"babel" poems
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn
rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette
resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by
the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
that true quiet
is not the absence of noise
I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve
the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion
this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity
here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
It seems as though we all live in separate worlds..
In that case I'm hitchhiking through the galaxy, won't you come with me?
Hitchhike through this galaxy with me!
We'll see new and old worlds, hear some odd dialects, remember to bring your guide and babel fish and if we are lost we musn't panic!
We'd all love to be hitchhiking through the galaxy, so come on!
Hitchhike through the galaxy with me!!
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
*I wish I didn't have these arms you scratched
This broken heart you deeply touched?
Imagine the idea of making no **** oath
If I wasn't given such a sincere mouth
What if I had no arms to hold you tight
Or I were an imbecile whose mind thought nothing right
What if I was a strengthless ******* who couldn't fight
Imagine I had no eyes to see you the day we met
If I hadn't taken that road that sealed our fate
If I was soul-less, if that makes some sense
And lived free of guilt without conscience
To walk out on every lady like you did to me
Imagine it was sold ,the much I'd pay to be so mean
What if I wasn't human to trip and madly fall
Or I had no mobile to helplessly answer your call
Imagine I was deaf to apologies or created without ears
Could I have shed these oceans of tears all these years?
Imagine I had no nostrils to master your fragrance
Or palms to get adicted to the softness of your ambiance
If I had a stiff neck which could never turn
Imagine, me without looking back the far I would run
Imagine love was already made and we hadn't made it
Imagine I could decide who charmed me, not fate's merit
Imagine I erasing all the sweet moments and enjoying the sour
Wouldn't my pride still be as high as the Babel tower?
Just take your time, take away my eyes, feet, heart, soul and mind
And see what I'd be, a dark lonesome beast of its kind
So as you're walking away and sending me into a trance
Imagine walking back and this time having no other chance*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
O' how they rise above each other,
the descendants of Babel!
Rebels to forefathers.
All as righteous as they seem –
to the law, but not to reality
Towers Among Towers!
unreachable by mere ones
mocking the lowlands
with their heights
Even dreams could not fathom!
And oh, how Towers fall too,
at the top of their limit.
Catastrophe! Phenomena!
their power too is frail
because there is always
One that stands taller
than any other could avail.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
Katie Price
Had a collection
Of last season's
Brassieres
Which she indexed
With the help
Of a sincere
Bilingual reindeer
Dressed in spandex
Who for some reason
Was single.
Taxonomy
Is so important to me
Said Katie.
So they were labelled
And kept in taxis
At disused angle grinder factories
Near the Tower of Babel
So posterity
Would be able
To analyse
The finer points
Of her physiognomy.
Quite an unusual praxis
And something of an anomaly
For someone like me
Wouldn't you agree?
Cross my heart
And hope to die
I agree.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Father could reprogram all six billion of us
if He felt the need, anytime
In fact that's exactly what He did
at Babel when our dodgy one-accord
threatened to bring the end nearer
than the six millenniums of earthtime
He'd allocated for us to seek His truth
He even re-wired Balak for a minute
to hear his donkey speak
and think of the Assyrians that fled
when He caused four lepers to sound
like a mighty mercenary army
coming to rescue Jerusalem
YHWH is omnipotent, like it not
The reason He's not 'interfering' right now
is simply because His plan is dead on time
He intends to blow the chaff from His wheat
The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful
(through Revelations and the mark)
will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns
for a thousand years of peace on earth
You may think "Oh I'll wait and see
if it's true, like, if the two witnesses
really die and then rise again in three days"
Problem with that approach is simple
You could be brainwashed before then
The neurophone is widely used today
Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached
and read surveillanceissues.com
Those of us who really care
will continue to bug you and **** your spirit
Hopefully you'll make the right choice
and refuse the mark of the beast
Consider these things while there's time
'After me the storm' won't cut it
There are less than three short years to go
* Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
No such thing as friends..blood brothers stick close..whether truth or fable Cain killed Able..it happened on a farm..niggas jealous over fruits for table..reverse the grave to a cradle..yet the ****** gave birth in a stable..don't watch nothing like cable..life is sweet like a girl sippin syrup maple..gum beating ****** in the street with beef never signed a label..maybe one day there'll be peace God willing as He is able..else we see defeat at the feet of babel..learn to connect with each other..y yall tink we gat navel...its a link..get online and get over yourself..humility servitude and humbleness..yet only amongst brothers can i feel this bliss..sticking with blood rejecting the Judas kiss..cause a ***** been cross ever since ever since a ***** been criss..if u know what im talking bout u be like this.... uhh huh uhh huh
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
A sigh is a barebacked rider, soundless along a sandy coast,
A candle tipped with starlight, wheeling in a cosmos of smoke,
A firefly floating on the ruins of the wind like a winged gyroscope,
A skull in the stomach whose teeth are my own and breathes
With Babel’s thousand tongues telling fragrant untruths.
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 8:44 PM UTC
Hello Poetry
Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.
And here you are.
Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.
The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.
So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------
Who's Who In Poetry
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)
Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
You are looking for the kind of love that I cannot give.
In fact, it is the kind of love that cannot be given by anybody else,
But you.
I know you think you've been through the seven circles of hell
That everyday it seems like the entire universe is conspiring against you
That as if the moment you step out of your home, the ground starts to crumble beneath your feet.
But love,
Do not be afraid.
You were made to conquer the army of Palestines
And climb atop the tower of Babel
You were made to crush the walls of Jericho and part the waters of the red sea
You are meant to be so much more than a pawn
You are a king
But a king knows the pain of becoming a servant
For he himself is a servant of the people
Do not forget that your strength comes from within you
Not from the foul words of those who envy
Or from the empty bullet cases of those who desire your failure
Your inviolability comes from yourself
Do not let anyone, ever, make you feel less of who you are
You are a king
You
Are my king
And all I wish for you is happiness beyond measure
Joy that fills the deepest holes in your hollowed heart
Courage that you may step out of your comfort zone and do amazing things
And most of all
Security
You do not need words of validation from your peers
You do not need claps and screams of praises from the crowd just to prove that you are worth something
Do not change for anyone
Not even for me
You are worth more than a thousand diamonds or a million bricks of gold just because you are who you are
I cannot tell you that it will all be good days
Because I am sure that there will be days that feel like ****
You will feel burdened with the weight of the world
You will kneel at the guns of those who criticize your gifts
You will doubt yourself
And you will doubt me
I am sure of that
And there will be times when I would want to let go of your hand
When I will scream at the absence of your attention
When I will run away from the problems WE have to face
But love,
Know that I won't.
I will run the race with you, and carry you if your feet start to fail
I will sing to you when the music stops playing
I will remind you every single day that
You are loved
When you smile
You are loved
When you fail an exam
You are loved
When you are betrayed by your friends
You are loved
When you are at your worst
You are loved
When you don't love me anymore
You are loved
And when the time comes when you want silence from my side
I will willingly give it to you
I will shut up
I will close my eyes
I will take the pain
I will catch your punches
I will receive your harsh words
I will stand up
I will walk away
I will let go
IF you want me to
I will.
You know what is best for you
And I know what is best for me
For now
I just know
That what is best for me
Is you.
On a last note, don't let anyone, ever
Make you feel like you don't deserve what you want
Thank you love
For everything
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back -
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails -
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty
Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!
Who preach of Justice - plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound -
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound:
Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain -
So many hundred pounds a year -
Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun -
Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When YE have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
3k
please to admit, it is
true & not too deep within,
a scientifically proven and a oddly
curio shop fact,
we are all aliens
to each other, despite,
the overlapping of
a billion permutations
of cellular related associations
our individuating palettes
the diversity of our genetics,
other than the physics of sharing a planet,
simplest put,
no one can ever
be exactly the same,
the precisely of you or me,
doppelgängers notwithstanding,
our individuation, so incredibly due
to our blessed diversification, that to
subdivide ourselves from others,
is a downward
facing absolutely ridiculous ideation
and thus we reveal here and (n/kn-ow) that the
only reason we aliens unique nonetheless
can communicate with each other,
regardless of alphabet or character of idiom,
(or idiots of character)
is
*all alien beings love to breathe and speak
intuitively in a pleasing rhyme and meter,*
to the ear of our overlapping physique,
and that is why, every tongue is connectable,
and every alpha produces its own poetic creations,
'tis poetic soundings alliterating glue,
that molds this planet of aliens
from a tower of babel into a
shapely sphere
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 1:05 AM UTC
Cardinal sun rose
blooming as the
budding flower.
Buddha chants in the
chimes of birds
ethereal caught in gradual hot wind,
Darjeeling tea steam rises on tabletop my
mind is waking over Indonesian morning.
Foreign babel as hours draw even
cacophony of hurricane horns
the Denpasar traffic drumming
chorus midst markets where
radio emitting Li Zengguang
dizi dizzily prancing into the
assortments of spice and coiling fabrics
patterns potent azure and golden
royalty brass clatter caged noise
boiling *** cries the Orient!
Overgrowth spots the charring temples
in majesty and abundance cradling the narrow
Balinese streets while tropic palm
and orchid spring swells the soils.
Ardent sun sheaths eastern archipelagos,
religious offerings canvas sidewalks
incense burning in overwhelming
bouquets of efflorescence smelling
daedal tapestries within the paradise.
Sun goes on setting the jewel easing
underneath the horizon,
butterflies sway in rest
hearts on fire
the ceremonies have finished.
Thunder shrieks against the sea
torrential rain firing on villa ceilings.
My eyes set to sleep
consciousness transitioning
between two dreams.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight
Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion
Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory
**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers,
these tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
in the army of orphans,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to the rabbled boors,
the imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
*When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
taste his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
becoming one who was, yet still is,
because of you,*
because of poetry.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
What if I could find Heaven
Amidst my own way?
Would you condemn me to your Hell
Tomorrow?
If my soul could wash with the wind
And my heart could soar the skies,
Would you quarantine my unique spectrum?
If I could sing with the full moon
Or dance to the soul of fire,
Would you claim me a hedonist?
Or would The Tower of Babel block the barrier
Needed to perceive you and I as the same soul carrier?
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
This is your reality, the brave new world;
i just hang out here:
birthed in the Cradle of Elam,
a mourning son of Baal,
smeared and anointed
with the oil from the
***** fingerprints of
countless scores of
sweaty neophytes;
carried, dropped, dented;
brought forth from eons passed,
updated for the 21st century,
gilded Krylon-gold.
This nebulous gift,
made tangible and
whole by blood,
a form fitting sacrifice,
transmogrified kudzu,
rootless, digging
talons' clutch into
our minds' construct,
seeks strength of
conviction, action.
Our ship is now
veering off course.
i must respond in kind.
i will not be led astray.
i will not have my good
intentions commandeered.
i will hijack your purpose,
screaming mutiny,
holding Occam's Razor-knife
to the throat of your jihads.
i issue a fatwa of peace,
as you once did,
before.
i renounce a kingdom of hate,
as you once did,
before.
i seek charity in effort,
as we once did,
before.
Let us rebuild.
Let us move forward.
***** a new Babel,
forsaking the sword.
Let our forks be on roads,
and not on our tongues;
a forging of union,
as we'd once begun:
My sisters, my brothers,
my family,
as one.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
you stranger,
you becoming stranger,
your voice the
heart-beat spindle’s threadbare pull,
pulsating in green-light chorus,
washing me in and out of the shore
of an intangible reality
that i think you not only live in,
but that you’ve created for yourself,
cloth of blood and crystalline light
and layer
upon layer
of memory
that may or may not have happened.
i dream of having my own palace in the
inverted sky;
i’d be the taste that
you try to swallow away,
the flickering guilt of
the candle you forgot to blow
out when you left the room—
you left me in the light.
i’d coax that tendril of
half-thought half-baked
slightly-worn
feeling,
weaving it
through the syllables of my fingertips.
the drumming of my hands
across impatient countertops would
keep the time,
and you’d grow in rhythm.
i’d smile,
the smug, gap-toothed knowledge
that comes from molding the inarticulate
summation of
yourself,
you, who i have never met.
our eyes would meet across the infinite
cliff of a space between words,
and that would be enough.
i’d like to be able to leave
the sound of my voice in the
crook of your elbow,
jarring your step as
you try to look past the horizon,
and only see my
tower of
words—
i want to be your babel, baby.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
The night grew darker and the babel hushed,
To their beds, the orphans rushed.
One by one sound asleep,
While through the curtain slit, Peter Pan peeped.
He crawled into the hut, silent as a grave
Played a melody, with an unusual octave.
That night had been quiet ghostly, odd and peculiar
Yet strangely enough, the orphans sensed no fear.
The melody chimed like a beautiful lullaby,
Frosty December cold seemed to have vanished, and it felt like warm July.
The misery and sorrow appeared to be ending,
As though time had stopped and reality was bending.
Soon it was morning with the crack of dawn,
But the hut lay silent, as if the children were gone.
With no guardians to search for the stray,
Lifeless bodies left on the floor, stiff and grey.
The little ones fell into a deep slumber, one with no breath,
A slumber that was led by the angel of death.
However, beneath the bed was a note that read,
“Off to Neverland, we now head”
-Yashaswee Das
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC
Moon,
a sole star woven,
immortalized as beauty,
grace,
tender,
by poets of all tongues.
for centuries, fondness for moon piped their pen to perfection
moon was a part of earth,
a part of ourselves,
it got drifted in space far too long ago,
though it journeyed throughout the galaxy, it found its way home.
Back to itself,
Back to earth,
Likewise i always find myself to you,
Under different galaxies,
Under different stars,
No matter how many faces worn,
Babel changed,
Bodies torn,
fates exchanged,
i befriend you,
My heart strings attached to you in face of conflict,
Be it tattered,
We'll begin under a new star.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
Sitting in that cafe
was like sitting atop the tower of Babel
a cacophony of language
like a hurricane was going on all around him
the homeless black men
who spoke with their own jive and jib
he knew some of the language
but was far from fluent
there were the Arabian men
talking into blue tooths on their ears
or into cellphones
or arguing with each other
outside over cigarette after endless cigarette
nothing but harsh blunt sounds,
it was beautiful in a way
and there is the Russian couple
bombshell athletic blondes
it was hard to determine whether the relationship was
Mother and Daughter
or coach and athlete
they were seemingly
all business
broken with interspersed bouts of laughter
and their were the Asian boys and girls
coming from Korea or Japan or China, or some other place
talking fast and easy
gesticulating wildly with their hands
and of course their was English
thick and arrogant in its tone
it was a language for movers and shakers
money makers and deal breakers
it sounded nowhere near as special
as the other languages
And there was him
sitting silently in the corner of the cafe
his language
the chitter chatter of the keyboard
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
If ignorance is bliss
And knowledge is power
I'll conquer the abyss
And defend my Tower
If Babel did spiral
And cursed all our people
I'll learn occult symbols
And cast out this evil
If Zeus blasted my crown
And reduced to rubble
I'll flow red from your brow
And rip through your muscle
If Prometheus ran
And flames danced in his eyes
I'll pluck two apples and
Hand you our sweet demise.
Nov 6, 2022
Nov 6, 2022 at 10:04 AM UTC