"boisterous" poems
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
47.6k
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.
Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.
A few were wrapped in tints of ginger.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.
Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.
The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...
It is beginning...
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
you were shrieking about your problems
your teeth were all about this material world
everything was all about you
because that's how you wanted it
you loved yourself
and only yourself
you were spitting money of all currencies and kind
you adore them like how i adore humankind
you boast loudly about the material things you own
you loved your things so much, you turned into one
and you think people would actually love you
boisterous laughs were hidden behind the old brick wall
the you i used to know were a pigment of the past
you are now pitch-black, self centered and selfish
the pit can simply be covered with mud or a beautiful plant
but you dig deeper and fall and ask for succor
because that's what you crave for after all
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:52 AM UTC
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and
Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and
revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial! Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,
neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ****** exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,
perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and
pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,
song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,
India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
Once upon a harvest moon,
a timid gnome encountered a boisterous baboon.
“Whacha up to tonight?!” the baboon slurred,
yelling loud enough that the whole town heard.
‘You got this man,’ the shy gnome thought,
because for a baboon, she was kind of hot.
“Not much, ya know,” stated the gnome,
“I’ve just been hanging out at home.”
“Well that ain’t fun!” the baboon cried,
“You’ve gotta have fun, life’s supposed to be a crazy ride!”
Embarrassed, the gnome replied with a fib,
“Tonight was a fluke! I got out, I’m no Squib!”
Laughing she stated, “I think you’re a liar.”
“Oh really?” He retorted, “My pants aren’t on fire.”
She laughed, “HA HA HA! Good one honey,”
the baboon didn’t realize his joke was not funny.
Drunk as a skunk, she had no clue,
the meadow she was in was not Club Blue.
The gnome, however, thought things were going well,
trapped in the clutches of her womanly spell.
Being a bit nerdy he didn’t get out much,
the poor gnome had never even felt a woman’s touch.
Feeling bolder he decided to take a chance,
until he realized that the baboon had peed her pants.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
anxiety is a flood
it comes in slowly
but suddenly drowning me
it is a constant tapping pencil
beating in an irregular beat
frantically accelerating in speed
it is a small room
filled with boisterous people
gradually engulfing me
anxiety is a breath of fresh air
refreshing as I take a breath in
satisfaction as I exhale
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
She pulled up her shawl and left the house
Gone to get more tea
And all the people passing by
And all the noises eating at her ear
Could not grasp her attention
Attending only to herself
Brilliant and Boisterous her thoughts
A majestic melody of their own
So how could she not be secure?
In her soul’s symphony
The strings vibrated her vessel
The horns heckled her heart
The drums beat down her darkness
And wisdom conducted alongside grace
Matching one another’s pace
Astute in one another’s ache
At conducting timelessly, never being late
It was almost as if their union was fate
Almost being key for it surely did take
Tireless effort, and sacrifices to make
The two into each other’s esteemed mate
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
In a world filled with,
Boisterous lads,
Vivacious girls,
Who would see our lonesome wallflower?
In a world filled with,
Discrimination, anger and carnage,
And people who are so savage,
Who would see the kindness,
Who would see the sweetness,
Of our lonesome wallflower?
In a world filled with,
Superficiality, selfishness and disdain,
Where soon humanity shall not remain,
Who would see our lonesome wallflower?
People see what's outside,
To them, exterior is what matters;
Nobody can see the substance inside,
Of our lovely, lonesome wallflower!
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
*veins of my fingers in riots of blossomed colours
like threads made of lilac, lavender, blues and leafs.
for the blues are essences of the Elysian skies,
while lilacs, lavenders and leafs were stolen from an old man's farm
every dawn the sunlit blue wept for the docile stars' hide
I knock my knuckles red and wild, like the raspberries from the monsieur's farm
my chin against the beige, I gaze to where the magpies talk too loudly on the garden moist
swollen and offended by the loud chirps of boisterous dins, the grouchy neighbour cry.
