"fledging" poems
After the rain settles
the Fieldfare appear one by one
The fledging Sun paints shadows,
clouds part themselves
Barefoot,
on cold bracken
we look for the threadbare
stumps and leaves
Winter cold,deep
against its snare, snaps.
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 8:26 AM UTC
In this breathing gallery
Art is vivid for science to be
For science to be executed
Art is a spatter of feelings
In wows and wonder
Chemistry goes on and on
In vigorous interactions
of substance, of souls, of colors
Art surfaces as chemistry deepens
Then there comes the Art collector
Fledging up the souls.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:34 PM UTC
When did the soil give birth to ideologies of hate?
Floating thoughts taking hold of tempestuous souls
To wreak destitution and abject destruction upon City slabs
Intangible ideas, not to be grasped, squeeze hard
On curled metal, give birth to flying shells
Hit hard on soft targets
Stories held within forms, never known to thy perpetrator
Indiscriminate fury built upon muddled theory
How powerful a virulent ideology
Minds clash in spoken wars, yet the earth does recoil
As fragile limbs confronted by flying shells
Limp, lifeless hand stretched forth
Pleading for continuation of a life not contemplated to end
Not here, in this way
Crudely broken by the stench of decay
I remember when Friday night was for play
Humanities throat pressed upon not by religion
Knife drawn not by capitalism
Shots fired not by secularism
Yet a common strain persists in all
That of power seeking
Corrupting hearts, dividing parts uneven, the spread obscene
Impose a will on another
Crush fledging life pursuing what is best to you
Oh! The clouds I plead beneath pass me by
Your ‘best’ is but yours, permit me to fly by
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
The sunlight, like a mother’s touch,
lies gentle on the water’s face.
The last warm breath of summer past
Not ready yet to yield its place
And you and I walk, hand in hand,
Around the long and winding path
Past where fledging Mallards stand
And weeping willows sweep the earth.
From beyond the rushes comes
the soulful melody of a horn..
All else is still, no sound intrudes
upon the bassist and his song..
Above us Ninja squirrels fly
And bomb the path with acorn shells
If they should hit me do not laugh
Odds are that they’ll get you as well.
I’m glad we came to Oakland Lake,
To watch the waterfowl at play,
And have a quiet conversation
about a nearly perfect day.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
Pencils grow heavier
As they scratch lies across a page.
Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Sparks that flew
Hearts that grew
Lips that met.
Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
That life gets in the way
Of fledging happiness.
Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Words that fell
Down the nape of her neck
And into her chest.
Fingers that caressed
The line of his jaw
And the ridge of her cheek.
Whispers that rose
Yielding into the ice of the moon
And crept into the lining of their souls.
Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
Happiness carries the inevitability
Of pain underneath its wings.
Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
One basket of memories never made
And of growing disappointments.
One slowly cooling heart.
Two stale throats musty and seldom used.
Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
That no matter how much heart’s-blood
You pour into their soul,
Sooner or later, destiny comes to play.
Even the greatest love story,
eventually finds an end.
Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Fairy-tales incarnate.
But fairy-tales cannot survive in this world.
The magic mirrors cracked.
The poisoned apples fail.
The dragons triumph.
The animals voiceless.
The princes leave.
The princesses stray.
Write a happy story,
They said.
I wrote them a fairy tale,
But happiness had already flown away,
And my pencil had been
Too dull to capture it again.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
Like human drones,
They trailed the messiah
From Frisco to Guyana,
In search of Eden
Among anacondas, tapirs,
Diminutive Wai Wais,
And Purple-heart giants....
Where torrential rain
Blasted the ****** soil
Like B-24 bombers
Over Normandy...
And piranhas
Shredded human flesh
To naked bone
In black-water creeks
Coursing through the Amazon...
And a fledging nation
Of less than 1 million
Navigated the treacherous canefields
Of independence...
Why....?
The question lingers
Like maggots on
900 rotting corpses...
Why....?
The answers wither
Like 900 minds mesmerized
By Jim the messiah...
Forfeiting lavish luxuries of freedom
For the Temple's tickets
To a worry-free ride...
To Heaven.
~ Pablo
(#JimTheMessiah)
3/1/2014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.
There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.
There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.
Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.
Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.
Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.
Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 11:01 PM UTC
Oh the men that make their way
Sitting around in lapping bays
How a wish is whispered naked in the corner bar
Never heard from someone close but always from someone afar
A listless night of effort is remembered fondly
Worlds torn to pieces just because the sight of another temptation missing
So the story goes from soul to soul like fish peeking from their fishy bowl
Scattering for a thought into publishment to share a pain that can only be felt within
Experience tempts the senses to reveal and spit and *** and bleed onto the page scanned and verified and blotted by high ink and
Misinterpreted
But still tried as if a jury full of fledging turtles tempting the God's to bring the wisdown unseen but known by clowns with twisted frowns, and analyzed by sizes with flashy prizes and excavated by the mindless & ****** vacated and ripped to shreds but still seemingly in love in bed
So the bearer of the bad appears in blue
Shifting from side to side from the news
Knee deep in his own birthed and electric disease
A breath of air touches the ears of the virgins
The attempting takers
Eyes that gaze up skirts and oh how I remember how it hurt, how it hurt
With the water entrenched with the back and forth touch within but still no sight of a friendly boat
But oh the loafs, the hot bread manics, underlying a temper furious hot ferocity, fast and fast and fast until they met themselves, seeing themselves sweating, panting, exhaling and finally feeling what it feels like to expel the spell they were cursed with and are now forced to live with
Through it all if one doesn't have a ball
They'll turn out to be just another victim with a gripped dulled saw
With a wasted mother's gift, a wasted torn ticket, a pocket of wasted rockets, Their grandly sad and oh so deserved
Epic fall
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
Lust consumes my every waking thought
The inevitable fall from grace that follows after trauma
I was young, a fledging then and yet was still cast out
Into hell
As my fragile feathers sizzled
I was choked by them
An acrid mixture of burned chemicals, of ozone
The pain is unbearable
Screams, the muscle contortions wrenching my body apart
Blood and flesh take shape mortally and the fall ends
A sudden crack, my vision blurs
Sore ribs reflect a broken heart. Memory erased
The ground is hard beneath me. Flames lick at my back
Cast out from paradise for the trace of impurity my thoughts evoked
One of the fallen. Birthed in sin.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC
Submerged
in slumbering marshes of youth
soot riddled, benign mole
mermaids and Jupiter bathed in the
water of her soul
shape shifting contradictions
crumbs of a whole
Strewn
in the irony of thorned garlands
on eggshell whims, jettisoning off cliffs
She plunged headfirst
seeking his gnawed bristle lips
lattice tresses curving
along his finger tips
Scrambling
she held a chisel in one hand
the other groping a Jade shard
fledging yearnings
to make hay in the barnyard
As surly incense sticks turned to ashes
on a wedding card
Serendipity
experienced by intertwining fibers
of a coarse, unruly yarn
parables murmured to her torso
he laid sprawled in the barn
plucking leaves off petioles
in her threadbare farm
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
the feathers of hope
float upon the tenebrous air the unfledged girl
unfolds herself
from the straitened maze
in which she mused encumbered
by the remnants
of her former beings
to glance at the promise
of the world composed anew
if she be resolute
in courage
to take grasp of one unblemished pearlescent feather
hold
and then step/ dive /fall
into the flight of a future
unfathomable
and soar
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Let not love take to flight
Consuming thought and reason
For it can burn with fiery might
Pray. do not heed the poet’s delight
As he fervently pens his newest obsession
Let not love take to flight
Guard your fledging heart, so bright
How easily it can be scorched by loves passion.
For it can burn with fiery might
Blinded, by rose tinted sight
Too lost in he, too late to see his seduction
Let not love take to flight
His words, his lips, excite
Desire ignites into molten combustion
For it can burn with fiery might
But, how hard will the break smite?
How far the fall into tears? I beg, take caution
Let not love take to flight
For it can burn with fiery might
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 3:53 PM UTC
When the offspring has flown from its nest,
having been nourished all for the best
it will soon fly westwards
to welcome the beginning of its own time.
How our original plans speck away
when we had laden the powder of trust
on its feet
but so often the web has run full circle
turning from purity to false flight
the inner being of the fledging
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
What is important to thee?
Be it thine own peace,
pure and sacred
Be it thy sweet rest,
sacred and pure
Be it thee dances,
prances and sing,
through the fabrics of thy years
with grace
Be it Love
pure,
and sacred
Forgive thine fledging wisdom
for misguided yearnings.
Its growth is tragic.
o'er slow.
The pace brings suffering
long before the light of clarity can shine on
what thy dreams do say.
One cannot dream this shell of existence anew
without breaking skin.
Cuts and scorns will bleed the soul
like a life laundering leech;
Yet will heal thee in kind
- and oh, what mysterious kind it shall be
Harken to the old oak voice:
"Through those bleak and dark nights
Hold,
with passionate patience
and marveling whys.
Each tender breath,
sacred and pure,
brings a subtle flourishing
and a light will shine."
Time will mend thy fragile frame,
and lest you worry too oft
(and sleep too little)
Harken well this billowing breeze,
as unto thee I say:
"Your heart will rekindle,
Set ablaze by a truth learn'd
pure,
and sacred."
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
Share with me
Give me your fledging feelings
I will shape them into something probable
And I cherish the rain
that musters under your feet
Tansy herbes of the heart
would turn you into Eve
And I as Adam drinking
the nectar of your countenance
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 11:17 AM UTC
Oh, templed god, why did
you snare the palmer?
The importance of being
the autonomous? I am trying to
stay away from me to keep
a watch on you.
The itinerant sorcerer had
become a legate of gold trade.
The flesh is for sale, the
small mouth with big hunger.
A fledging of scar has become
a bleed. The synopsis was out.
I am going to ask some question
from the bo tree today.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
Something ineffable;
the droves of life
denied in splendor
to the mind
Something perplexing
a vexing muse of
reality
infused with abnormality
That absurd thing
we call the soul
ever whispers
even in its screams
we behold
Questions fledging
answers swarm
to ride on seraph’s wings
above the storm
Never being
erred, and e’er become
All but streaming
fleeing, gleamed in
growth, amidst hope
with such aplomb
We are meant
in the meaningless
Squandered passions
roused ambivalence
In freedom
we are lost
Untethered from truth
As we amass the idle questioning
Formed in what makes us
Aloof
What does it mean
to be
human?
Monstrous indulgences
of wandering in abundance
seeking shelter
in the wholeness
of fulfillment
Yet
We are ever empty
Never fully
We
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC