"dada" poems
Habang hawak-hawak mo ang kanyang kamay
'San man kayo magpunta
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako
Na nalulunod sa pangungulila
Nang ako'y iyong binitiwan?
Habang kayakap mo siya
Sa gabing maginaw
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako
Na naghihintay sa'yo
Mag-isa, nanlalamig
At sa init ng 'yong yakap ay uhaw?
Habang hinahalikan mo
Ang kanyang mapupulang labi
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako
Na halos matuyo na ang labi
Sa kasasambit ng pangalan mo?
Habang binubulong mo sa kanya
Kung gaano mo siya kamahal
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako,
Narinig mo ako?
Sumisigaw na "Mahal na Mahal kita!"
Habang pinagmamasdan mo
Ang kanyang matamis na ngiti
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako,
Nakita mo ako, nakita mo
Kung gaano na karaming patak ng luha
Ang naidilig ko sa lupa?
At sa kung siya ay umiiyak at iyong pinatatahan
Habang pinupunasan mo
Ang kanyang mga luha
Kailan ba'y naisip mo ako,
Naisipan mo man lang ba?
Na itigil ang paulit-ulit
Na pagsaksak mo sa puso kong
Dumudgo sa kaiibig sayo?
Pero alam ko
Na may kasalan din ako
Kasi....
Kailan ma'y di ko naisip
Na sa higpit ng yakap ko'y nasasakal ka na pala
Kailan ma'y di ko naisip
Na kahit gaano kalawak ang bahay nati'y
Nasisikipan parin ang iyong dibdib
At hindi kana nakakahinga
Kailan ma'y di ko naisip
Na kahit napagalitan ka sa opisina, sabik ka sana sa paguwi
Pero ang dadatnan mo lang ay isang malawak na bahay
Na mayroong isang "ako" na puro dada at reklamo lang
At ang iyong naririnig mula sa aking bibig
na tila daig pa ang isang rapper
sa bilis at walang paltos na panlalait
Kailan ma'y di ko naisip
'di ko inisip ang iyong opinyon
Kasi palagi nalang ako, ako, ako
Ako ang tama
Kailan ma'y di ko naisip
Habang ika'y umuuwing pagod
Dinuduro pa rin kita
At ito'y tumatagos na sa puso mo
Hanggang sa sinabi **** tama na,
Hindi mo na kaya, Ayaw mo na
At yun umalis kana, iniwan mo na ako
Pero heto ako ngayon sa harapan mo...
Nagtatanong
Kung mahal mo pa ba ako?
At kung ang iyong sagot ay hindi na'y
Heto ako ngayon sa harapan mo...
Nagbabakasakali
Na may pag-asa pang mahalin mo ako ulit
At kung wala na ay
Heto ako ngayon
Sa harapan mo
Lumuluhod
Nagmamakaawa
Na balikan mo ako
Balikan mo ako
Balikan mo kami
Pakiusap umuwi ka na
Sa malawak na bahay
Na bahay mo, na bahay ko
Umuwi ka na, kahit 'di para sa'kin
Kun'di para sa mga anak mo, na anak ko
Para sa pamilyang ito
Parang awa mo na
Bumalik ka na
Kasi sa malawak na bahay
Naroon ako, at ang mga anak mo
Nangungulila... at
Naghihintay
Sa pagbalik mo
**
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
Bayani sa bayan meron pa nga ba , tuluyan nga bang nawala o bulag ka lang talaga
Nawawala na nga ba ang mga bayani o meron naman masyado lang tayong nagiging utak talangka,
Sa bansang to hindi umuunlad , sinisisi ang gobyerno bakit hindi mo sisihin ang kapwa mo
Kapwa mo mahal mo ano ka siraulo , dito sa bayan na ito hindi uso ang ganyang pagkatao
Mas gugustuhin pa nilang kapwa ko mas angat ako , dahil ang sukatan dito ay estado nang pagkatao,
Mahirap ka at walang salapi subukan **** ipaglaban ang karapatan mo , masama ang tingin saiyo
Mayaman ka lumaban ka pera pera lang naman ang laban dito tiyak na ikaw ay mananalo
Ganito sa bayan ko hindi balanse ang mga tao , kahit nga kumayod ka nang sobra sobra para makamit ang pangarap mo
kung ang nasa paligid mo ay hihilahin ka pababa para lang bumalik ka sa simula at maging problemado,
Ano sisihin mo lang kapwa mo?sisihin mo din sarili mo maghapon kang nakatunganga sa modernong teknolohiya
hindi mo kayang mag reklamo sa ginagawa ng mga **** mo sa paraalan na nakatunganga din dahil hangad mo lang ay masarap na buhay
at hindi mo hangad ang matuto sa paaaralang ito.
Masyado ka nang nilamon nang sarap hindi mo danas ang hirap , tumingin ka naman sa ginawa nang mga nagpaaral sayo
Naghirap sila humanap nang solusyon para lang ipamukha sayo na kahit malayo sila sayo o wala silang oras para sayo
handa silang gawin ang mahirap na trabaho at kahit kokonting oras lang ang ibigay nila para makasama mo,
makita ka lang masaya at masaksihan ang tagumpay nang buhay mo, yun ang pinakamagandang sukli na ibibigay mo
Napaisip ka na ba sa ginagawa mo , palagi ka nalang dada daig mo pa ang telepono na walang sumasagot tunog lang nang tunog,at
Galit ka pa , todo dabog kapag di napagbigyan ang gusto mo .Puro nalang tayo ganyan maliit na bagay pinapalaki
Bakit di mo tignan mabuti at pagaralan ang iyong sarili ang kapaligiran tama bang magreklamo nang magreklamo kung ang sarili mo nga
hindi mo parin maitama , tandaan mo na ang buhay ay parang isang gulong pero minsan nangangamoy din pakiramdaman mo nang mabuti
baka sunog na at amoy goma na ang gulong na sinasabi mo , tignan mo din kung yung hangin masyado nang madami ang lumalabas para naman sa susunod
hindi ka puro pag aaaklas.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain.
Does it rain in Spain?
Oh yes my dear on the contrary and there are no bull fights.
The dancers dance in long white pants
It isn't right to yence your aunts
Come Uncle, let's go home.
Home is where the heart is, home is where the **** is.
Come let us **** in the home.
There is no art in a ****
Still a **** may not be artless.
Let us **** an artless **** in the home.
Democracy.
Democracy.
Bill says democracy must go.
Go democracy.
Go
Go
Go
Bill's father would never knowingly sit down at table with a Democrat.
Now Bill says democracy must go.
Go on democracy.
Democracy is the ****
Relativity is the ****
Dictators are the ****
Menken is the ****
Waldo Frank is the ****
The Broom is the ****
Dada is the ****
Dempsey is the ****
This is not a complete list.
They say Ezra is the ****
But Ezra is nice.
Come let us build a monument to Ezra.
Good a very nice monument.
You did that nicely
Can you do another?
Let me try and do one.
Let us all try and do one.
Let the little girl over there on the corner try and do one.
Come on little girl.
Do one for Ezra.
Good.
You have all been successful children.
Now let us clean the mess up.
The Dial does a monument to Proust.
We have done a monument to Ezra.
A monument is a monument.
After all it is the spirit of the thing that counts.
9.6k
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari
Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?
Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !
ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
*Berderap tegap nyaring bersuara
Saat pertama ku pajang jakun menutup pundak dan dada
**"Universitasku universitas Indonesia. "
"Terangkum dalam frasa 'buku pesta dan cinta'"**
Sayang hanya dalam nyanyian belaka
Isi kisahku hanya buku, tanpa pesta dan cinta
Jangan kurang jangan lebih jua
Pesta dan cinta punya takar unik pas tuk dicoba
Seperti kopi kelebihan kekurangan gula
Ada takaran pas 'tuk tiap lidah yg meminta
Kisah uiku kisah pesta
Pesta merayakan kebahagiaan, kejayaan, atau mungkin lepasnya keperjakaan
Kisah uiku kisah cinta
Cinta teman sebaya, cinta maba alat pelampiasan atau cinta kakak tingkat kece mempesona
Jika kisah uimu belum ada pesta dan cinta
Maka jangan paksa diri menyeret kaki lepas dari skripsi dan tugas yang ada
**Entah malang atau baik nasib akhir kisahnya
Jangan mau lulus jika belum mencoba***
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
Give it up,
Some gladly
Some with inner pain
Some with liquor fueled breath
Some with much disdain
But everyone must
Give it up!
For the Blackhawks won
Lord Stanley’s Cup!
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Nascimento, vida e existência…
Nascemos de uma forma sublime que parecendo uma banalidade natural é segundo o meu ponto de vista um milagre em todos os sentidos. Parece que o ventre da mulher foi feito e eleito o local divino para mostrar ao mundo a beleza do nascimento, vida e existência, comprometida com todos aqueles que tiveram o privilégio de um dia nascerem.
Nascemos, vivemos e existimos num planeta que procura respostas que não acha para uma imortalidade pedida a preceito em orações, congressos, ou aglomerações de seres que procuram nesta vida um culto a Deus que parece estar para caprichos e devaneios de tantos seres humanos que existem por existir.
Nascimento é vida e ao mesmo tempo uma existência comprometida com o universo que é gratuito para todos aqueles que conseguem perceber a magnitude da abundância que nos é dada com o nascimento, vida e existência.
Nascemos nus sem nada para oferecer naquele preciso momento alegria a todos aqueles que parecem esperar um Messias salvador e apaziguador de corações por vezes divididos
e adulterados com vivências da sua própria vida.
- Que recompensa teremos nós depois de deixarmos de existir sob esta forma material que parece ser digna e ao mesmo tempo real?
-Será o nascimento o elo principal na vida, na existência e na morte?
- Será que Deus através da beleza e complexidade do nascimento quer mostrar ao homem através da sua existência a possibilidade de aspirar com a morte à ressurreição ou melhor a outra forma espiritual de continuar a existir?
- Será que não será mais fácil e rápida a morte do que o próprio nascimento?
Nascemos, vivemos e existimos num planeta terra maravilhoso regido com mestria por um sábio infinito e Criador que sempre com precisão consegue dar ao ser humano deleites que irão perdurar na nossa vida até ao dia que depois de nascer, viver e existir morremos para ressuscitar no Amor Sublime de Deus nosso Pai.
Victor Marques
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
*** dada dum dada
*** *** ***
Melodies cradle my soul just for fun
*** didi dum didi
Dum Dum Dum
Soliloquies burst off the tip of my tongue;
Lyrics illogical and beautiful, some.
Brilliant by accident, sudden, and young.
Tra lala di lala
Do do do
Convinced of the magical things words can do;
These lovely inscriptions, all assumed to be true,
Are not carefully built, nor genuinely glued.
Fa dala di dala
La la la
So from sockets comes streaming oblivious awe;
Silly and shameless, and secretly flawed,
For unknown was my motive until these stanzas were thawed
La, lala, la, lala, la la la
By the warmth of good fortune, and mind’s last hurrah.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
It was well trained cats in the cattery calling, pats on the back, back door, kicked in, mooring boats on the mooring in the morning and the phone call, cost cut, cold calling, and we're falling, falling, we're falling in love.
My best friends are criminals, and the jail cell crying is trying at times but trying sometimes feels tiring. The tire track tiling is abysmal, freewheeling in reverie, revving engines readily, sitting, settling and stirring imaginary cups of tea until eternity gives up delinquently.
I fail to recognise the narcissist in me until the inadequate rantings fall of the page at me. I want to be free, I want to be me, I want solidarity and I want that cup of tea, I want patriarchy, I want matrimony, I want monogamy and none of this is hyperbole. I have no apologies, especially not for the words I string together so irrationally. What else could you ask of me?
What else indeed, if I can't be naked I can't be free, if I alter the way I write I relinquish personality.
It doesn't seem right to me.
Dada is too crass for me, I need a cult of spontaneity. The English language is too brash to be...
Philosophical ideology and the books I read, all tell lies to me, are all absurd you see, I embrace the monotony, let the waves of the sea wash over me. I let the dictionary pages fall off the quay, like that moth on me, like the sloth i've been and cloth on screens. A dead dog can't scratch it's fleas, but to appease the beast we must first release, all creativity and return to being.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
it's not me
pushing you
away except
it actually is me
it's the kind of
morning that the
wind is blowing
just right so that
the open flag
flutters in front
of the window
where i can see it
the kind of morning
i don't need coffee
and i try not to
think about
it too
much
*(i just wanted to
be the girl in
an owl city song)*
pacing back and
forth in straight
lines and gritting
my teeth against
an onslaught of
small town gunfire
*(i'll bet annmarie
never had scars
or scratches
brielle didn't cry
and shake for
hours thinking
how to end it all
it turned out
okay for anna
and vienna probably
knew how to dance
between the snowflakes
and underneath her regret)*
i've never been good at
drowning out thoughts
they just get louder the
longer time rolls on
good at rolling out
cookie dough and
good at drowning
in dishwater when
the brownie batter's
baking and the bowl
needs washing when
nobody's looking
*(i've had moments
here and there in golden
sneakers and navy blue
lace covered dresses
but i'm not the girl
in an owl city song
not something worth
writing dreamy poems
about not so lovestruck you
replace your words with dada)*
girls like me wear flannel
khaki too much day old
eyeliner too many day old
scones have half heads of weird
colored hair and spend valentines
day alone watching tv
so maybe why i'm bitter
as the inside of a lemon is
that i'll never be able to change
to someone drenched in verbena
spinning through the sunny
skies between your fingers
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
Bahkan kegelapan malam ini tak segelap hatiku.
yang ingin memilikimu.
Sulit bernafas jika kau tak disini.
Tak mau hidup kalau kau tak disisi.
Jika menginginkamu adalah dosa terbesarku, biarkan aku masuk ke neraka jahanam terdalam.
Dengan busungan dada.
Bangga.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
My Dad has tough hands
Hard working and honest
Blue collar hands
He has scars
On the backs of his thumbs
And rips through his palms
He has rugged hands
Loving hands
Warm and worn
Heavy hands
Stories between the base of his fingers
The hands of a simple man
Who sees no point in pessimism
He has real-man hands
That will carry any weight
He could lift cars if he wanted to
I know it
He has hands with a background
Never truly scrubbed clean
Dirt and oil
Fossilized beneath his fingernails
My father has kind hands
The kind of hands
I hope my husband has
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
We travel carrying our words.
We arrive at the ocean.
With our words we are able to speak
of the sounds of thunderous waves.
We speak of how majestic it is,
of the ocean power that gifts us songs.
We sing of our respect
and call it our relative.
Translated into English from O’odham by the poet.
’U’a g T-ñi’okı˘
T-ñi’okı˘ ’att ’an o ’u’akc o hihi
Am ka:ck wui dada.
S-ap ‘am o ’a: mo has ma:s g kiod.
mat ’am ’ed.a betank ’i-gei.
’Am o ’a: mo he’es ’i-ge’ej,
mo hascu wud. i:da gewkdagaj
mac ’ab amjed. behě g ñe’i.
Hemhoa s-ap ‘am o ’a: mac si has elid, mo d. ’i:mig.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
Preparations are gearing up for the iD Dunedin Fashion Show, which this year opens with a tribute to Australasian style on Anzac weekend.
The 120m-long platform of Dunedin's railway station is again the venue for shows on April 24 and 25, which are preceded by the iD International Emerging Designer Awards on Thursday night at the Town Hall.
Saturday night is sold out and about 100 tickets are still available to Friday's show, organisers say.
Labels Carlson, Mild-Red and NOM*d, brands synonymous with Dunedin fashion, were in the original show in a local bar in 2000 and they're still show stalwarts.
Company of Strangers, Charmaine Reveley, DADA Vintage, Storm, Perriam, Deval, GG (from Shanghai), Liann Bellis, BEATS clothing, Jason Lingard and Jane Sutherland are also strutting their stuff this year.
The shows open with a section titled Together Alone, Revisited, put together by Doris De Pont, featuring garments by four New Zealand and three Australian designers shown at an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2009.
International guest judge Doris Raymond, the star of documentary series LA Frockstars, is also bringing some garments with her for the show.
The owner of vintage emporium The Way We Wore has a fabulous collection of outfits and she will talk about them at an event in the city on Friday.
Six fashion graduate designers from the Otago Polytechnic School of Design will also show their collections in the shows on Friday and Saturday night.
Garments made by the winner of the emerging designer awards are also in the show.
The finalists were selected from nearly 100 entries from seven countries and 14 fashion schools.
There's a strong showing from Australian schools, especially from Sydney, says judge Tanya Carlson.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
The fire knows nothing but burning,
we know breathing that way, naturally done for
our own sake.
We old still know sake and grant mean true immaterial things.
Sake and granted we take to mean
my good, your good, good sake grant me take me con
mentis sans carne
by golly.
Dada-esque wire spoke far writing ease
e everything e-literate e-mail
---
the boinin' in d'boozum, dat be da ting, da ting con sum in all ya'lifes.
be knowin' dat, be knowin' a-dam lie.
Jah know y'know, don' be sayin' no y'don'
Be happy. Jah know haps be hap'nin' allatime. *** sum, take wha's granted,
take all fo' free.
You got nothin' t'boin, nothin' to oin, be a bird brain seein' stars fo'
no. birds be sleepin' when stars be seen so birds consider nothin', sidereally.
Hmmm. Quit?
Walk away, say, I got nought to say I ought t' say.
No way.
Temporary tempt-test-u-us sitchee-ations,
suffer it so. It don' hurt t'say no f'now so
How'd that that shiny critter know my game? How'd it know,
I think
thisaway and it is gone, forever. (which has begun, btw)
-----
The biosphere is regaining consciousness, Capitan.
Shall we continue burning?
What's the bullocks count?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
I wake up on a yogibo. It's comfy, but,
I'm in what is now just
My room.
It feels empty.
All the clutter
That made it look lived in
Is in the three empty
Sock and underwear drawers
That used to be:
Hers.
All the pictures of us
and half the nerdy posters
were removed from the walls.
Half of the games,
movies,
books,
Magic the Gathering cards,
Are all gone, so the shelves look bare.
Half the closet is empty.
I walk into the hallway and pass three doors
The first door leads to a bathroom,
The second a closet.
The third is what I now call a "guest bedroom".
The only things in it are an
Empty dresser covered in
Princess stickers...
And a bed frame.
I try not to leave that door open.
Go Down stairs
Sink into car,
Turn on Spotify
Crank the volume to 24
So I can't hear my own thoughts.
Drive to work.
Belt all of the lyrics and jam to "The one" and "Whoa whoa whoa" and "sloppy seconds".
By Watsky.
Clock in,
Apron up,
Shout: "Morning, family!"
How am I doing? "I'm awesome! how are you?"
How am I doing? "I'm wonderful! what brings you to freeport?"
How am I doing? "I'm fantastic, peak or dark roast?"
How's my daughter?
"Well actually... I
Broke up with her mom
And I
...
Wasn't the biological father
so I don't get to see her anymore.
My manager said that customers are getting
Uncomfortable around me
because I am too open so that's the
Scripted version I have to tell you."
Even though I'd love to tell you
that I don't know how she's doing,
and it kills me.
How I told her mom that even though she didn't have any
Compassion left for me,
And she lied to me,
Tortured me more than any human
on this earth and was slowly draining the
Life and sanity out of my body
like a leech, that I
Knew what I was signing up for
when I started to call myself
Daddy.
That I was leaving her,
so we could both get
Better, but I was not leaving that little girl.
And if she would let me
Love her, or
Watch her, or
Buy her birthday presents,
I would,
because she was the best thing to ever happen to me.
when you ask me how she's doing
All I can think about
is how I earned that first "I
love you,
dada."
How I made her laugh more times than her
Mother made her
Cry. How I tucked her in
and she made me read her
"Oh The Places You'll Go", over and
Over and
Over.
Screaming when I said she'd go
On through the hakken kraks howl, and
Giggling when I said she'd move mountains.
I raised her for three years and she called me
Daddy.
But her mother said
that because I wasn't the biological father
I don't have any right to see her.
"How am I doing? I'm awesome."
"How am I doing? I'm wonderful."
"How am I doing? I'm waking up."
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
The first day was the longest
Mornings were for ambrosia
Nights were for castor oil
Lying through teeth and tempting through lenses
Purpose lost to the blind men
Who learn to sleep in seclusion
Visited rarely by saints and messiah fathers
Learn through pain, Oh sweet little pea
The second day was all too short
Kindred, but misunderstood
Sowing seeds and ripping up weeds
Parading around town with roaring sorrow royalty
Following scripts and playing parts
For judges, elders, and "renegade" symbols
Promises, popularity; it's all just a rusty mirage
This place isn't for you, Oh sweet little pea
The third day was spent in Dada
Purgatory for insanity
Whimsical, yes, but something was blatantly missing
This place was rich with new color and null
Vibrant, yet lifelessly powered by prescriptions
No real substance, only mist-forms
Bubbling broth in a surreal soup
Don't get digested, Oh sweet little pea
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
"I can tell you that Dada was a leftist,
anti-bourgeois, non-Art birthed from WWI
and not some aleatory root to postmodernism
off-shot from a lurid acid rain.
I know that diffraction can be seen
on horizons in the early morning hours
of summer along smooth or dentate curvatures
and that it can have hues of blue, purple and
a soft-handed massage of orange that gingerly
applies pressure to your retinas with sugar-water.
If only eyes had lips that opened and closed.
"It is said that action is the birth of Manyness
and that non-action brings one's soul back to the Sage Mind,
the universe of Oneness, the cup longing to be fulfilled and how
upon brim overflow it longs to be empty once again
because of the relationship between Yin and Yang
and how one cannot Be without the other
and why perspective can change "full" to "empty"
so that the vicious cycle can never truly, truly end.
The difference between French Vanilla ice cream
and plain Vanilla is the degree of creaminess.
Fill up a bathtub and let it soak into my skin.
"There is no way for me to avoid being prolix about the things
I speak about in normal, day-to-day conversation. Science and reason
have accursed me to traverse this reality with the utmost care and precision
of language and society has forced pseudo-logic down my throat like
a bird screeching as it is forced past my pharynx and larynx.
Its sounds are amplified, beak-blared from my nostrils, and its wings are violent,
stretched against my neck skin, creating a pale-skinned, ship anchor image from my shoulders up.
I'll try to sing for you when you reach my trapdoor, I don't wish to eat you.
"I do not believe in anything because with everything comes a something,
a reason for its being. They are, 'from reason,' 'in reason,' and/or, 'for reason.'
There is no escaping this thought.
There is no escaping criticism.
I will find the Truth, mathematically calculated to infinity
from knowable circumstance and perception.
I will know everything and I will believe nothing."
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
Big Brother's are there
Elder ones also
But,Dada is one & only
The Prince of Calcutta(now Kolkata)
" heart throb of every cricket lover
" proud of Bengali's
He's a nation's leader
Also renowned as Maharaj
But,in true sense
He's the Royal Bengal Tiger
The one & only across the Universe
He's none but our beloved
Pride of Nation
Sourav Ganguly
The ultimate Warrior Prince-Written on 01.10.2012
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Basquiat brushes
dribbles bulbous breakdance blues
gilding hip hop walls
Dolphy ****** white jazz
welling crank pipe smoked black lungs
on poppin stickmen
Lorca be mute, vexed
with syllabic conundrums
mal haiku riddles
Eric Dolphy:
God Bless the Child
Federico Garcia Lorca
The Little Mute Boy
Oakland
3/6/13
jbm
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Suddenly surreal
I feel milk upon the water
blood and slaughter
Dada
isms
watching life through coloured prisms.
and it hits me
pits me
against
the lot of them.
The squandered dreams of broken men and I lay me in the gutter dying
( next verse )
why do I even bother trying
It's just a crock, not even gold
Violent Violet sold the story and got her fifteen minutes of fame
alas no glory, but
what did she expect?
I expected just a little more from these ****** where Babylon is gushing from their lips and all I got were camels,
ships to ride across the desert which was I and of my making,
can't fake a faker and so I take you down with me.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC