"curtails" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
A thousand needles touch the skin,
When I look at their blank faces in pain.
My body moves,
But my mind races in vain.
Their expression etched.
In form and vision.
While people all around
try to draw their own conclusion.
The ache inside
pushes me to write,
that yesterday night
had been a ****** sight.
A thousand narrations fail to create the picture.
But the depth of their shaken but determined eyes,
Draw my emotions closer.
Their strength and unity scares the people that stand,
against their backs the creepy night stands.
The pretended anger makes the shady ones press the enter key,
And out the window goes all their humility.
But truth and always truth has prevailed,
And the center head firmly curtails,
The false anger hes already fed up of
With a polite reply,
He draws the dagger off.
Only truth and facts,
That support a just cause.
The burred ghosts will now.
cause the truth to shine.
And for all those who have false in their mind,
Let me tell you,
"Truth always Prevails."
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
a supplicant at the celebration
the tattooed man is frozen in the
posture of flinging the dog meat of his soul into the river below
hoping to drown his sorrows and
with tepid conviction he swears his loyalty to the
gods of a lesser horde hoping to void the cost of saving his soul
such a narrow way to tread
such a dangerous thing to think
to dream casting away the meat curtails the rot
the poisoned fruit of the garden of eden
is strewn about his feet
as he sneaks through the backwater shopping mall of
his narrow existence
but its only an image
and the reality smells much different
its a much harsher drop in the bucket
it goes deep
far into the night
deep into the depths of the soul
far into the realizations and rationalizations
that makes up a man
day to day
held hostage to the ideal
that the vanity of self realization is a saving grace
mitigating responsibility for your actions
you can deliver the sermon but can you wear its shoes
its easy to see the other mans face
in the things we know are wrong
its easy to place another in the path of destruction
let them pay our price
but at the top of your last hour
its just you and whatever created you'
can you say that you were more than
dog meat feeding dog meat to the dog meat masses
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Who gave you that name, Cinderella? Grey
Like the faded ashes they make you clean.
Strict as the hour-glass, they haven’t seen you gleam.
Granular vision curtails them to day.
Cursed curfew; trickling sands serve time’s keen gain.
Chandeliers and red wine, the ***** a dream.
Midnight’s starlight in your slippers, you flee.
Shatter all the glass; then, with me, remain.
Sharp as its edges, coarse time vanishes,
Like the bacchant’s memory, your form’s bare.
Soft feet brushed by sands, lips seal promises.
Exiled, like your gown, we don’t belong there.
See through me, Cinderella, take my hand.
Your name’s gold-dust; I’ll sign it in the sand.
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 12:50 PM UTC
Buddha's and Christ's paths were equally right.
Imitating them obscures one's own path;
inward vision frees one from fear of death;
ego-consciousness curtails the light.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
You sit under a streetlamp
Contemplating the cracked glass
Of your flickering appearance
You thought you were alone.
But here I stand watching you as you watch me.
Unaware of your silent company unaware
Of how your shadows call to mine
Unaware
Of how the moonlight guides our every move
As we hear the pendulum swing
As we dance upon the curtails of the flock.
We were lingering too long in the back of the line
We were waiting for the life afforded
We were once something great.
They said it was impossible
But we will not miss it again.
We will not leave it behind for the unworthy to find.
So it will sing.
It is singing.
It is singing it is
A caged bird and it is singing.
It is still singing it is
A caged bird and it is
Still
Singing.
They thought it a simple bluebird.
But you were a masquerading raven.
You sang softly,
*‘I hear the sound of waves pouring over me
I hear the sound of beaches settling the sea
I hear the sound of armies trudging through the sand
I can see the flames of justice burning
Through the brand’*
So sing like the days mean inversion
And the nights shine bright
Until stars disappear at light.
And then
You will wait.
Just wait until your furnace burns again, wait
Until the fire licks at your mountains of angst and
Breathe.
Just breathe.
And then you write.
Write as if tomorrow didn't exist.
As if today was your last wish
And was as sinful
And somnolent
As a flight of Ravens
Murdering Crows.
Feathers
Always
Fall
Too
Quickly.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
I tighten your chain, between shackle and floor,
kissing your lips, for it's you I adore.
pulling the table tight to your waist,
I'll allow you some dinner, but only a taste...
Now that we've eaten, it's time for desert,
the heart of your flower is where I revert.
your redolence is musty, it smells quite used,
As I take your love, your mind I abuse...
The chain pulls taught, as you're bent over my lap,
I start slapping your *** much more than a tap.
you start to whimper, as your wetness curtails,
I throw you to the floor, and your wrists I now nail...
Crimson red... pools on the floor,
as you tear your flesh, watching the gore.
as I drive deeper into the warmth of your slice,
I unleash my seed, instilling new life...
Stop your screaming, as I pull out the nails,
you've run your course, true love prevails.
I met you tonight, as pretty as can be,
now clotted and congealed, you're just right for me...
Take this black rose, as a memory of our date,
for our encounter, has sealed your fate.
was it good for you...or was it too lame?
next time you blind date, Google his name...
Worn and broken with not a tear left,
your eyeliner ran, there's sweat on your chest.
removing your blindfold, you look at my eyes,
you're right in your guess, the devil's alive...
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Tallow mends
Though wind cuts
Furrowing curtails
Absence missed
Shutter shuts
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
To brand new horizons, across the vast wide sea,
The God to whom I'm praying, believes so much in me.
He says that I'm not barren, I'm the fruit of His own vine.
But sometimes I feel badly, for I fall so many times.
Into this great abyss, of lies and twists and turns,
so sadly was I walking
down the road that made me burn.
To bright and new beginnings, my candle shows the way,
I follow in the footsteps, where saints and angels play.
Surely we're not lonely, though it seems we need so much!
I will try to tell you strongly, my dear, that desire is not a crutch.
But don't think that desire, that want that's always there,
can be satisfied with worldly things,
those things that can ensnare.
To lovers who are joyfully invited in the truth,
who wait for true love's fulfillment, in a castle weatherproof.
They know the bounds of where they walk, they know they way is hard,
But having faith in things unseen, can often help at large.
For whom but Him can he be for she? Or him for her we wish?
That’s just they way the world goes ‘round,
Like a beautifully swimming fish.
To romping around with new curtails a-flying,
our heels kicking up in the breeze.
Little foals on the inside, we neigh out some horsie-pride
With laughs floating up high, giving breath to the summer trees.
Let your hair down and out, dance like tomorrow’s the end-
because everyday is a gift.
I know not the time, but if it’s this mountain we climb,
why don’t we strive to reach the top?
Together, He said, so I felt safe in my head
knowing that I would never He drop.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Again?
Little bits of paper set little boys and girls awake. Paper is the voice, it is the rush, and it plays against the spirit of the rough. Some had hands in favor, some made famous from their toils. Across the bridges, into harm, extreme liking finds a way to plant their dreams. A courageous haunt for storytellers fashioning fictitious love in the vocals of these pleasure scenes.
A gasp at poison sells us. Two legs is all it took- the fanciest of the 399 lives, stitched across the faces of all his slaves. Some hide behind the moon, in the shadow of its glow. Some depart him, only to remark, and take up the King James Bible in a fight to eradicate some half-lie half-truth tale. Some take up their histories. Some track down their accusers. Some just watch the show.
If ever was a prophet, material or fake. A flip of the light switch rewinds the days, while a new trial of words ghastly fails. If ever was a wind to whip the rocking torments of joy into a smooth flowing dressage of subtle paper cuts and clues, lusts on paper and ***** petite memes cloaked in the vast inertia of the West. Rags piled high as riches, short denim shorts worn publicly before each and every oval and square, curious domain names gang bang the brain to forget the old complaints, renege on values once comparable or the same.
Only in this world, today, strangers bed each other and misspell the chants beaten into their acute proclivities for breaking the law, while purposely opening their mouths on soap boxes, and orchestrating the papers’ coolness through the grid and onto the plane. The work of the slaves is the accord to which forewords tune gravity.
This is the paper taking down cities. This is the worship building anarchy in its own members. This is the end of the call and the beginning of the caste. These are the mute and colorless stains on the walls, and the childhood loves of an adult that colorfully decorate the dormitory in his past with the clutter and occupancy that curtails to no complaint. There is the paper and there is the gain. Will any of them ever be human again?
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
As I turn my minds eye inside itself
the light in my heart cries for help
and I am called to write it down
The slow dance in the fast track left me looking back
in wonder
where did the time go?
Time became a metaphor for flowers blooming while the garden grows
in the candy-filled imaginations of hearts yearning to sit still
in silence
The love we found became the love we lost
and then found again because our paths, they crossed
like burning candles in burning saddles
we ride the curtails of our Fathers land, given to us by our Mother
exploring the explored praying we uncover new roads
for those who have known
the other
The illusions within the illusions
became the conversations within the relations
and duality of life, showed itself without remorse but
Salvation
The Saviors name became bridled with pain
when ego took hold and sin was to blame
but nothings to blame when we call it a game
just the 'exactly whats supposed to be'
for the experience of Spirit within you and me
We are creating our reality
because Spirit has answered the prayers of our dreams
allowing us all, to finally be free,
from the mental trap of fallacies
from the ****** hold they have on WE
because they don't allow us to actually SEE
teaching us ignorance,
and calling it need
I refuse to accept
that the wounded will bleed
when our bodies heal,
magically
I refuse to accept
anything less than perfect
in anyone I meet
YOU ARE PERFECTLY WHO YOU WERE MEANT TO BE
I wish we could all just take a moment to breathe...
forget the subconsciously influenced negative chatter,
break free of the images they force down our throats
and scream with new faith of new found hope
WE ARE ALL FREE,
life, death, reincarnated steps
walking the paths,
of the joy that they kept
through the tears that they wept
unknowingly
WAKE UP,
DAY DREAMERS,
The alarms gone off,
and we've overslept
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
A peacock has a long, feathered bushtail.
Blue, violet, green, and tail look like a vail.
Fully opened, they look like eyes watching
It looks beautiful while dancing.
By showing its every detail
National bird of India, says its tale
Found in forests and grasslands, it curtails
The big birds are so amazing.
Peacock's Beauty
Feathers knitted and worn as wale
In India, peacocks are banned for sale.
Are omnivorous in consuming
Symbols of beauty, wealth are its citing
In the sky, in my dreams, they sail.
Peacock's Beauty
Aug 1, 2024
Aug 1, 2024 at 3:40 AM UTC
I wrote to you last week.
All pathetic and full of angsty yearning.
Pouring my feelings for you onto the page; bleeding inky tears my eyes were and still are too stubborn to cry.
I told you that I miss you.
That just like a plague, the thought of you relentlessly pushes it's way into my days.
Into my head.
I know when you read my words you felt triumphant.
Powerful even.
Like my affinity to write about you only proves my weaknesses.
That my failure to get over you proves just how hard I fell for you.
You wrote to me last week.
A love letter?
No.
There was a time when I would have answered that question with my eyes. A hopeful glance, wet and shiny with the tinge of unrequited love.
But no. Your words bled manipulative deceit across the screen.
Page? No.
You've never been that eloquent.
That blatantly romantic.
Except when you were..
For me.
One of the things I loved about the idea of you.
I can still feel the butterflies fluttering furiously in my stomach, heart racing as I read those words for the first time "I love you"
But how depressing that I read them.
I didn't hear your sweet voice whisper them into my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.
I read them on a harshly bright screen.
A bright screen that assaulted the stark darkness surrounding me.
Safely tucked away beneath a pile of blankets.
Alone.
So in love.
And so alone.
My days consisted of daydreaming of the life we would have together.
The perfect life.
One that I desperately and furiously convinced myself was inevitable.
So close to tangible that if I reached high enough or hoped hard enough for, I could feel my fingertips brush the curtails of that exquisite illusion. Because my love, all that we ever had was a beautifully perfect, wonderfully magical idea.
Full of enchantment and potential.
It hurts even now to think about what we lost.
But how can you lose something that you never had?
I can't understand it.
We were a shade of grey flickering insubstantially next to the kaleidoscope of colours that is reality.
I wish I had a letter from you.
Something I could hold next to my physical being.
Something that can't get lost within the trenches of cyber space.
Wind maybe, but baby I would clutch it too close to me, it would never, could never, fly away.
I want something to hold against my heart. To be able to trace my fingertips across the indentations of your pen.
I'm jealous of that pen.
Of it getting the chance to be grasped within the comforting softness of your hand.
For taking the place of my hand.
I want something to prove that I had you.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
It's another night,
I decide to sit by the window side.
Eyes wander outside,
with a pen in hand and a blank paper on desk.
Eyes beg to sleep,
but something keeps me awake.
I listen to the sound of rain,
the only source of peace tonight.
The cold breeze touches my skin,
And retell their journey.
The netted curtails sway,
what a ghostly sight, it's grey.
The sky is soaked in somberness,
Clouds not letting the moonlight reach the window pane.
I remind myself, 'I'm fine and sane.'
But really,
I wonder what's darker;
the storm outside
or inside?
I lift my pen and scribble down a word or two,
Crumble it and throw it away.
I lack words to say,
Since the desire is too palpable to convey.
A desire to sink,
I want to free float after my last blink.
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 10:54 PM UTC
Dynamic digits of ten
SIM makes you run
Teens SMS for fun
Keys wend with pun!
Calls make you giggle;
Vibrate mode to wriggle
Out of range you waggle
Meager makes thou struggle!
Though smaller in size
Connects & curtails the miles;
Capture whoever smiles,
& preserve it in your files!
Sleep safe inside the pocket
Dangle & dance as ladies locket
Get charged with single socket
Spate as gimmick in a market!
Even child can give the verdict
Here i am to just predict...
That
whole world will become your addict!
written by
Sowmya
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
Shade into shadow as eventide's darkness
Slips to the call of the curlew by night,
Days amble by in a curtain of sameness
Taken for granted until there's a fright.
Shade into Shadow and thence into blackness
Transition freezes to polar like pall,
Abruptly the curtain curtails the performance
As actors retreat at a horror recall
Shade into shadow in depths descended
A shaking the head as cogniscence takes heed,
Bloodlessly blasphemy curdles the heartstrings
Wrending tomorrow's tendence to bleed.
Shade into shadow as battle lines rendered
Mustering courage, embracing my wife,
Clustering close to the portends that matter
Shedding the superficialities of life.
Shade into shadow and thence into sunlight
Girding the soul with the grace of the day,
Meeting the foe at the edge of the abyss
Hurling him down with his claws of clay.
Shade into shadow extending before me
Light in the lingering tones of the eve,
Positivities beacon is beckoning
Seeking the smile of tomorrow's reprieve.
[email protected]
3 May 2024
May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
A person of extreme colourful interest,
A collection of stories they are not.
Neither are they words of experiences best,
But their person is the result of the lot.
If you fabricate fallacies not knowing yourself,
The ostentation will be seen,
For what it is; a facile mask of deficient wealth,
Degenerating virtues, leaving you unclean.
True, internal sadness can be covered,
With self-righteousness and false confidence.
Complacence curtails virtues just discovered,
And ceases growth of your love for kindness.
Learn of yourself and not other’s perceptions.
Your thoughts you are, you’re the colours of your thoughts.
No more displaying portrayed deceptions,
For your true vibrant colours, you will only distort.
Find those virtues of which we all possess.
Find them and show them to everyone around,
Show them you at the height of your very best,
You will receive love abound.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC