The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

          and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .

A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting.
Nowhere.

We are all human beings
We all have our own lives
And different ways we live them
But each one of us is a writer
And this poem is for all of you

All of you who have virtues and use them in your writing
Those who use flashbacks and revisit mental photo albums

Beginning the story from the middle for that’s usually where you mind is at
Looking back then looking forward
Studying the past so you can be ready for what is to come

Recording catastrophes with a number two pencil

Tales and blurbs of tragedy
Caused by love or the lack there of

Rewards and punishment
Self-reliance and self-fulfillment

We are mere narrators
Humble, maybe unreliable
Equipped with numerous devices
Ironic Paradoxes
Red herrings
Fortuitous plot twists
Metaphors
Allegoric hyperboles
Analogies
Oxymorons and onomatopoeias

We sling Chekhov’s gun like bandits of literacy

We’re visionary revolutionaries
Revolution of the mind, body and soul

Changing ourselves and examining who and what we are
To become what we are destined to be
The best

Rejecting convention
Building our own paths
That lead to cliffhangers

Romantic lust
Comedic affairs
Dark massacres
Spiritual healing

Religious speculation
And the questioning of the way we, the people are being governed

We use the tools we are giving to sculpt new art that the world can stand in awe of

Personification
Symbolic imagery

Practicing pastiche with respect
Dionysian imitatio

Surreal reality
Defying mortality

Reiteration and retort

Using nature to express emotion and thought

Doubts and fear

Opposites
Morals and ethics

Satisfying curiosity

Parodying what we see
Embellishing just a little

We us word play to dive deep into the topic of conscious, subconscious and unconscious thought

Using satire to poke fun at the human condition,  its senses and perception of the universe to get readers thinking

Expressing our anger, our boundless joys
Desiring unknown pleasures

Seeing past the fallacies put before us

We write with great candor about war, personal conflicts, and self-abuse

With hinting undertones to give these ideas a second thought

We write of the supernatural, metaphysical mysteries
Outlandish, obscure mind boggling theories

As the clock ticks too fast for us and the characters we’ve created

Demolishing the fourth wall with a sledge hammer of defamiliarization

Epiphanies in a parking lot
Speaking in the 1st, 2nd or 3rd person

Using fun things like anagrams and palindromes
Candy for the lovers of such things

Spontaneity is an understatement
Nonsense is an insulting overstatement
Absurdity seems to fit just right

We are chameleons
We can write in various forms
Streams of gratifying consciousness
Brilliant prose
Beautiful poetry

And chose to use or merely acknowledge the ways to achieve these forms
Rhetoric, rhythm  and rhyme
Meter and mora
Conceit and consonance
Assonance
Intonation
Working with phonaesthetics  

And accenting aesthetics

A poem can or could not be organized as such
If we want to get technical about it

We have a poem
With a number of verses
And in those verses
Are lines
And those lines might rhyme
And have a meter or rhythm
Stressed or unstressed syllables

In contrast to that we may write
Without all of that and use emotion
Feeling and structure our work with what we feel is the best way
Line breaks
Pauses and puns
Silly similes
Ambiguous antonyms  
Intonation, linguistics
Fight against the fascists of grammar and conservative correctness

So, in the end we are writers of a rainbow kaleidoscope forms, devices, ways and ideas

But we alone are the ones who make the world think
Make it move
Revolt
Renew
Learn
Look back
Remember
Cry
Smile
Forget
Ease

Write my friends write until your mind explodes and your fingers bleed

Read, read and become inspired
Even if what you’re reading is bad cheese

Forget getting published it’s the writing that matters
Disregard the off-putting, critical chatter

And if you think no one reads
Than be the seed and sprout a tree of astounding artistry
And let’s begin a new movement composed of ideals that will hold true forever
I might be preaching to the choir but it must be said that poetry; literature isn’t dead

I magine Icarus
C reatively carving his dream
A **** the soft features and
R idges as strong as his beliefs, lays
U nderneath an innocent soul
S tranded in a fantasy.
            Icarus
Flying towards the heavens
Embellishing the sky with pearl like wings
Caressing Icarus, soaring passionately.
His own hero in his eyes.
            Icarus
Glances up, suddenly hypnotized
By the gleaming sphere of light.
The innocent splash-
Tasting the bitter, revolting sea.
Swallowed whole without notice
With the sound of silence as
Icarus now soars freely with the angels.

I can see the way you stare at him, Virgo,
the way your eyelashes become batwing shadows
across your flushing cheeks
when he smiles back at you

I can tell how you feel about him, Virgo,
the feeling that sets the cold stars
embellishing the velvet in your eyes
into infernos.

I can only imagine the pain you felt, Virgo,
when he packed you along like a decoration
then left you on the curb like
a Christmas tree in the New Year.

I can understand why you did it, Virgo,
when you stared down the white throat
of the pill bottle at the dim and empty
bottom of its bowels.

I can't blame you for it, dear Virgo,
anymore than I can blame myself.

We are occupied with being busy
Busy missing those small hints
Busy ignoring people around us
Busy not paying attention to oneself
Busy overlooking the crumbling bonds
Busy clearing away nature’s beauty
Busy taking things for granted
Busy enveloping the truth with falsity
Busy embellishing the present
Someday in future we shall stand trial
As to how occupied were we being busy

I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.

Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.

Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.

Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.

Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.

In my moment of sheer desperation,
I sold my soul to the devil.

All at once my life took a 180 degrees turn;
I won the 4D for RM10,000.00,
I got the writing job I’ve always wanted,
I found the man of my dreams,
My company landed a million dollar deal,
I was bubbling over, embellishing the happiness I have not felt before.

Then, one day the devil came to see me,
Payback time apparently,
He asked me if I would like to pay back all that he gave me or
Would I like to buy back my soul,
I told him I would be happy to buy back my soul.

In the devil’s world, payback is easy.
A soul for a soul, a  life for a life.
So whose soul would I want to trade- in?
My soulmate…no too painful,
My dying cat…no cats don’t have souls
My ex …..mmmm perfect.

So that’s what I did that fateful night,
The devil came and I redeemed back my soul with the soul of the ex…
Since then, I am still embellishing in the happiness,
While someone, somewhere cries over the death of a dear one,
Oh wait a minute, she’s actually rejoicing…high insurance benefits!

And so it was, in my moment of sheer desperation,
When I sold my soul to the devil.

We are imperfect products
placed in the midst
of an imperfect society,
a vicious cycle of perseverance
and failure:
constructed,
broken,
fixed,
and fixed again.

Airbrushed and painted
to perfection:
pale skin
flushed cheeks
slim legs
and a smooth mindset.
Opinionated only
on the matter of
superficial products –
glamorizing and embellishing.

Deteriorating enamel –
cracks in a varnished frame.
A scratched surface,
damaged to the core,
polished and glazed over.
Skin made paler,
cheeks more flushed,
skin and bones,
and a mind wiped clean.

Unachievable expectations
and inevitable failure
are enough to b r e a k
even the toughest material

d
o
w
n.

People say that love leads to metamorphosis.
People say that love will illuminate your soul.
People say that love will bind up a wounded quintessence.
-I’m finished- waiting for love.

All of my life I've been pining, pining for the soul, and the soul of another to bind up my aching wounds.
An illusion, a mirage in all its sweet and manufactured glory arises in a weary heart.
Tasting it, visualizing it, it’s mellifluous nectar fondling my occipital lobe.
Flowing profusely, waning when a tellurian is out of sight, my muse is ever-changing, a butterfly glimmers in the dark.

I can’t bear this trial, a tribulation of love, all these repetitions, a diminutive and ephemeral Fall.
The vernal winds embrace me, in my sweet and lulling dreams, binding my soul to Wonderland, just as Alice I’ve escaped.
I run to another realm of existence, longing for emancipation, standing in a hollow shelter, my flame shall soon collapse.
Golden cards; The Joker, poking fun at my malady uncured, the land within which I have ensconced is a symptom a disease.

Insanity; a furor; reality serves no purpose.
Anger me once more then I’ll relinquish my own life.
I relinquish a newfound hope, to abandon all that is my own.
I reach into the chaos beneath my succulent flesh.

A demon had allured me; enticed me with a stare.
Sorrow runs amuck here, degeneration inflames my veins.
Expanding, contracting, I can’t breathe anymore!
Red blood cells eliminated, my panic is on the rise.

How much longer can I bear this?
Love eludes my soul; your unchartered exterior inspires an inquisitive mind.
I search the seven seas, I voyage across space and time, I’ve waited for eternity for an ethereal beauty to arise.
The water beneath my ship bubbles; frost smoke from the watery deep; a mermaid in its glory has infatuated me.

I live in my dreams, detached from the world.
-Stars fall-
Your arms are no longer wrapped around me; I no longer feel your heady embrace.
The light and airy feelings when I fantasize of holding your body close to mine.

Your delicate and perfectly assembled hands; your gaseous rhapsody; a toxic love absent of truth; a hazy fume inhaled through my nostrils.
When I finally gaze upon you, I shall fall asleep in your arms, lying on the bed together will no longer do me any harm.
Butterflies and fireflies shall illuminate the night sky; intoxicated with honey I will have my fill of love.
Just to have you close to me, will be more than enough, to know that a spirit so celestial has enraptured a tenuous heart.

Your voice will be a healing; your words intoxicating fumes; your lips a source of astonishment; your gorgeous vessel my muse.
Lavender mist befalls us and violet sparkles glimmer upon the bed; we’re lifted into the stratosphere; it’s no longer in my head.
Enamorment will be a reality, and chains shall bind our arms; we shall be bound to each other by a magnetic surge of love.
Electric benedictions shall conduct my weary eyes; my iris shall be illuminated and my pupils shall start to gleam.

Going higher and higher, our bodies shall be burned, but not devoid of our spirits for we shall be conjoined into one.
A deity will resurrect us; a Phoenix with rejuvenating wings, the inferno of passion will consume us and our bodies shall be renewed.
For but a moment in time, the pressure between us began to rise; turbulence has fortified our very beings; we have shone just like moon.
Alas this but a fantasy, a dream unfulfilled, I fill my life with spirit, until the appointed time.

My creative surge of energy creates a diamond out of pain; my ivory tusks of iridescence shall plow through the Great Walls of the world.
I know that you lurk there; amongst a galaxy unknown; in time you shall expand my Universe…Maybe just maybe, I’ll expand into yours.
The supernova shall illuminate the heavens; our passion will glimmer like the Sun; a sphere of flame in overdrive; ready to explode.

I miss you already but I must depart from my dreams, for but an ephemeral moment until I that know you are here.
I’ll wait for the rest of eternity and I shall plow through the chaos of the world, warping through dimensions; trying to reach your heart.
A key shall lead me to a doorway; on the other side will be open plains; florid with embellishing blossoms, daisies and a flame.
That flame shall burn up the stratosphere until the skies begin to fall, for there will be no place in the Universe that can contain our intergalactic love.

In sick twisted fields of meadows laced with electricity
I deemed I was correct
justifying my day dreams
and nullifying my nightmares
but embellishing yours
creating a new idea of fear...
for you to have to beware
for i hardened your delicate structure
i froze your river bed
but with one kiss, a time fracture
I could bloom a rose red
with one touch, a light action
i could re-illustrate your head
painting pretty colors of forever
me and you fornever dead
because my first intentions
were to love
never meant i to harm
but just like poppy seeds and **** leaves
I have a higher charm
so in these electric fields of purple grass sparked
rest these thoughts of you and the danger that I brought...

A trinity of three styles one man no religion one morning over a lifetime

Temporary (we tat too)

Temporary love
has no precision definition
so if I say
love you forever,
as I do,
know know
just know
this particular
phrase
is temporary,
unique and forgivable

as temporary
as our permanent tattoo,
the one embellishing you,  
the one marking me,
the two hearts tat
that means
we are a
tat two

If you begin a poem,
a love, a tat
with temporary,
usually, but not always,
you have already failed

See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/if-you-begin-a-poem-with-i/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Invalidation

my living bones, twisted.
my words, slurred,
disfigured with a panache,
that makes the mirror
turn away, ashamed

invalid. in valid.

I have been invalidated,
I spit at your too late heroics,
unwanted.
I spit at myself,
for missing the moment,
when choice was mine

I would have self-destructed, freely,
reborn in an act of self-validation,
be my own living will,
if only I had not been enslaved to my
*******
Fear

invalidation, the Cain mark of every failed man

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bootyoir

three day weekend has commenced.
it's con-occlusion
now in rapid descent
mini-vacation, ****-sensation.

the only question remaining,
present but debated,
as yet undecided,
whose turn is it
to answer
the doorbell,
when the delivery guy
brings our break~fast

for it is forbidden,
a transgress,
to egress
from the bootyoir,
except for the
call of nature,
and naturally,
I am calling
you,
comeback comeback
hungry time
it's time we
co-authored some
bootyoir poetry

i like **** of all sizes
no matter the shape we always make compromises
they're all generally hidden behind brassiere disguises
embellishing decorations that cover up glamorous prizes

i always got milk on hand
secreted from those voluptuous mammary glands
some may say they feel like water balloon brands
silicone addition seems like an unnecessary plan

honey nut oats with those titttiiiesss!

My favorite parts about myself
Are the metal rods
Protruding from my skin
My nose
My ears
The diamonds            
They sparkle
How is it that I cherish
The things I added
The most
My favorite features are stitched in
Mounted to my skin
For I do not find much beauty
In myself
But my expression of me
Is slowly getting to
Where I need it to be
Decorating my skin
Embellishing myself
Soon I hope to have ink
Streaking my surface
On display
Shards of the inner me
Out where everyone can see
*maybe one day

such a small word
blending into the background
always making an appearance
but never recognized
so used
so beaten up
so lost among the swirling fog
such a simple concept
but as familiar to us as water
slowly trickling over our sentences
over our words
embellishing our writing without us even knowing
sometimes
i like to think
that we should become more aware
of the little things
of the tiny details
of the lowercase
in our lives



-k.l.

Can we talk about something real quick?
Do you remember what you did last night?
I do.

You remember that video you watched when ya girl went to sleep?
Yeah, I've done that too.
Although, in my case, at least I waited till she went to work.

If you say it can't be so, I'd be a big fat liar.
Women don't watch **** ,
I say the hell yes we do.
After-all it's so accessible, these desires of the flesh.

For the Women who have, know
you are not alone.
Yes, I have been there too.
My eyes forever tainted.

Next thing you know,
you start embellishing these images of the "perfect" man.

Guess what,
MR. "PERFECT" DOESN'T EXIST.
Fiction.

Face it, that muscle man eventually turns into an old man.

A fruitless vein

Ruptures the
plexus

Of society’s esophagus

Embellishing virtual
pleasure

Within browsers of
opinions

Innovations, ideas,
revolutions

Traded for
corruption and malice,

Paranoia on the rise,

Innocence ******,
swallowed, and
spewed

Into the IP addresses
of democracy

Her sandal straps sat as thrones on her heels, embellishing the sand that clung close to her skin. Her smile seemed painted on by some distant relative of an old famous painter. And her hair it was a mixture of ocean and tears. Tangled in hopes and last chances.
Stubborn.

Never brushed, never tamed.

It was only then, sitting on that porch, tasting that sweetest lemonade, could she ever think about anything besides her summer.

Of course she could, but she never quite did. She was one of those loose cannons.

Unpredictable.

Then again why would anyone hate her for it? She was so new, so fun, so much potential for anything at all. She was wild and free.

Everyones first kiss and last dance were delicately braided into the gallery of bracelets strung on her arm.

Heartbreak and loneliness was etched in blues and blacks on her hands. Tattoos of worn adventure printed on her fingertips.

Her arms, so easy to fall into, so hard to let go of.

With every kiss she pulled you deeper into her world until you were drowning with affection. Affection for her, for you, for love

And you tried, you really did try writing her letters, telling her how much you missed her. But life got in the way. All good things come and go and she was here but now, now she is gone.

And perhaps one day you'll find her again. Old and frail like all great lovers end up you will laugh about how the two of you used to run barefoot on the streets of your city. How you would kiss her in the rain.
  And perhaps then, she will love you.

The description of my affliction grasps the friction of a worthy depiction to my addiction in a position feeling the infliction of my minds worst prediction..
Unleashed skeletons distinguished in the flight of pelicans severing the embellishing of savored intelligence longing for sweet repentance revealing relief that goes the distance..
Searching for clarity that never ending morality my mind takes on high hilarity in the crushed arms of polarity assembling the modularity of my brain screws in chastity releasing all of the bottled-in charity of my restless audacity...
As all that's buried beneath takes turn within my rocky caverns that burn I release my tactiturn of the aches and pains the spurn I've been able to learn bounty of my earn comes to term as I yearn for freedom of silent concern if I can disinfect this germ like cleansing the embodiment of the smoked sherm I will be clear of the uncoiled fern slithering about as a pristine worm..
Deeply inside my head I've swum like the graceful swan in the pond that I come to grow fond classified the demimond upon no formed bond twisting my thoughts my top has spun uncontrollably making me dumb my darkest secrets tucked in the gun behind the chamber of obligated fun partaking of the glazeless bun that's so scrumptious to my tum tum I can never find riddance playing the war drum but if I fail now my utterance is done now if all coincide with my tone I may finally speak out and be gone...

Simplicity will make its rounds
As it always does when I'm missing you.
I can tell you're missing me in the way you glance
Quickly out of the corner of your eye
As I'm fiddling with my ink and paper.

We make rounds with one another
Alternating shifts between affection
And you watch me almost instinctively
Perched upon your over-sized sofa cover
Disguising all of my dresses you imagined as "the one"
Floral, striped, simple brown like parchment paper.

But you are stowing away patterns that remind you of summer past.
Only now it's spring and summer's not yet arrived
A fact that until today remained unknown to me.
But of course  you'll be leaving soon
And I'll be wanting you
Even if so it was not enough, even more
In the nostalgia of unwritten details in the past.

They pattern themselves as soldiers awaiting deploy
Into some unknown battle with a sparkling eye
For they know not what love is;
They have only tasted it in envelope adhesive
And flittering longings of long-lashed exchanges
Of forward observations brought to attention
By none other than the golden-haired stable boy;

So they battle with a passion of longing instead.
They have traveled this road many times
And knowing what to expect, they
Delve forward despite disregards of the illumination
Of the embellishing light of Lady Moon
Upon the night to beckon their lustful eyes and bodies
To become one with their defenseless souls
Beneath the silvery threshold of her flowing *****.

Words spun at her mercy
like flowers around vines,
They longed to be
pieced together,
Dovetailed into a crown
that would adorn her,
embellishing,
augmenting her.
Words flowed like rivelets
in the valley of her conscience.
She befriended them.
Basked in their sheer beauty.
She was the enchantress.
Her words,
Magic!

I taste your pulse
derma puckering sweat globules
aeriform vapor corpuscles
declaring your need
embellishing sacral curvature
in mellowed diaspora
I glide closer upon the sheets drapes
fingers supporting my upper weight
pressing half inch spurs into the mattress
dragging my whole self towards you
for a kiss

the grey man in the stars

tells me my greatest flaw is that
i am both a creator and a destroyer.

and as the rain takes hold,
the heaviness subsides.

i feel like i’m waiting on nuclear stardust,
to make it’s indiscriminate remark on all of
mankind.

there is something calming about
electric discharge embellishing the heavens,
acoustic echoes plaguing solitary eardrums.

humility, apathy, reality.
their colours run
becoming one...
a sort of dingy brown.

i’d always assumed the shade of the universe
would be a little more obscure.

Our pretty white house; the grand grey gates stood proud,
The blood-red roses, the lilac petunias; myriad flora- every hue, every kind.
The endearing blue sky, many a vagabond white cloud,
The colors of my youth lived on, embossed in my mind…

The joyous peals of laughter in the aureate beach, as tides swept by,
Ma, her orange dress bright, tracing the path of each bubbly wave,
Mauve, ochre and yellow merged, embellishing the canvas of the transforming sky,
Of those days-vivid red love, countless memoirs- I will ever rave.

My bonny bride in her lovely white dress; exuberant, free as a bird,
The dash of pink that adorned her cheeks when “I do,” she said,
The rage, the lividity- a sinister crimson; she had left without a word,
The blues we’d painfully endured, as Ma lay on her death bed…

The aged white house-home no more, now lay brown and sore,
No more of the red roses, lilac petunias- life of any kind,
The rusted brown gates-eternally shut, stood with pride no more,
The colors of my youth fading- embossed only in my mind…

Embellishing letters with ribbons
but those can't appease
the rotting words that lay unsent
in dusty drawers of masked regret.

As time began to sail across the distance
between the legitimacy of sea-faring tales
and their land-woven origins,
our fingertips became acquinted in the same fluid lucidity
that the soles under our feet interpreted into syncopated steps

Our words melliflously met above the undertones of
cityscape circuit-boards,
embellishing the space between the notes
of our independence
and the harmonies
of our togetherness


She is neither the sea nor the wind, for both are masters of their own trade;
indifferent to the collisions of an unmapped expedition

She is,
as is freedom,
the sail under which the destinations of her vessel
rely solely on the unpredictability
of the collision itself

There's some stories old men tell
Just so they can hear themselves
Always holds a certain ring
With their own brand of embellishing

Around the stove in the old country store
If they've told it once, they've told it more
Look you straight in the eye
Before their pants are set on fire

They'll have you staring in belief
That what you see is reality
Look at you with the straightest face
So as not to give themselves away

Listening to all the old men
Toss out the line to reel it back in again
Like a Salty dog on a fishing boat
Keeping the tall tales they tell afloat

There's some stories old men tell
Fooling you as they fool themselves
Always holds a certain ring
With their own brand of embellishing

Poring over months-old words
Losing will and time to count
Embellishing every syllable
Coughing up the spaces
Choking on the lines
All the same lines
Fooling no one

Well
Maybe one

Snow-
The world is so restless.
When you come down,
you swallow all the clamor of this city.
Amity warms my ears-
Silent snow.

Snow-
You fall like a sleepy feather.
When you descend,
delicate designs start sleeping on our roof tops.
Calming all my senses so I can exist.
Embellishing snow.

Snow-
Such a ruthless form of rain.
When you come down,
You set into my bones and shiver all these limbs.
Freezing all the flowers, show no mercy.
Callous snow.

The Past - Never Forget

1. On Rejection of History, Fallible Geniuses:

Do not seek present fault in past greatness
Condemning yesterday men with morrow crimes
The sift of time works in unfathomable wonder
Leaving only truth grains of real substance
Do not discard these foods for thoughts
For being misshapen and the occasional spots
For they were gold among ashes and dust
And the learnt, and healed is never without scars

2. On the Embellishing of Poetry

Don't dread or torment yourself if you fear
Your words aren't decorated enough
For one day only truth will remain
And truth never hides, but bares itself plain
If you dress your poetry overabundant, shimmer and gleam
It might just be overlooked, the soul underneath
And be discarded as earthly things
Obscured by the camouflage of timely beings

3. On the Timelessness of Simple Words

Gaze from below, the tomes of giant
How plainly they walk in the clouds
At most a dress or cling shimmering humbly
And never so full of jewels and gold lest they
Fall from the heavens
Bearing the weight of earthly greed








The Present - Always Remember

A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I. On the Desperate Desire for Immediate Praise

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II. On Envy of Brightly Garnished Words

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III. On Shame of Undying Unrequited Love

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Conclusion:

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars

Earth's sweet candle fills the sky
As the twilight signals signs of a sleepy sun
Making its way to the bed on the other side

Leaving splendidly with all its royalty

A radiant sky of golden nobility
Showering the mountains with glorious yellow
Embellishing the land with beauty and splendor

A kingdom of majesty, born of brilliant fire

Loyal silhouettes take their post
Outlining the mountains with striking precision
Every detail, lavishly traced onto a canvas of light

Gilding the landscape with splendiferous shine

Good night dear sun
Your spouse will take your place
Bidding to us good morning

*Painting murals of magnificent moonlight