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Edward Coles Jul 2014
The snowman slicks his hair
and sits on the piano bench.
He never comes to press the keys
for fear of the warmth
in a major chord.

The snowman lets his whiskey stand
in ice upon his windowsill.
He never comes to press his lips
for fear these poisons
will reduce him to elements.

The snowman browses works of art,
photographs of beautiful women.
He never comes to try his luck
for fear that rejection
will leave him cold,
and preserve his distance.
c
The Sphynx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled,
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.?
"Who'll tell me my secret
The ages have kept?
? I awaited the seer,
While they slumbered and slept;?

The fate of the manchild,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown,
Dædalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep,
Life death overtaking,
Deep underneath deep.

***** as a sunbeam
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert!
Your silence he sings.

The waves unashamed
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet.
The journeying atoms,
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy,
Glide its hours uncounted,
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being
Without cloud in its eyes,
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals,
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

Out spoke the great mother
Beholding his fear,
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere;?
Who has drugged my boy's cup,
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who with sadness and madness
Has turned the manchild's head?"?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphynx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time,
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

The fiend that man harries,
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the Pit of the Dragon
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the Perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

Profounder, profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
To his aye-rolling orbit
No goal will arrive.
The heavens that draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found, ?for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores,
And the joy that is sweetest
Lurks in stings of remorse.
Have I a lover
Who is noble and free,?
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies,
And under pain, pleasure,
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the centre,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

Dull Sphynx, Jove keep thy five wits!
Thy sight is growing blear,
Rue, myrrh, and ****** for the Sphynx,
Her muddy eyes to clear."
The old Sphynx bit her thick lip,?
"Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow!
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh,
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy quest through nature,
It through thousand natures ply,
Ask on, thou clothed eternity,?
Time is the false reply."

Uprose the merry Sphynx,
And crouched no more in stone,
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon,
She spired into a yellow flame,
She flowered in blossoms red,
She flowed into a foaming wave,
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Thorough a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame,
"Who telleth one of my meanings,
Is master of all I am."
The Sphinx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled:
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.
"Who'll tell me my secret,
The ages have kept?_
I awaited the seer
While they slumbered and slept:
_
"The fate of the man-child,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;
Daedalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;
Deep underneath deep?

:***** as a sunbeam,
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses,
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert,
Your silence he sings.

"The waves, unashaméd,
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet;
The journeying atoms,  
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

"Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,--
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

"The babe by its mother
Lies bathéd in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted,--
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

"But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

"Out spoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear;--
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere:--
'Who has drugged my boy's cup?
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned my child's head?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

"The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

"To vision profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
His aye-rolling orb
At no goal will arrive;
The heavens that now draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found,--for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

"Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores;
Lurks the joy that is sweetest
In stings of remorse.
Have I a lover  
Who is noble and free?--
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

"Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies;
And under pain, pleasure,--
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the center,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

"Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits'
Thy sight is growing blear;
Rue, myrrh and ****** for the Sphinx,
Her muddy eyes to clear!"
The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,--
Said, "Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow;
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

"Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy question through nature,
It through thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply.

Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And crouched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave:
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Through a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame
"Who telleth one of my meanings
Is master of all I am."
ji Oct 2016
read my body like a bible,
let your tongue be the bookmark
that browses my pages,
and embeds between my spine
right where it shouldn't;
say my name like a prayer,
and i'll worship the shrine
under your stomach
like a god— my god!
let me lick the statuette
Kuzhur Wilson Jan 2014
2009 october 9,
Sharja, ajman, dubai**

Very early,
The day
Browses through the book
On suicide

“this wooden cross of poesy
Will control
The road mishaps
Of dream travel”
I told the day
That those are my lines

He laughed
Sunlight spread

Gave the book
On suicide
To the day

Let it get dark,
He said

A father for the first time
is making
His daughter
Listen
to the sea
Named after her

Ammini,
Why don’t you
Say something?

This is the sea,
Mother ocean
Mother ocean
Gave you your name

You laugh
Listening to the roar
What do you know
About its depths
Even your father doesn’t know
Whirlpools,
Deep abysses
Waves
Oysters

Huge sharks
With protruding teeth

Keep it a bit closer, girl,
The low voice
Of a goddess

After your father
Dipped you
In the ocean,
He  wrote on the bank,

That the ocean mother is a thief

It was probably
Because she was scared of you,
Ammini,
This time,
She didn’t wipe it out



Who is this Ranni?
To which godforsaken place does this Ranni belong ?
Whether it is Ranni
Or Konni,
I have to drink a drop of liquor
After that, everything will be all right

In the perfect Ranni room
Of the one from Ranni
Ranni
Ranni
Ranni
Ranni, etc

There are pictures of father and mother

You are blessed
The pictures of
Father
And mother
In the words of Nazimuddin
Fair wife
Obedient children

Liquor
Gave a kiss
On the forehead
Of the one from Ranni

Would Shobha
Have ever seen me
Except through the camera?
Anilan,
Mary, Mary again,
Shihab,
Must have seen me
Changing lens after lens

As  for everyone else,
I am a picture
For Shobha

No shobha
Has seen
Me

Is it because of madness
Or in order to not become mad
O forest,
In-between
In-between
In-between
These missed calls

Those that were missed were missed all right .

In- between,
Trying to imitate
You
In your language,
I failed...

There is,
In Aluva
A Sebastian
Who vends vegetables

Sells anything
Except poems

And you?

All who smoke
Pine cigarettes
In the world
Are brothers

After I die
You should give
A packet of Pine
Along with the award given

I
Was the seller
In that grocery
One day
For one hour
In some moment

My pay
My pay

This kiss
Is this worker’s
Struggle with you

A struggle with kisses

Wow!
I feel like living

Great

See, I didn’t write this
Why do words
Come and look
In places where
They are not wanted,
at times when they are not wanted?

I will stab you
It will be over with a stab,
It should be over

As soon as a poem was over
Another one!
A lady says

Is it possible to feign deafness
when females talk to us?

But this time I fooled you!
I am not reciting a poem
It is reciting me!

Now let it think!


In the look of wonder and respect,
Girl,

I become another person,

You are with your father
Even then you whisper
That you want to hear my poem

I have seen you somewhere

My children,
Poem?
It is all gone

It smells like a cadaver
If I open my mouth


Do you know
How many people ran away?

First you gave me
A huge bunch of basil

My soul turned green,
But as I stand there
Stunned,
Thinking that you are so small - a girl,
You give again

An uncooked forest of leaves again

Hey look,
You are a girl

This kiss is on your forehead
I am not one who do not fancy
The private parts of females

My kiss is firmly on your forehead.
Because
My son is a daughter..
Translation : Anitha Varma
Every day the people do it
We can always see straight through it
Every day they ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’
‘Where are we going’ and ‘how far?’
Walking right through our arcade
Playing out the same charade
Are they coming in to buy?
Or look at every price and sigh?
‘Candlestick sir, antique broach?’
‘Sorry must get to the coach’

Occasionally while one man browses
They will look at the price of houses
But we know that they’ll never buy
Because the prices are too high
‘Salami, cheeses, tongue in jelly?’
But they just walk past the deli
From their course they never budge
Unless of course they want some fudge
‘Perhaps a painting or knick knack
A china tea ***, letter rack?’

The gallery’s packed full of art
But from their cash they still won’t part
The café almost tempts them in
The smell of bacon tends to win
But then they look upon the clock
And wallets full still, off they flock
In short this daily stream of life
That travels through our little fief
Just amounts to so much teasing
Rather than shop keeper pleasing

There is a reason none the less
For their single-mindedness
Despite how varied our approach
We cannot hope to beat the coach
Shiva Nagri Mar 2010
The Satan residing in the cornea,

Tries too hard to insist

And the continuously contaminated

Clockwork fails to resist.

The ***** of the aces – Corrupt

In a while it will erupt,

And puke out disrupt

****** emotions outburst

Of unbearable lust.

The pubescent plaque

Haemorrhages seeds of deeds

Culminates all over – the wicked weeds.

Seductive seas

The mind browses

****** ***** the louses.

Engulfed in the trap of crap

Cornea turns Pornea.
Dark n Beautiful Sep 2013
God gave them over to degrading passions; for their women
exchanged for the natural function for that which is unnatural, and
in the same way also the men abandoned the natural function
of the woman and burned in their desire toward one another
men with  men committing indecent acts and receiving in their own
persons the due penalty of their  error. (Roman 1:26  


Our summer evening settle down
many of us logged on to the internet
Critiquers or terrifying ticking time bombs
They surf and browses around.

Clicking sounds;  fingers moving slowly
Anything is possible in today's world
Overly educated fools smudges the earth
Men with men; women with women
it's  sad world  for most of us
so we chat with total strangers

Controlled by gentle touch
Alone in the comfort of our homes
So many old and lonely cantankerous poets
Or mental deranged strangers connects

such old souls stretches across the globe
to be disrespectful toward each other
is this the new  circle of social creatures?
could it be they emotion, compassion
or simply a humanity deal?

They are living secret lifes, with make believe wives
The miraculous things we say to each other
Gutless lonely souls, nervous in plain view
can never function in the real world
A Fish Tank without  water


Do we really know them?
I know them but only on the internet(:)
GvSparx Nov 2014
Likes the new girl in office
Adds her on Facebook,
she accepts.
Browses all her photos,
never comments.
Types in the chat box,
deletes.
Sees her with another guy,
disbelieves.
Another girl joins, the process repeats
Now that you have read it, please read the bold only. Voila! It still tells the complete story.
This is one of many true story #greypapers I post on Facebook. I am on a campaign where I write true stories of people in the form of poetry. I have described various funny, grave, gruesome, lovely emotions in these, you can read them at
https://www.facebook.com/inspiringlives
and do let me know your opinion of the same
Olivia Kent Jun 2013
Going up the road,
A front of sorrows space,
Where sweet kisses of coldness,
Touch the self in side,
One inside another,
Kisses blown on lightnings spark,
While breaking free,
From storms,
Once so very dark,

Brewing hot as coffee ***,
Rich filled with quality,
Quenches all desires,
Love peruses as she browses,
The carousel of love,
Powered up by fairy dust,
In sparkled sprinkles,

Remarkable indeed,
Magic powder,
Power felt,
Chucked from impish fairy globe,
In an orb of inspiration
Blessed!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
See her sleeping on a bench
her basket there beside
she's out in the cold
when she should be inside
she spends her life a'shopping
as she browses the streets
looking for some food
and shoes for her feet
I feel so much love for her
that I get on my knees
then I pray to God
"Lord, could you help her please?"
I take my shoes off my feet
and remove my sweater
then I walk to the bench
and offer them to her
she smiles at me kindly
as she accepts my gifts
and then for a moment
it seems her sadness lifts...
I remember as I walk
her on that bench of rust
knowing she is equal
with the rest of us
Gloria Bernard Sep 2014
Do you hear it?
The sounds of footsteps are coming from afar.
- But where are the people?
I can't see them so far.
I hear only footsteps coming from afar.
-Yes, you won't see them,
Don't make a lame effort.
When a human soul is exiled,
The body of a person, clear like a shadow,
Browses in the dark...invisible, silent.
And only from afar, with the sound of footsteps,
Rumbling as if moaning of the loss of their souls.
Sept. 2002
Michael Anderson Sep 2011
The blue freeze pop seemingly stains the boy’s lips as he exits the kitchen,
Quickly employed is the process of melting on this hot summers day. At five years old, he
takes the steps down towards the pool deck foot by foot, holding the railing as if he had never taken a step in his life.
The world is his, not existing past the edge of the yard, which is safely guarded by a picket fence. The sun shines down aggressively, reflecting the bright orange color of his water-wings on his face, his blue eyes still vibrant and innocent as he squints to maintain his focus.
As he browses the surface of the pool I can feel him contemplating his next move as he watches his younger sister. The three year old is naturally processing; questioning my ability to catch her if she decides to take what seems to be her fifth leap of faith since this morning, yet the smile on her face hasn’t changed.

He grasps a water gun, says “fight with me junior”
He, being the only one armed, I say, “Let’s find a game we can play together”
He shrugs as he once again realizes the existence of his sister, and ponders what could be next. I splash him once and he hurriedly discards the plastic freeze pop sleeve on a reclining chair, left behind like the activities of yesterday.
Fittingly, the sister has the knack to explore, like Dora, the character she admires and adores.
Without speaking they move together towards the emerald green raft, and together they drag it to the edge of the pool.

“Here” the boy said.
“Yeah. Here!” she exclaims with a childish grin.  
“Good idea” I reply.
They look at each other as if they had won a prize, then silently exchanging looks before the boy takes charge.
He jumps on the raft wildly and she follows in tow, but with the same caution that she had had just moments ago.
They sit together, they laugh, they smile they play, innocently, before the stresses of life can attack and grab hold of the loving relationship that they currently share.
I find that the simple pleasures of life are as free for today,
As are the smiles that both of the children convey.
There is nothing in the world that I’d trade for this beautiful summer display,
and I cherish every single second that I spent on this day
By Ron Koertge

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.

from Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press
faa Jun 2018
Suffocating between houses so distant
Where oceans tempest in between
An opaque clutch on her throat consistent  
Tears wetting her façade, blatantly unseen  
The further the households grew apart
A greater despair pierced at her heart

Realisation non-emergent in her psyche
Convincing herself that just maybe
She can squeeze in amongst the houses
Within the distance vast yet she browses
To experience being cherished
On what it feels like to belong
Alas, that cannot be accomplished
Bonds hath severed for far long
Daan Nov 2014
Red
She wanders, all day,
she roams and walks and strays.
She browses, loses interest,
yet she does not give up.

Some would lose their temper,
others feel uneasy. How can she
stay so natural, breezy.

I swear I wasn't staring,
I tried to restrain.
Honestly, but you know
how I react to smiles,
as beautiful as yours.
Charging when I should casually bump
Mona Dec 2017
Nobody cares about the girl
that sits alone in front of the store
where she went to spend all her money
just to feel alive for once

Nobody cares about the girl
that browses the books
looking through the pages for something
she misses in the real world

Nobody cares about the girl
that feels lonely the moment you leave
feels like the world is too big and not real at all at the same time

She feels like there's no point in living
unless it's living with you
And yes, it does feel lonely
Onoma Mar 2022
an uptown scarecrow debuting

downtown birds, browses convexo-

concave storefront windows for

a costume.

stuffed with a sun's harvest of fully

lost hair.

more unfamiliar than any creeping or

flying thing.

venturing into daylight, where one

image winces into the form of all

images thereafter.

an odd vengeance running out of

paint, still wet--yet dry.

as a mouth's penchant for words,

once uttered, forcing the most

well-adjusted hypocrite to situate

Self.

just when it is shown to its very own

space...things unravel.

— The End —