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Prabhu Iyer Aug 2018
Can daybreak ever
bring darkness home?
The dried kohl is witness:
Aeons old, such a story
has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;


Does spring ever bring notice
of the coming fall?
Oh the rains sometimes
bring rumblings
of miffed skies -

Shoots that drop off stalks,
have not all
fallen for nothing,


Was the little window of dreams
illusory?
Laying my head down,
stealing my sleep?

Aeons old, is such a story
that has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;
Easily one of the best songs in a Hindi language film of the last decade, 'Ankahee' (Unsaid) is a masterpiece by lyricist Amitabh Bhattacharya:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DR0S-ocAmvo

Notes: Kohl is a dark powder used as eye makeup in the East. Masterful use to describe the kohl-lined eye of a female protagonist viewing the pathos-laden dawn.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Where do you see yourself in a year?

Still living here -
A tactile skyline atop pillars of smoke
Heavy with guilt
And the craftsmanship of a generation of men
To whom Earth is a rock, immortal
Untouched by the bouts of the smog which ascend
To hold up their forges?

Where that which is green must also be man-made
And an old plant-***
On an old window-sill
Is the closest to what was here before? Is it a facsimile?
Where your throat hurts,
Chemicals an ersatz flowing stream
Of purest water -
And why is rainfall the freshest you can drink?

You haven’t always been here.
Where were you before? Was it green
Or blue, or any other colour
Besides this abiding grey? Perhaps
There were rainbows and colours
And sunlight, unfiltered by smog
Or dust. Warm, purposeful.
Her fragility charmed you.

Because our Earth is not immortal. A wanderer
In space, motherly, who are we to defile her?
A species of smoke and tar turning her soft hues sour
Colours unknown to nature
Like a drop of arsenic in a stream flowing through rocks?
Do you see yourself living
In a fortress, tumultuous to its steel bones
Each day burrowing deeper into her body,
Claiming her for its own, and ruining her at the same time?

So you think about your opportunity.
This life which fills her air, pulsing and vibrant,
To restore the purity we are missing -

Because Human and Nature are as one,
Invention is necessary but we are losing our time,
Virescent leaves brushing in the wind,
Our friends are loving, laughing, living
And we realise now that we are able to do so much better.

Or does none of that matter, somehow?
We make money to spend on plastic.
We are born, we work, we breathe, we die,
But we are still yet to run out of time

So where do you see yourself in a year?
This is a spoken word poem I wrote for the short film, 'Human Nature', produced by Ethan Church. It was a semi-finalist in the Gottlieb Native Garden Green Earth Film Festival in Los Angeles and was also shown in the Arica Nativa Film Festival in Spain. The poem was read by the fantastic Gabriela Vivas, whose talents turned a semi-decent poem into a fabulous display of passion and integrity.
The film is available for free on YouTube for anybody who is interested.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2018
Healing like the moon, you,
and jilted like the night am I:
paired in the heavens,
my darkness to your dream;

A cloud-patch of the downpour, you,
and I, a moment of the wait:
our meeting was written for this year;

The only passway:
your name,
the beat I live by.

Dressed in a bandhni pair,
leaving my father's lane will I come,
for you bringing,
sixteen monsoons together:
hold soft, for the string is sharp
for now starts the journey of seven lives;


I, at this end of the string
and you the other:
many the agonies before they come together!

The only passway:
your name,
the beat I live by.
Continuing on from my old project translating the lyrics of some of the finest songs from Indian films, here's the translation of the gorgeous title song from the 2018 superhit Hindi language film 'Dhadak' -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWnzMwT6SKo

Original lyrics in Hindi by Amitabh Bhattacharya
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2018
O Lord of the hosts!

Shine in radiance, his eyes -
in whose heart is your name;
Who fathoms your ends?
The earth, sky and stars
pay homage to him
and fear fears him,
whom your shadow protects:

O Lord of the hosts!

Wealth finds him in whatever he does
who earns the blessing of your love,
and a shoreless boat is he who
has not found you whose
benevolent eyes keep watch over all
shattering the storms of sins,
whose glory never ebbs;
Becomes a master of destiny,
even forgetting the world, who has
found your grace,
come riding the mouse -

O Lord of the hosts!

Anointed of the dust of your foot
on his forehead, who lives mortal here,
immortal nectars cannot tempt him -
he can drink venom smiling;
Just by the shadow of your grace
the wheel of the chariot of time moves
and by a spark of your ire
abodes of demons burn;

The minions of enemies stand defeated,
miraculous, boon become into this world,
comes your name:

O Lord of the hosts!

Glory, glory to the dear one adorned of peacock-feathers!
Steve Page Mar 15
Movies are
at their best
tightly scripted
bravely casted
boldly acted
richly promoted
highly rated
Poetry
Some movies move me.
With Swollen Tears did my Countrymen commit
In week's Soliloquy request for Aid
And Soul's own Moments whose Sympathy permit
Whilst Sheltered Families pray for more space
Pledge, dear Lord! And Citisens of the World
My People's Wounds soaked in Unwanted Rain
At least in Voice and Gift-Wishes unfold
Would indeed suffice to soften their Pain
Look, Union Jack! The Scenes of Caskets float,
Plastered houses a-washed with nails and wood
Then came the Bayanis, in rubbers and boats
Bore frozen Victims to their Neighbourhood.
It's a Sad Film for anyone to see
Please offer Burnt Roses; Make them Happy.
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
i want to be
your vintage crooner for life
frank sinatra mixed with marvin gaye
with twenty-first century style
i'd greet you at the door with flowers
and be your chauffeur to wherever
you want to go i'll take you
there's no rush; we have forever
our life can feel like a movie
almost too good to be true
sooner or later you'll realize
i've always felt that way about you
galas and night dances and jet airplanes to france
would only be enjoyable if i'm holding your hand
i think that we could see our dreams
with our own awake eyes
so come and ride away with me
and we can have the time of our lives
whether sunday morning pancakes or a tuesday noontime lunch
breakfast in bed or a venice bistro will be equally fun
and if god takes us that far
i'd point to you when our daughter asks what a queen is
we could show our children how dedication
and compassion makes life feel like you're dreaming
and someday many years from now
when we have an empty nest
we'll remember the feature film of our romance
and decide that we did it best
You hide (fear) your feelings
better than me (I)
fetishized flirtatious banter
(that is) cavity syrup sweet

I’m contemplating the calculus of your eyes
mind ******
by the shell game Sudoku/chattel slavery chess of our distance


Your movements a projection film noir  
my favorite cinematic fetish
The flesh?
The mind?
... a thousand stolen glances (for the thousandth time I love you)

What would (should) you have me (i) do
I'm an open book (chest)
I could write (carve) our (your) story (name)
on a thousand lonely pages (my heart)
cait-cait Aug 2018
imagine —
you are the last of your species,

an angel, who dances on
ice.

like
a
film that protects
this earth ,
your wings are broken ,
and these are the pieces of you that cannot go
home .
.

so on
tiptoes, this cracked marble
does not shatter,
and
everyone gets to watch you perform ,
unknowing of the cold truth that you are shackled
to ,

like
a ballerina in a box
that hums a sweet tune —

you still dance ,
even as the last of your species,
even though
you are all that you have left.

and
even though
you have decided that love is a form of
betrayal.
.
i didn’t know what to title this but my comedy lit class was assigned plato’s the allegory of the cave and i loved it.... this is somewhat a different style (or concept) for me but i hope you still enjoy. this was another poem where I wrote the ending lines before the beginning ha ha. Meaning Is up for interpretation
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2018
Taking wings of paper, gone flying
to where it must not,
naive,
whetted by fancy, that (neither)
sensing, seeing, nor knowing
the limits -

lost, how silly this heart!

Crosses castles
and scales heights, yet,
feels like theft, this love:

Ifs and buts, and again and again
tossing about like a ball,

Applying of dust, like
sandalwood on the forehead;

Whetted by fancy, neither
sensing, seeing, nor knowing
the limits,

Lost, how silly this heart!

Soars high, the soul-bird,
yearning, leaping out of this frame -
oh a big flame, this love!
.
Next in my series translating fantastic lyrics in Indian films, is this song 'Monta Re' penned by Amitabh Bhattacharya for 'Lootera', catch the original at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99NUJ1cLbBI
Ms Noma Jun 2018
Our first date,
Our first meet;
So very quaint,
At gentle speed.

Watched a film,
Watched your face,
And quiet skill
To woo with grace.

I knew not
My heart fell;
That blood would clot
Under your spell.

Please do note,
It was not
My plan to dote
Once you forgot.

It just is
At the end;
I sorely miss
Calling you friend.
RLG Jan 8
Holiday: a man backstrokes
oh so gently in the hotel pool.
It’s breakfast time. Bean juice
coagulates on my plate.

I watch the man’s languid, enchanting
backstroke and, for some reason,
it inflates my heart with sentimental joy.
This semi-******* middle-aged man,
is, right now,
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth:

His arcing limbs do not slap or thrash,
but plop into the drink like skipping stones.
He is a babbling brook. A water feature.
The splish-splosh trickle-truckle of a spa waiting room.

And what’s more, this forty-something baldy
gliding through the water
fills me with love for all humanity,
because he seems blithely rapt
in absolute peace
(despite the room rates at this place).

But then, I realise, all of this might be
free association of the mind
linking this moment to a scene in
the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump;
when a legless Lieutenant Dan
makes peace with God (for taking his legs),
and backstrokes with the same carefree beauty
into a pink and orange sunrise

(funny how the mind does that).

And suddenly the bubble of beauty is burst.
The portly swimmer becomes just that
(FYI: legs intact),
and my wife returns from the buffet
with a plate of vibrant fruit segments; Cheshire melon
and the greenest kiwi I’ve ever seen.
Lo! Only now have I tasted true kiwi.
And I remember: I’m on honeymoon!
And my wife, in this moment, and forever more,
shall be the only human to be known as:
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth.

Similar to the way Forrest felt about Jenny,
in the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump.
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was ***!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Em Dy Jan 27
what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.
Daniel Wetter Apr 22
dude looking at a blank notes page
the cursor is blinking
behind him a brick wall
the cracks in it draw a picture way better than the story he isn’t writing
he blinks when the cursor does so time stands still
its an art the way he does it
the craft of a master
who has been here enough times
to spell out nothing
its easier to hope without risk
being content is safe
unlocked is what could be
the excitement is leaping off the page without punctuation

the middle
Camilla Green Nov 2018
"Hello, hallway, linoleum tile,
I can't really see you but
I hope you're there."

Green spiders crawl through my smoked-up veins,
their spindles weave their webs of red
under eyelids gravitating towards sleep.

Retinal film flashes; each blink is an
unprocessed, scared, broken reel.

"Put your hands," he says, "on mine.
Breathe, look into my eyes."

Shaking fingertips touch his; snowflakes
gently collide with sunny ground.

They were afraid to melt,
even though they might want to.
I wish it had been 33°.
King Panda Nov 2015
it started with a jaw
twitch vibrating ear
to lip side to side up
and down like I was a horse
shaking off a fly I
saw her legs spread
scissors in hand
as her head popped
and popped
and
popped
like a jack-in-the-box film
screening 3 inches in front
of my eyes until I hid
in a barrel and kept on
driving
north to wherever
lights off and
hooting like a madman
to visions of ariana grande
standing
out in the snow with a purple
beanie and frozen mittens
waiting for me to pull up
the driveway tumble out
the car door and say
you were right
so she can pour hot chocolate
on my face and walk back
inside to stoke the dying
fire
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2018
Golden, this nimble hour
when shy the sky-maiden
changes attire,

a thousand shades
come playing, painting
the courtyard of the night in grilles,

laying a bridge across to the dark,
while birdsong keeps count,
flowering, healing trees
unfurling in the wind:

the firmament is my bo-tree
bringing tidings afresh:
until a day when justice will prevail,
is sure to dawn,

these questions,
my offerings into the embers
of the sacrifice of life.
My project continues, this time one of my favourites in the Tamil language, this gorgeous debut song from 1980 (yes, that old but so fresh still) brought to the world the genius of Vairamuthu, the lyricist who went on to storm the world of Tamil cinema and literature with his soulful poems, enjoy the original here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ux0LERGc1cc
Cathyy Feb 2015
It all started with..
"Watch your step when it comes, to finding true love.."
Oh girls like me may slip and fall,
If we don't dream so carefully i thought..
Well I'm a mermaid on the rocks with no feet at all..
Yet I'm running scared and I don't know, where to go..

But it's kind of exciting
I love the rhythm that flows,
in my writing
And you've got a hold,
On my rhyming,
I don't wanna let this, break..
(Oops)

See I love you,
how your 4 lettered name rolls off my tongue too,
I wanna dance to this song too,
I wanna be your day break now

There's a film in class which I think you'd like..
Well I'm just saying that because,
It's a rom com gangsta black&white;
Oh we're a silent film ourselves with lines of poetry as our speech..
And you're the heartbeat behind every piece I write and breathe

So can I stay for longer?,
I've been through heartbreaks before, & I've come out stronger
But you're not a heartbreak,
You're a Wonder..
A Scorpio Wonderland of stars..
Oh I love 'ya'
And I've got secrets to whisper at midnight,
I wanna see London light up only through your eyes
I'll be your special friend if you think that's alright..

It all started with;
A dreamer falling in and out of love..

But I'll be on the edge of the world with you if you ever wanted time to ever stop..
Hope you like this one, quite uplifting I believe..
violetbaby Feb 11
being around you feels just like a movie,
and i am the entranced spectator
watching as the frames zoom in closely,
my desperate eyes trying to capture
moments where you unknowingly cause butterflies
and gardens to bloom from within me.
each time your fingers tightly grasp mine,
i want to replay that heart-stopping scene
for the feelings of dizzying euphoria
to endlessly run through my veins,
much like what people want more of
once a breathtaking movie comes to an end.
i know that whenever i am with you,
forever does not seem like a long time,
and if this wonderful movie starring only us two
continues into the lovely night, i would not mind.
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