I fill my baskets with wild things and papers,
I have cheese and juices, fruits and sweet carrots.
I have peach trees on my nails for jam
I have cherries in my toes for pie
I have snows in my lapin's soul for some ice creams
I have poppies in my worn pants for a good sight
And there's even vineyards of all Verona in my mind
the ribbons on the hat loom into the gardens' tunnel;
I have herb gardens, I have secret gardens
And I have my old books and pens in there.
when my laces are riven, the embroidered flowers are not.
the canvas shoes is painted in petrichors and soil
my dresses go tattered, sewn with patches
into the vines, thorns and russet throats I lilt and leap
against smells of rustic wood pencils and redolent flowers
There, under a green willow is where to sit and devour wisdom
and to drink some saccharine wine with mon lapin and maybe some picnic pies.
The abominable tremors will be gone,
My morn soul diving into fairy pools of sensuous europhias.*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
The eerie warmth that comes with the calm before.
The unnerving shade of black that only clouds can claim.
The heat that rises from tarmac on empty, open roads.
The scent of petrichor from the passing of earlier rain.
The first rumble starts somewhere unknown and distant.
The suggestion, an omen, of the beginning of an end.
The first drop of rainfall from another night of storms.
The thunder waking creatures from their beds.
The sounds increase slowly as time crawls and passes.
The night is young and roars keep rolling in.
The dark, as such, so early in the evening.
The set of warm goosebumps rising over skin.
The colour of the sunset behind their eyelids.
The blood of Gods is soaking up their breaths.
The momentary post apocalyptic sense of living.
The moody skies catalyse thoughts of untimely deaths.
The passing of the clouds seems dangerously fast.
The growls now thick and boisterous, vehement and clear .
The dust that whips past legs and arms and faces.
The shelter is no barrier for the splitting of an ear.
The tranquillity of standing up in air now still.
The peace of opportunity to look over horizons.
The aftermath of rain and wind and thunder.
The silence of one mind becoming enlightened.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's
We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group
Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you
Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art
We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
*** for me!* I shout
She flashes her pearly whites
the brightest smile I've ever seen
(She likes it when I talk *****
gets wet off it ... soaking
the streets
flooded in every nook
rivers gorging car tires
thunderstorms are our communion
*** for me!* I shout
and She moans like a god ... boisterous
my legs pump faster now
Her cries are electric
I can't help but feel the jolt
louder baby
She indulges
and I come
full stop at the corner of Broadway & Covert
one day...
She will tire of my obscenities
all my **** you's~
in a final flash She will smite me
and when I reach home
He will be at the gate
crooked finger a compass pointing to hell
*** for me* I will cry
reverent in nostalgia
I will have played the game past the final quarter
still taunting His existence
but I'll smile
content in knowing
that every action has a consequence
content in knowing
that I learned that pre-god
pre-conservation of energy
content in knowing
that life taught me to run in thunderstorms
and the first time I shouted back
I felt enough energy to risk hell for it
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
The unmistakable sound of metal carving through ice,
Armored gladiators move swiftly
Wielding wooden weapons with curved blades
As they chase a hard black disc.
Bodies slam into the boards,
The boisterous crowd masks the sounds of cracking bones.
One team scores, then the other.
The crowd cheers, and then they boo.
Two competitors exchange words,
Then fists.
Seconds tick off the clock,
Before they know it the game draws to a close.
Sweat drips from every pore,
Steam rises from the warriors' helmets.
The game has not yet been decided,
So extra time is needed.
The purest form of competition,
The first to score wins.
A skater breaks away from the defense.
He shoots, he scores, he goes home and waits for the chance to play again.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
kids nowadays are noisy
and boisterous
and sure it’s tough
keeping order and quiet in the classroom
like Mr Tough-Rules found out recently
when he screamed at the noisy class:
*“Let’s have some order, children!
Order! Order!”*
And Lil Susie turned round fast
and placed her order in rapid-fire time:
“A burger and some chips, Sir!”
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.
I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
Originally published by The Chained Muse. My translation is based on an untitled text in Bangla (Bengali) first published in 1912 and known as "60" due to its numerical placement. Tagore made history by becoming the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature the following year. Keywords/Tags: seashore, gathering, children, sky, sea, water, dance, sand castles, shells, boats, play, nets, swim, fish, pearls, ships, waves, songs, mother, lullaby, baby, cradle, tempests, death
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
Two antagonists
joined and evolving...
prevailing scarcity
far rarer abundance
a forked pattern
through millennial time
new century
visions holistic...
technology sightings
viewing through lenses
holographic
wholeness appearing in parts...
promises of science
now simply profound
clear water and plenty
hungry billions soon fed
innovations cropping from
the boisterous crowd...
standing robots astute
heavy labor performed...
global nervous system
growing and formed
by the web...
residue and waste becoming
power transformed...
optimism breaking long
history's confines
questions
large and looming give pause...
the antagonists mentioned
are they soon to transform?
abundance and scarcity
new parents
new consciousness birthing...
awareness with awe
in one simple moment?
ancient spiritual light
is it now flowing
holographic vessels to fill?
what might the
newborn be named?
should she simply
be called... enough?
this name also naming
a bright center glow...
daughter scarcity now
absorbed and lining
her abundant light...
new strength
new vision
a new fork
in our road?
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
Blessed with matchlessly magical Parents,
Their supremely good, serenely happy raising,
design our thought processes.
Their loving, comforting storytelling skills,
leave indelible footprints and heartprints.
Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!!
Blessed with a bombastic Brother,
self-styled natural, perennial itinerant,
Sentinel of sisters life-long.
Sentiments flow unabatedly,
for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger.
Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!!
Blessed with delicate darling Sister,
who wears expressions benignant perpetually.
Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually.
Evident protected favourite of all surely.
Fondest moments born in her queenly company.
Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!!
Blessed with solicitous Husband,
His silent romanticism, macho protective ways,
smoothen tumultuous paths.
Terribly correct and sober better half,
Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph.
Thankyou God for this Angelic Love!!!
Blessed with an endearing Child,
Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born,
definitely, a definition for the guardians.
Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows.
Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
ever presiding o'er the terrain
with its boisterous beams
announcing to all and sundry
the strength of its regime
day in and day out
the tyrannical blasts are felt
all under its despotic yolk
the countryside doth melt
no release
from the oppressive heat
endlessly its dominance
doth beat
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
All defined, labeled, identified.
like quiet children who stand aside,
Silent as a dusty book,
Captivated by their own shoes,
must be pardoned, must be excused.
Those who mumble and avoid your eyes,
them do not mind, they’re just shy.
Imagine if everything still and reserved
Were undermined by such a word.
What would we say of those calm characters
mountains, towers, poetry, flowers?
If perchance one afternoon we met the horizon or the moon,
Are we to say that because often they stand away,
Afar in photos, landscapes, scenery,
off center, silent, beyond the sea,
That these defining features of the sky
Should be cast off and labeled shy?
Those amongst us, who silently
Live largely in their reverie,
Hiding behind their books and journals,
Heard not, but for the scratch of their pencils,
Will name you someday;
They'll have something undeniably brilliant to say.
Should you disagree, consider and think,
Violent, boisterous thunder is the voice of silent-seeming lightning.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 11:15 PM UTC
Loud and boisterous
their green, blue, brown feathers
fluttered with enthusiasm
they pranced like enraged dancers
around a still pasture of evergreen
The sky dissolved into a milky white
feathered with thin grey clouds
when I saw him
pitch black and inky
he wasn't natural
this peacock's feathers looked like they had been dipped in oil
He was larger than the others
with a stoic expression and confident stance
he was quiet among the other birds
He was alluring, almost mysterious
I wanted to embrace this bird
but I knew I wasn't worthy
at least I thought I wasn't
And he was gone
Just like that
like a ghost I knew I would never see again
but I still dream of meeting him
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC