"conches" poems
i.
mist in solemnity
mutes the sounding
leather bells in silence
ii.
salt surges waste wantonly
gulls guttural in guises
of waifs
iii.
driftwood delivered dull of
deluged dilution
ochre offering to dune's
divestment
iii.
sea glass shivers into
shallow sandy pockets
scintillating color schemes
iiii.
conches lie abandoned
in stands of sea grasses
cacophonous quiet
v.
i am wide awake yet dreaming
sleepwalking
into the
waves
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/1/2016
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks—the sky is saffron-yellow—
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
Oh the clammy fog that hovers
And at Home they’re making merry ’neath the white and scarlet berry—
What part have India’s exiles in their mirth?
Full day begind the tamarisks—the sky is blue and staring—
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o’er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly—
Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars,
And to-day we bid “good Christian men rejoice!”
High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot above us—
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan.
They will drink our healths at dinner—those who tell us how they love us,
And forget us till another year be gone!
Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it.
Gold was good—we hoped to hold it,
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain.
Grey dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly together—
As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
That drags us back how’er so far we roam.
Hard her service, poor her payment—she is ancient, tattered raiment—
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s shrine we enter,
The door is hut—we may not look behind.
Black night behind the tamarisks—the owls begin their chorus—
As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!
Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us feast with friends and neighbors,
And be merry as the custom of our caste;
For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after,
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
3.5k
Antsy aardvarks all
accept ants accordingly
as an addiction
Bamboo bayonets
bought by barbaric, beastly
barons bite beatniks
Cloistered cobblers can
color candy-cane conches
concealing crooners
Daffodils doodle
daydreams down, debauchery
demons deafening
Every eon each
electric elephant eats
eleven elk eggs
For fun fantasies
file films filosophic'ly
filling filaments
Go get greens
Get grass grayer gal
goonie ghoul
Hello high hammock
how hooligans heave haddocks
heathenly hecklers
Igloos ixist in
icy islands interning
internationally
Jello jam jizzy
Jacks jostling jewels juney
jump jump joop jail
Dec 27, 2009
Dec 27, 2009 at 9:11 PM UTC
Years past,
We strung
String,
Twenty feet long,
Between two
Campbells soup cans,
Like conches,
To get sound waves.
Now,
There are no
Strings attached,
Yet,
I hear you
Loud and clear.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
Circle strands of life . . .
Ocean sprays bones risen,
. . . Open conches nest.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
Conches and cymbals rend the air peering
into the mists of time vast like the snow-
clad peak, ancient that shines in the cells as
in the stars, matted whose locks gather the
sky-river in their folds, bearing the moon-
shell on his brow, merged in etherial that
datum where shine neither the moon nor stars
still like heavens that serpents slither lone
the one beyond all dual, red-hued like
the glacier anointed nigh at dusk
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.
In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.
My eye moves down to the *** of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.
We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time
It is time
Paul Celan
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
#*The fish of colour ,swim up and down the stream
In Geometric patterns , serene
Ocean waves on the shore , rush and recede
Empty shells cowries and conches it brings
The crests and troughs in a sine wave
Sometimes in life , the same*#
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
1
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Slowly, the inner castle
is being swallowed whole
by the sea inside
While I stand on the roof
contemplating the millions
of little diamonds,
strewn on the greedy waves.
I am waiting.
To be submerged in turn by a torrent
suddenly and softly.
Inside the waves, I find
I do not struggle
as wildly
I do not suffocate
as blindly
As i do upon hallowed ground.
On the black shores within,
I pick up prickly conches to my ear.
Only shrieks and silence and
the fervent breath of hunger
are to be heard.
But the eager, tell-tale whisper
of the unforgivable One
calls me back once more,
and beckons me to deeper places.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
#*Confetti and streamers
The music played by the universe
Oh so free
Never heard, deeply felt
Slow on the breeze in a second to freeze
Distant temple sounds of conches
Sacred Chants
Little bells jingle mid air
No strings simply free
Of mossy trails
Snow stilled lakes
Vast expanse
Not one soul to dance
Free untouched
No trails to follow
Nor to leave
Magically written
And erased on the glassy slate
Never seen yet closely known
The trees of ancient world
The bark thick and strong
A house to dream
Ten storied tall, lasts long
A place so cool, full of warmth
Of the cashmere shawl
Paisley embroidered wrap around
In colours of the valley flowers
Shikara dreams*#
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 9:03 AM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
.
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
“Those who wander along the beach
Find conches and shells
But those who dare to venture
Into the depth of the ocean
Discover precious pearls...”
Of blindness must we suffer not to see
The hidden pearl into the imperfection
How many lives
May pass around us
Before we notice beauty,
Force, or splendor
Soul-stirring people in the day
Arose to my eyes
Somebody thinking of ending her life
Somebody terminally ill,
Praying for courage
In the ones that will be left behind
So many people we don’t look upon
Because they don’t seem good enough
Bright enough
To get our admiration
Spectacular enough
Young enough
Or maybe rich enough
Joyful enough
Or full of life enough
To catch our eye
To rise our glim
Our interest or our closeness...
How much distress
And how much desolation
Must we endure now
Before we see them
Embrace them
Treasure them
Learn from them
Cry with them
Grow with them
They slide unobserved
Soul-stirring
Like shadows
Shadows of thoughts that we are
Sky-stirring
Those who wander along life
Find conches and shells
But those who dare to venture
In the depth of the soul
Find pearls
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
One must have a mind of the sea to regard the waves and sandy shores of the salted winds encrusted with shells and past souls.
And have been one with the ocean to behold the sea glass's aquamarine lustre. The encompassing hues of blue highlight the luminescent bacterium.
Swimming in the deep torrents lie miserable souls who jumped overboard, mesmerised by the blues.
Of the July sun, and not to think of any misery sung by the sirens, I was told through the wistful wind in the sound of the shells and conches.
Which is the sound of the waves full of the same wind. That blows through the murky water.
For the listener, dweller, and lover who resides by the shore
And nothing of themselves beholds that of the sea, nothing that is not there, and nothing that is.
Jun 22, 2024
Jun 22, 2024 at 6:51 PM UTC
*
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
.
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 2:26 PM UTC
MEMORY
The wind passed through the trees’ foliage.
Sandy, remote corners of no-man’s land.
Pine trees’ truncated branches.
A glance stands against every lover,
and yet last night I heard our song
as the full moon rounded the sky
and ever since passion instils twilight and dawn on my windows.
All is damp, and the wicker chair a trap.
I sought to fall in with the lines on the horizon,
and monstrous conches tattooed your face
on my white arms.
A seagull won’t be saved by sea food,
but from your hand, as you feign throwing
breadcrumbs slowly on the whitecaps.
By Maria Panoutsou
Translated from Greek language by Yannis Goumas
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
The evening moon is almost full
My feet sink in porous shores
Little toes peeking through sea foam
Cotton candy coloured beach house
Behind my back
Voices call me for a snack
Tangerine sky warm with dryness of day
And dreariness of night
Stars punched through holes
Wires connected to nebulae
Housing purple dust
My gaze drifts innocently
To the heart of stardust looking into my soul
Voices of those I love make me shed a tear
And pray for my lost moon
Petrichor and monsoon
Soft greens between hard rocks
His smiling countenance melting shield of self-doubt
While my vulnerable seed lets go of
It’s protective shell
My wings grow in these turbulent times
I set sail to unknown winds
For my moon is almost full
I have my heart
I have my wings now
To gaze at destiny’s mirror
Along with him
Maybe discreetly, maybe pompously
Walking upto a window and open up
Fearfully, fearlessly, angrily, lovingly
Acceptingly
My strings join to the cosmos
Thumping of heart heard in supernovae
Tears in conches turned to pearls
Sweat on my brow turned to morning dew
Gushing Blood in veins turned to glowing magma
I hear the moon say
You are your own light
Burdened, free
Adulterated, unadulterated
Tell this to your mirror and let it sing praises
of your mighty soul
When my eyes look into a mirror
The mirror gazes itself through them
When the moon is almost full
And even when you hide it somewhere
I find wishing myself a happy birthday
Everyday
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC