"chants" poems
Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.
A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.
I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.
Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.
Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.
Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.
Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars. Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.
And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"
All indeed, fare questions.
When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
stinging
gold swarms
upon the spires
silver
chants the litanies the
great bells are ringing with rose
the lewd fat bells
and a tall
wind
is dragging
the
sea
with
dream
-S
13k
I'm waiting for my mother
I twiddle my thumbs idlly
I'm trying to look away from
The chocolate bar that's staring at me
"Look at me!" It whispers softly
I'm struggling to avert my eyes
"You'll feel better when you eat me" it
says
With an effort, I ignore its lies
I walk around the chocolate shop
Like a predator circling it's prey
This temptation is just too great!
My feet can't seem to walk away
"Eat me! Eat me!" The chocolate chants
Someone save me from this torture!
"Don't leave me all alone" it says
I can't take this anymore
Suddenly, my phone rings
My mother has finally arrived!
I turn my my back on the chocolate
My face glows with pride
I didn't succumb to my desire
I did it! I resisted!
I held on, I stayed strong
Even when the chocolate insisted
I smile as I reach the car
I'll tell my mother about my ordeal
I think of how proud she'll be
And of how happy I will feel
But before I utter a single word,
She hands a packet, beaming wide
She says "look what I got for you!"
I can't wait to see what's inside!
A prize for resisting temptation?
Oooh! What could it be?
I open the packet and look inside
And a big fat chocolate stares back at me!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
In its grave
Brotherhood sleeps
And around him
Runs the crowd
Nearby an old man
Sits and chants the beads
Waiting for his newbirth
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
The angels' harps play a sacred tune,
while planets dance around the moon;
In subtle strains our spirits rise,
and leave us grateful and starry-eyed.
Recalling life as it once seemed,
this vision floated inside a dream;
In many days of endless chants,
the angels' harps cause us to dance.
When voices touch each other's hearts,
there's always a sign creating sparks;
And with that strong secure emotion,
then lives connect with pure devotion.
No longer chilled in fears of life,
all folks fly far away from strife;
The added wealth of kinship stands,
as children sing while holding hands.
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
Can you feel the ache in my chest?
Can you touch the cracks in my heart?
Can you tell where my soul begins,
And where it's been torn all apart?
I'm made of sharp edges and pieces fit with super glue
Can you feel it?
I'm a heartless enigma and a soulless slice of truth
Can you feel it?
Enemies make the best friends and now I hate you
Can you feel it?
Lies are like a bullet to my heart, filling me with holes
A feeling of emptiness overwhelms me, a space too bold
Trying to hold on tight to a tangle too tied to unfold
Lost in a web of pain too damaged to be controlled
I'm made of broken glass, chipped and shattered
Can you feel it?
I'm an empty shell of something that once mattered
Can you feel it?
Pieces are falling, a love now bruised and battered
Can you feel it?
The harmony of injustice is ringing in my ears
A lullaby of sweet nothings and my childhood fears
A common trend unfolds, a chorus of chants and tears
A pain ripples through my body and the monster finally appears
Can you feel it?
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.
A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.
Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.
While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying
Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
When you touch me, I do not stand near the faint window, but I open all the bright doors, the doors of a very strong and very shapeless breeze. O Ramadan; the rain of touches that reach every story in my weak body and every region in my soul. Your touch is a soft candle, yes your touch is a new white flower. When you smile at me, I do not wait behind the absent window, but I see the true doors, the doors of endless time and unlimited place. Oh Ramadan, you can imagine my very intense and very shapeless happiness. When your soft whispers flow deep in me, I will never be near the salty window, but I will be immersed in warm doors , the doors of swimming in a stunning river, disappearing in a very strong and very shapeless sea. O Ramadan, let your lantern to touch my cheeks and draw a beautiful spring on my eyes. Let fasting immortalizes my body out of the water that will gone, and the food that will perish. Let my body know its true existence, and let me see my real body without food or drink. O Ramadan, allow your lantern to shine in my depth and to color my soul with unforgettable chants.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
Three orange lights
waiting in a cue.
Warm, pudgy and sweating.
Squeezing the last drop
of pure sweetener
down your throat.
Delicious syrup
growing and spreading
on the finger tips.
Feeding the eager.
Melting bright nectar
dropping down the thighs.
Saliva sprinkels
on the piano lips.
Playing chants
of lust and thirst.
Lavish liberation
buzzing for more bees.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
A slow walk up Centennial
and I still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the Turkish blend and dust pack
A novice mixed duet plays
Brahms on broken strings
the erhu and overcoat
veiling a blue heeler and sphinx
Maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home Bedford Falls;
the flavour and character and social circles
Annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins
Dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto
Night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
~
Painted in a corner
Smeared about the floor
Chants of lone forgiveness
Quiet in the war
“Deafening the sound of death”
Garden roses trampled
Broken stems abound
Wilting on the visions
Blooming losses found
“Petals of peace scattered carelessly”
Blood along the pathway
Eyes hid in the mist
Penning someone else’s name
On this lengthy list
“Alphabetical to the grave”
Standing from the shadows
Crossing battle lines
Reaching for the freedom
Voices loud can find
“Speak up children, your voices matter”
Put aside your weapons
Time has come to cease
The nation now has gathered
United prayer for peace
“On our hands and knees we pray… send the evil far away”
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Dark clouds loomed over the horizon
They broke loose in unprecedented force
Nature’s wrath, sudden violence acquired
It rained down as if unleashing all her fury
It was a downpour without one equal
The heavens let down dark misery for days on end,
Water bodies swelled and hollows filled,
Land mass slipped and trees fell,
Rivers were in spate and dams were full
Waves surfed and waters roared,
Like mountains they rose over the land,
Men in throngs were evicted from their homes,
Hundreds died and livestock perished
Such violence, never ever imagined
Helter-skelter, people fled for life.
Lands inundated and folks marooned,
Homes washed away with all belongings
Power failed and life has come to a halt
Rescue operations go on in full swing
Still many, stranded and crying for help
“Water, water everywhere, nor even a drop to drink”
As Nature thus plays her perfidious trick,
We shall stay united and pool all our might,
To regain for our land what we have lost
When the Deluge chants the dirge of dying souls!
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
"Murica" "Murica" "Murica"
chants of patriotism ethnocentrism
nationalist sentiments lacquered in blue red white
spangled with stars and candy striped
"enemies both foreign and domestic"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
crackling sparklers
summer sunlight
glamorous fireworks
red meat burning over charcoal because
the chef is being kissed
"life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
dying children
systematized ****
internment camps
the division along the 38th parallel because
the evil's communism not McCarthyism no never
"my government has a firm policy not to capitulate"
not to terrorists
not to the UN
not to common sense
not to popular opinion
not to love in all it's forms
but
to corruption
to the oil lobby
to racism
to ***
to the Almighty
dollar
"we have reason to believe Iraq has weapons of mass destruction."
No.
No, you don't.
Lying ********
You *******
You ruined everything.
*****
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
In the world of man
any woman could be it
and though it was you who was enchanted
blame it on her;
her wits, her charm, her garment.
Make a bonfire, we're branching out
truth hidden by the sound of chants
joined in a primal dance, inner circle only
she’ll be the one burned alive.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
Generations of people perceiving things
In different levels
The understanding in different horizons
The horizon to the shore
To the infinity
The earth brings out everything new
Adaptability is the key
Acceptance is the key
New perceiving
New beings
New thoughts
New love
New cravings
New addiction
New generation
New adaptability
New addiction
New mistakes
New evolution
New matches
New mismatches
New sun
New moon
New stars
New wrongs
And the new rights
The flow continues beyond understanding
And let it be
Understanding does not matter
In the whole change is inhabitable
Change is real
Also the experience
Perceive the change in the outer world
Bring out the change in the inner world
Have a common path in between
Let it be
Perceive change around
Is the only thing important
The understanding is void
Don't ever complain about what you cant understand
And you cannot in many cases
No worries
Accept it
It is real
It is true
Perceive
Feel
And let go
In a deeper sense of course
Dip into the thought
Illuminate
Feel the new sun
New moon
A new day
Come fresh and tidy
Accept the change in real
From without and within
Keep your arms wide open
Broaden your arms
Chant the prayers to the universe
Surrender to the universe
Universe knows it all
Trust
You are the part of the whole
The whole is the universe
Created by the universe
Above and beyond
To the eternity
You are the universe
You are the change
You are the perceptions
You are the feel
You are the agenda
You are the thoughts
You are the eternal soul
And everybody around are
And every things around are
Take a deep breadth and
Function as you should
Function as you are
Function as a change within
Function as the change without
Function as the change around
Different generations
Differences as seen
Perceiving
The around and within
As a rule or the knowns
By themselves upon themselves
The new one
Having a change
Of terms
Of rules
And of surroundings
Different from the generations gone
The new ones for sure
Has a new things to do
Has a new idea
A new rule
New love
New connections
New mistakes
New rights
And the new wrongs
The change is there
Perceiving and generations
Different in emotions
Different in righteousness
Different in fulfillment
Different in atrocities
Different in perceptions
Different in locality
Different in the differences
And similar in a way
They are different
Only thing common
Is the change
Have you the perception
To get into the change
Around, within and without
The change is happening
It is present
It is the thing to feel
To perceive
Try to understand, the less you get it
Feel the change
Percepts of change
Accept the change you must
Teach change if you can
Be a change if you ought to
For the new ones
For the old ones
And for the no ones
Take a deep breadth
Feel the cool breeze of change
Breathe the change
Live the change
Teach the change
Be the change
See differences seem to be similarities
Notion of diversities
Notion of change
Notion of no differences
Notion of similarities
People and generations
Perceiving things
At different levels
Inhabitable is the change
Perceiving change
Is the key
In general
To say the least
Chants
Abundance
Belongingness
Grace
Love
Alive
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:45 PM UTC
In apparent silence,
Raindrops play their music.
I look at the strings of stretched water
Before they touch the soft, damp ground.
Fog has covered the distant hills.
The Spirit of those Mountains
Existed only in the past chants
Of those who, without bodies,
Return to their abandoned homes
As a breath on a wet glass.
I don't know their language,
But I hear their words:
The fog,
The rain,
The hills
And memories
Hidden in the soothingly cold rocks
And streams of clear water.
I cut out a piece of earth and sky
I've always been sad to leave that place.
I stay a few moments longer,
Before walking ahead
I drink the peace,
I eat the rustle of the wind,
Absorbing the steady pattern of raindrops.
I long to be invisible
A drawing of the unearthly landscape
And come back here endlessly
After long absences.
In the green valley,
Immersed in the rain
Where I leave and find myself
Again,
Again,
Again…
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 12:42 PM UTC
He will not light long enough
for the interpreter to gather
the tatters of his speech.
But the longer we listen
the calmer he becomes.
He shows me the place where his daughter
has rubbed with a coin, violaceous streaks
raising a skeletal pattern on his chest.
He thinks he's been hit by the wind.
He's worried it will become pneumonia.
In Cambodia, he'd be given
a special tea, a prescriptive sacrifice,
the right chants to say. But I
know nothing of Chi, of Karma,
and ask him to lift the back of his shirt,
so I may listen to his breathing.
Holding the stethoscope's bell I'm stunned
by the whirl of icons and script
tattooed across his back, their teal green color
the outline of a map which looks
like Cambodia, perhaps his village, a lake,
then a scroll of letters in a watery signature.
I ask the interpreter what it means.
It's a spell, asking his ancestors
to protect him from evil spirits—
she is tracing the lines with her fingers—
and those who meet him for kindness.
The old man waves his arms and a staccato
of dipthongs and nasals fills the room.
He believes these words will lead his spirit
back to Cambodia after he dies.
I see, I say, and rest my hand on his shoulder.
He takes full deep breaths and I listen,
touching down with the stethoscope
from his back to his front. He watches me
with anticipation—as if awaiting a verdict.
His lungs are clear. You'll be fine,
I tell him. It's not your time to die.
His shoulders relax and he folds his hands
above his head as if in blessing.
Ar-kon, he says. All better now.
by Peter Pereira
.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
Hear my chants , feel their sincerity
Remove these negative things keeping me
A part of my mistakes and short comings
Can you reverse this downward karma for me
Otherwise let them punish i for my worth
Or lack there of, i know i deserve happiness
When i only want to see it on everyones face
Krishna dancing till i can see the light again
Remove all of the want and wonton desire
Replace it with love let me breathe in peace
And be one with the wind again
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
An old tree is
Embracing the soil
Embracing the sky
Without a will
Simply, to thrive
Just as easily
To die
Rid of evening chants
Lacking logic, lacking time
Each thread
Integrates
Thoughtlessly
But we
With ladders of misery
With counts and scales
And endless isolation machines
Our soil is dust
And fabled peace
Lies dormant
Rust creeps over
Our ploughs and tractors...
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC
Oh let’s sing
Church bells ring
Dingaling ling.
Sing out loud
Boldly and proud
Enormous crowd.
Hear those chants
You debutants
Some breathless pants.
Poetry starts here,
Perhaps with a beer
Ask Shakespeare.
Oral tradition
An ongoing mission
So start the audition.
A memorable rhyme
Lasts for all time
Let’s make it chime.
Free verse is still fine
Bring in the wine
And vary the line.
Who cares if it scans
You grammatical fans
We don’t need your plans.
So free up your souls
Whatever your goals
And loose those controls.
Yes let your heart sing
A bird on the wing
Tingaling ling.
If singing’s your thing
Think what you’ll bring
Tingaling ding.
Paul Butters
© PB 7\9\2018.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:44 AM UTC
A song comes out of the speeding bhogis,
Seeta is the one rendering the song.
She chants that her husband has long been dead.
Seeta has two sons, just like her ballads.
One –
Gives rhythm to her song.
Other –
Rubs a gentleman out of his siesta
And asks for a little money.
The bhogis gain momentum (Ignores the station master who shows red to stop the pacing male phallus)
Long away –
A girl lies down, lower than the rails.
**** me, **** me, she bangs her head.
I will, I will, the rails swell the train song in her ears.
Though long away,
Though have not heard the girl,
As if she has heard something -
Seeta stops singing.
And her children dash out.
Two hobos enter in –
As if to sell sizzling peanuts.
Just as to give the body a bath –
Seemingly not pleased just with the rails –
The male train jumps off,
Into the wide sea.
(Whose ****** is the sea, the breeze hums a song)
A thousand crows flutters from –
One’s previous birth,
To –
Another’s next birth.
Seeta, having forgotten all her songs –
Looks out for her kids.
Will arrive shortly, will arrive shortly :
Weary, irked and bored -
Time waits at a station.
(I did remember Rupesh Paul, who drew a simile between the rails and the *** worker’s nights, Anitha Thampi, who wrote about female trains, Latheesh Mohan, who noted down how the train stretches its back, Vishnu Prasad and his poem on the phallus, Prasanna Aryans usage: **** says the wheel and shit-shit , says the rail et al , while writing this poem)
(Translated by Sherin Catherine)
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
My thirty year old nephew
is down at Zuccotti Park.
He chants and waves his placards
from dawn to nearly dark.
He's furious the man has got
much more than he has got.
The man works eighty hour weeks,
my nephew? Probably not.
Today he went back to his tent
as it was getting dark
He found his clothing had been robbed
by thieves who work the park.
Imagine his displeasure
Consider his dismay
that someone went and did to him
what he clamored for all day.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
You are glancing out of the window
Taking a look at nature's creation
Wisps of your hair gently stroking your face
Feeling a cold wave against you
Walking slowly amidst the misty clouds
The endless curves of the mighty mountain
Spinning your head around
Deep down there lies deathly valleys
Defining life beyond explanation
All you can see is plush green colour
Ranging from warm to tender
While I travel,I try not to grasp at people
By their devotion towards work
An independent river flows curvily to reach its destination
Given much ore of its freedom
Captivating nature in just one go isn't enough
You have to soak in as much as possible
Sure one becomes perplexed at the first sight of the beautiful sunrise
And I bet the day couldn't get that better otherwise
The air had its own charm,its own charisma
While the chants and prayers of monks completed the atmosphere
I smile as I currently jot this poem down
Words fail to express my happiness crown
I say to myself-" This isn't imagination,This is reality"
Confused, are you reader?
My heart beats and quenches for the aroma of green tea leaves
Hmm,I'll miss this heaven on earth,
This place,these people,their lives,their struggles
Their homeland.
Their Birthplace.
So this is my travelogue
And currently you were into my experience
My "Darjeeling Experience"
And not a dream,or a part of paper
Cause its far more than your mere imagination.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Now the day is done,
Now the shepherd sun
Drives his white flocks from the sky;
Now the flowers rest
On their mother's breast,
Hushed by her low lullaby.
Now the glowworms glance,
Now the fireflies dance,
Under fern-boughs green and high;
And the western breeze
To the forest trees
Chants a tuneful lullaby.
Now 'mid shadows deep
Falls blessed sleep,
Like dew from the summer sky;
And the whole earth dreams,
In the moon's soft beams,
While night breathes a lullaby.
Now, birdlings, rest,
In your wind-rocked nest,
Unscared by the owl's shrill cry;
For with folded wings
Little Brier swings,
And singeth your lullaby.
4.7k
The morning finds the young lasses milking
And the young lads in the fields cutting
Rams, ewes, and lambs eat and grow fat.
The hens lay eggs while the roosters are strutting.
The sun rises up for his daily walk,
Drawing the day across the sky.
He takes his daylight with him to another place
Because the moon's time is nigh.
Evening falls across the heather
And the stars come out to dance.
The faerie folk come to life
And fill the night with their lyrical chants.
The mists on the moors swirl and caper about,
Taking rock and tree to embrace.
The faerie folk make merry and dance about
'Neath the silver of the moon's face.
They dance to music as old as time,
Melodies and rhythms from long ago.
Verses sung in ages long past,
Songs only faerie folk know.
They sing and dance under the moon and stars,
As long as the night covers them about.
But the moon and the faerie folk must go their ways
For 'tis time for the sun to come out.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC