its fellow birds
Beyond borders.
The most superior of the superior birds
With an infinite and complex strings of cunningness
Put an end to this bird in Bolivia.
At the end, the bird failed
Fell a prey for other selfish birds.
As a root that fell and
Buried itself in the soil with an infinite power.
To give hope and shelter,
To all those who come under it,
For the near future and coming generations
The bird died!
But its mission ignited the phoenix flames
In its bird comrades.
Got them to fight for
Every drop of Injustice, Imperialism and hatred
That came racing towards them
As an inescapable bullet
Their hearts raised in spirit
When every drop of its thought
Hit them more fierce than
The world’s most powerful atomic bomb.
The bird died.
But its ideals for the mission
Rekindled the fires in their heart.
Being born an ordinary bird,
Fighting for the most demanded & toughest mission,
Its thought and principles
Set new leaders to fight the unattainable mission
Now, looking the most possible
Within an attaining distance
The bird lived its life,
An ordinary and the most challenging one.
But transformed a phoenix,
When it left the world.
And created more of
Daring Phoenix warriors;
Attain a world filled with peace and happiness.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
Muse the Bobbie, Learned and Scrolling Mentor
For screening this Curtain to show our Task
Basic Words you exhume; Trust, a favour
Later allow us with some Sticks to bask
It takes much swallow to go back to School
And strip us bare with Her Majesty's Words
This how you Speak - With a Rod and a Fool
But then, who cares? Forgans are for the Birds
Now all it takes to supple your behalf
Modelled by the Mad Agent done and pleased
We empty our Fillers; and bid Avast!
Upon Graduation your Skills we take heed.
Thank you so much again, Mentor availed
Success is Reward; Laziness is Failed.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
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
Pub poetry is a form of performance poetry consisting of the shouted word which has developed in UK urban pubs, dating back to the 1940s and 50s. Words are typically yelled over ambient haphazard rhythms which are not especially chosen for the piece of poetry, rather the poetry is performed over the generic sound of empty bottles and part filled glasses and live samples of patron conversation that will be familiar to those frequenting hostelries around the UK.
Sometimes the audience will employ call and response devices to distract the poet, such as calls of "W##k-er!', with the traditional response of "F##k-You!" before the pub poet continues with his yelled out verse, often read from the beer stained back of an overdue envelope.
The pub poet usually appears on a chair or table, surrounded by immediate family or work mates cheering him on.
Invariably inebriated, the pub poet may not appear to make any sense to the uninitiated - but once you too have availed yourself of your 4th or 5th pint, the words become clearer and easier to appreciate.
No musicality is built into pub poems and pub poets generally perform without backing music, delivering chanted speech with pronounced modulation, broken-rhythmic accentuation and dramatic, though random, stylization of gestures, often resulting in the pub poet losing balance and sustaining a head injury thereby losing consciousness and bringing the evening's entertainment to a premature, but often welcome, end.
It is often noted that many pub poets are remarkably shy and retiring when sober.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
I want to live in a protoplasmic land:
Where only earth's natural resources are availed...
but not any exploitable extraction from nature.
where the cacophonies of friction are unheard..
Where the toxic air doesn't seem to arouse from the rooms of renaissance,
Where the sky synergizes with the nature,
Where the oeuvre of the planet remains pristine,
Where the trees vacillate with the harmony of winds.
Where there exists no manufactured light....
But only the piercing rays of self-igniting sun to synthesize the earth with seemingly eonian brightness...
And on nocturnals,star and moon drives me,if moon masquerades,i.e.,
When the commixture of cirrocumulus clouds form an impenetrable layers of watery clouds,
let the thundering light texture me while its clustering clouds embracing me with its rapturous rain,
Let the nature do its own karma,
I am not here to meddle in nature's subtle poise,
but to infuse into it......
O'shiva pave me the unobscure and quintessential way for me to dissolve in to you,
Let me drop my essential earth and dissolve my sumptuous and non-matter soul in to everlasting you....
Let me hush in to those singular days and solitary sounds....
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
XXVIII
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!—this, . . . the paper’s light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God’s future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
1.9k
Go alone
One has to travel it alone
It is like surviving onslaught of cyclone
The life has made you for what you wanted to be
Resolute in mind, independent and totally free
You can decide the destiny
Having trust and faith in almighty
Certain things you may or have not
The desperate bid has to be made and force the way out
The relation built here are on temporary basis
There are no set views based on any thesis
It is one’s own mind that has to be read
Catch the path and go forward to lead
One may lead the life in isolation
As he may not find time to build the relation
The lovely companion in life is matter of luck
The ship always remains ground and struck
You have tried many times but failed
The chances were there but not availed
Something struck to your mind and it flopped
You were not encouraged and all the time stopped
You missed the bus as it was full
You made attempt were not successful
You could get in to occupy the place
But you had no resolve to find out and chase
You waited for someone to enter life
To walk hand in hand and to be called wife
It remained a dream and time passed away
You just waited for and gave the way
It will always be good to have someone
To look after in bad time and have fun
life is not merely probing ground to make run
but make it beautiful and worthwhile in turn
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
Promies, never to,
The premise of us to part.
Should I ever leave you,
Let being be dashed-
Against black canvas.
Let blood be
A medium of art.
These shackled hands,
Consequence of circumstance
And everything I have entailed.
Perchance, happenstance-
That which we have lived
And all that was not availed.
The fog of brokenness, and ache of loneliness.
Against reality, we rail.
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 6:08 PM UTC
De elevating power might
seem a futile task for a mere
earthling, disadvantaged by
stature, and of course due to
being under surveillance from
an altitude beyond reach, of
even, the imagination.
Such being the predicament
of an elderly Weasel inattentive
to the hidden dangers from an
intemperate predator soaring
directly above, just waiting to
profit from this evident dotage.
Down swooped the winged
carnivore, availing of surprise,
up-draught and velocity, it
quickly sank its talons into the
side of the disabled animal
and rose triumphantly into
the empty sky and high.
But just as possessions fall through
fingers, the winds of change were
about to reverse the tide of misfortune.
The stunned carcass, which only seconds
previously seemed as though was dead
as dead could be, suddenly posed a
problem for its captor (in flight).
Immediately, there was a notable change
of direction and a notable drop in the
flight horizontal, the big bird was visibly
in trouble, the Weasel had sunk its teeth
into the undercarriage, securing itself
from being released of the foot spikes.
The underdog was not going to go down
without a fight and there was nothing,
absolutely nothing The Eagle could do,
no negotiation, no solution other than
land, because The Weasel was not going
to let go and The Eagle was loosing fuel.
Efforts to dislodge The Weasel proved
nugatory, yet, The Weasel was prepared
to **** the Eagle in flight, a pyrrhic victory
is as democratic as one could wish for.
The Eagle had no option, down it came,
flew low along by the tree tops in an effort
to detach itself for The Weasel.
The Weasel availed of the Hobson Choice
and released itself from the breastbone
clambered on to the branches, making
its way out of the tree.
Meanwhile, The Eagle after a huge loss
of blood, left a trail along to forest floor
for The Weasel to follow
Ps.
The leech Eagle ended up in College Road
Sligo where it has a nest.
What became of it, is still unknown, but we
are sure, that The Weasel has not given up.
This is the Fable of Free Travel.
A pass given to the author by
a Government agency in Sligo
Ireland, and taken away with
no explanation.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
Iris and Blanche,
retired West end Usherettes,
Joint treasurers to the benevolent society,
their own Christmas story flickers ,
fearing poverty, melted candles
for 6d - they buy the job lot,
worn, threadbare carpets cover the hallway.
Seemingly unmoved, they try to forget
this turn of fortune.
Upheaval is now the perpetual downturn.
They’ve availed themselves to
missing out on life's gravy train,
and been met with gas light frugality.
The sunken mattress tumbles across the wooden floor,
casting shadows over,
yesterday's hubris.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
There is nothing left of this Love but a hollow husk
All its fulsome fruits have withered and perished
Casts upon my heart a twilight, a dank dusk
For loss of all that's treasured, cherished
Availed of nothing, my Heart goes rueful
Disenchanted, in to the ambiguous night
At least in Love I had been truthful
Had dug deep and put in the fight
Now I verse on sunless sky
Bereft of its rivers and fires of gold
No enchanting sounds go like ribbons by
No magick in my heart unfolds
But I think you have done me a favour
By making sure this dalliance over
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
It was the ravens crow as it lit apon the remains ,that brought his head up through the blood and tears, darkest angel it looked through the veil,and laying back the darkness availed
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
I’ve been trying my best to be a good host,
Though I have no idea as to what suits a ghost,
I’ve offered them food, and watched it all rot,
I’ve offered my wardrobe, no clothes they sought,
I lit a fire for sitting, but they’d no need for heat,
I freed up the best armchair, for none to take seat,
I’d availed the dead, and was left feeling loose,
And so held my head up with the help of this noose,
It’s no wonder their company’s naught for to boast,
If you ask me, I’ll tell you to give up the ghost.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 5:17 AM UTC
For you my valentine
I can think of no rhyme.
For you, like St. valentine
are history.
As I soon will be, his story.
Let's agree-not to he forced
caught in meaningless circumscribed tradition.
There be no meter measure rhyme nor mission,
which can calm human insatiable desire.
If love be a chess board my fawn.
I do not know what the **** is going on,
here have all my pawns.
Check
My
Mate
Check
Please
Waitress
Capture my king as my queen escapades away, running, fleeing, free.
What possibly more? What other than frail fragile, loosely connected filaments of sin do you see me in? If You deem, what more? My God? My soul weeps for thee as Solomon did 2000 years before a random set of circumstance produced, birthed, this Young soul. Searching gnashing in his forgotten temple.
Attempting to circumscribe with
his own repeating circle of
history
mystery
mystory
my Valentine
my divine
my fine wine.
My God
send a divine flood
to wipe the swine
from my mind.
Bath me in the blood of your
crucified son, for am I not Yours?
What sick Christian symbolism
must I entail to rid myself
from the weeping wall at which I flail.
Why must my words always fail?
Rain down the plagues, hail! There is hale and kale and all.
My blood sweat and tears shall prevail, un-availed, lest pharaoh comes in hot aiming to derail. But with Moses as my guide I will not fail.
I will leave my pursuers in the Red Sea...
Flail,
Flail,
Flail.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
It is a sickness
That I never understood
Years of study buried under bundles of books
Availed me naught
How someone can claim
Pain equals love
That violence is righteous
Motherly dissonance
Sins I cannot forgive
Angers issues just
Barely boiling above
The surface of her stove top love
Untamed rage
Things she never mastered
I spent years in fear
Of becoming her mirror image *******
Feeling thinking dreaming
Sinking in my own stinking
Pit of mixed emotions
Such a painful conflict
Still I exist
Normally kind hearted
With a slick wit
Made to make people laugh
My rage long since subsided
Except in her presence
Her ignorance
Burns
My diligence earns
Me some leeway
And though I love much
I allow myself this hate
I am lessened by this
Not my best self
Hunted by the hungry animal
The wounded one waiting to strike
A lifetime of self-abuse
Of depression mixed in with my lessons
And now I know
That it is my birth-right
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Lets consider two territories
One for the good, and one for the bad
One we could inherit
One we once had
Well let me explain lad
There are camps established at the border of both
Seven billion lined up for food reliefs and clothes
We are meant to fight this war that we think is not ours
But we need to leave where we are and live who finally empower
the rights
Who finally allows us roofs for the nights
Who finally makes the future bright,
With new lights.
But if the fight is between good and the bad
Wouldn’t you be mad
If bad takes over
Cz eventually you will return to where you came from
Answer for the choices from the options you choose from
And the smart could tell
The bad is all about luxury
And the dreams to sell
Wiping all out the misery
But a road to hell
And a trap you fell
The tests you failed
All the signs availed you
God gave everything before the tests began
God never taught you to lie
Who do you deny?
The one who could design a fly?
Things you cannot even try?
God gave everything for free
Even when you were labelled as a refugee
At the borders, between the bad and the good
Allowing we, to choose what we should
But he knows what we would
And the wise will rise the ranks
Grow in size after all the tries
Get back the status of soul of the pure but through a worthy redemption.
Remember that.
This is not our home. Just small camps of those in exile. Little caves of nomads. Shelter for refugees.
All you need to do is, PASS THE TEST
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
We could be runaways.
We could change us.
Spend our days
Availed in fake trust.
You could hold me closer
So I can feel your breath.
My body aching next to yours.
On your lips I taste fresh death.
Clog the drain you call your mind.
My sanity is so hard to find.
Its easier when you're held by
Someone you can stand by.
And even if I do die,
The burial plots have been bought.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
The moment I saw you I lost myself in trauma
If you ask me I do not want to see any other face
Love when encounters beauty becomes drama
Blind eyes are not left with sight but with grace
My love now I am at crossroads to cross or not
I am pleased that I availed the chance in trance
I have accumulated all the wealth in beggar's ***
How can I stop myself when my soul is in dance
Be aware that no rival ****** our taste and flavor
Let this love transition persists till last with zeal
Love is an obligation of heart it is not just a favor
For the sake of beauty it is selfless sacrifice not deal
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
As I stood there,
Full of thoughts so thoughtlessly thinking,
Drinking deep with an inclination that I do not think was ever there before,
Though never there but seeming very real in my despair,
Unwittingly I stood there,
Sinking still forevermore
Wherever from I do not know,
Forlorn for far too long, long ago,
Labouring lonely on my own,
Finally finding some sort of sedate sedition,
At last some affinity with forever’s finite infinity
And, I do recognise the conflictions and oxymoronic oppositions,
But as such it is a necessary dereliction of definitive definitions,
And yet it all still makes so much sense to me,
Profanity in profound insanity,
What gravity
What gravity the vulgarity of these verbalising vultures voicing victorious vitality,
Before banality and such boring finalities,
Then suddenly one’s head grew heavy, hence and thus, dropped into dust,
Deep into the darkness ****** to which only few have ever been privy,
There lay the bust of Miss McHale
Though long pale and so frail in death’s derail of life’s long trail,
Beauty somehow still prevailed in such a sorry sickening tale,
In time long lost to those foreign and some still long mine,
Destined besotted are entwined,
In life and death we tumble and take turns to stumble into things we cannot perfectly define
Love, love was inclined to go through,
Adversities, I had to climb to try and find the only word for you,
A word that can only be mine and said once and really meant for you, that one time
To us that word will confine, but I cannot find,
Nor conform or confide in any known way to accurately represent my mind
Though sometimes that can be just fine,
That word can escape me, but you will still be mine,
And along with finite infinities,
There is the very possibility that we are something that just cannot be defined,
Although I do not understand it, you will still be mine
And yet you crave to climb that rail,
Atop a limousine after your tumble through an Empire’s gale,
States of life try to live on in death but always fail,
As blood runs still and last breathe exhales,
Though immortalised now evermore prevailed,
In beauty and brutality ultimately availed,
The immortal end of the ever humble Miss McHale
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?"
Said I: "Your humble servant!"
Said He: "What business have you got?"
Said I: "I came to greet You!"
Said He: "How long are you to push?"
Said I: "Until You'll call me!"
Said He: "How long are you to boil?"
Said I: "Till resurrection!"
I claimed I was a lover true
and I took may oaths
That for the sake of love I lost
my kingdom and my wealth!
He said: "You make a claim - the judge
needs witness for your cause!"
Said I: "My witness is my tears,
my proof my yellow face!"
Said He: "The witness is corrupt,
your eye is wet and ill!"
Said I: "No, by Your eminence:
My eye is sinless clear!"
He said: "And what do you intend?"
Said I: "Just faithful friendships!"
Said He: "What do you want from me?"
Said I: "Your grace abundant!"
Said He: "Who travelled here with you?"
Said I: "Your dream and phantom!"
Said He: "And what led you to me?"
Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!"
Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?"
Said I: "The ruler's presence!"
Said He: "What did you see there, friend?"
Said I: "A hundred wonders!"
Said He: "Why is it empty now?"
Said I: "From fear of brigands!"
Said He: "The brigand, who is that?"
Said I: "IT is the blaming!"
Said He: "And where is safety then?"
Said: "In renunciation."
Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?"
Said I: "The path to safety!"
Said He: "And where is danger, then?"
Said I: "In Your love's quarters!"
Said He: "And how do you fare there?"
Said I: "Steadfast and happy."
I tested you and tested you,
but it availed to nothing -
Who tests the one who was once tried,
he will repent forever!
Be silent! If I'd utter here
the secrets fine he told me,
You would go out all of yourself,
no door nor roof could hold you!
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC
In creeping fog
of wintry night:
My eyes are clogged.
Billows of blight.
Dull cataracts
veil antique lamps,
gun cotton tracks,
pale wreaths of damp.
Yet though here loom
dun brooding hulks
of cold stone gloom
in misty sulk
the lamps shine forth
and shall not fail
’til dark fades north
and pulls the veil.
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 6:29 AM UTC
partial of what his world revolved,
believed a culture of what beholds,
every heart has availed to his hands
of countless souls that he intertwined.
a cupid played the lyre in genteel,
rather than his usual mystic bow and arrow,
the sweet sound of what he fancies,
a pursuit that he finally found refuge.
May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 11:24 AM UTC
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.
Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.
Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,
(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,
remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband
generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.
Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
****** how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor
without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC