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the lone boatman Dec 2014
A rain shatters the silent peace of the dark blue Yamuna... flowing
guilelessly on its own accord by the eroded banks of time...
with waters that rise and fall, and move along in silent obedience.
In the melancholuous rain, drown the voices of those that have
sinned
voices of wet Lovers that echoed through time...
greener pastures and parched blues....
men who left their footprints in the soft sands of an immense depth ..& emerged with a part of the river,
that today carries their sins...
what kind of affection is this O'Yamuna..
abathed in the sins of our time, yet you flow so guilelessly..
1. The Yamuna river is the largest tributary of the Ganges in Northern India.  Just like the Ganges, the Yamuna too is highly venerated in Hinduism and worshipped as goddess Yamuna, throughout its course.
2. While the Ganges is considered an epitome of asceticism and higher knowledge and can grant us Moksha or liberation, it is Yamuna, who, being a holder of infinite love and compassion, can grant us freedom, even from death....
(Source: Wikipedia)
K Balachandran Oct 2015
That girl doesn't inspire me a bit, let me guilelessly confess,
the one that sits right there,diametrically opposite to my roving eyes,
in her cozy corner, shielded from the view of most  others,
filling the seat exactly with her perfect curvaceousness,
she has false promises written all over her many allurements
for me (who else) bored to death, at this blighted moment,
triggered by scrolling account statements when all I love to see
are words, dainty pulchritudinous words, I can munch always.


In spite of my valiant efforts,to make do with what is at hand
and appreciate the poetic bit, her body language whispers,
as my existential compulsion demands, I couldn't move any further.

I do my best, try to caress her gently with my brooding  eyes,
trying hard not to look duplicitous, but my eyes, curtained off
with boredom and drooping, easily lose focus, seeing this,
her eyes pop out,yet my arrows that lost verve hit sometimes!

Now, with enthusiasm renewed,she gives it a try,but repeatedly fail,
every shot she returns is a  blank, such a cruel curse of cupid!
She is an impostor, tamed sheep cross dressed as a wanton she wolf,
the easy chemical repulsion, lectures  to me on the alchemy of affinity,
but how can I complain, it's not a clause  in her letter of appointment.
Office romance fails to take off, in spite of every attempt to bolster up
Hero Apr 2015
I go to bed again without brushing my teeth.
Cornflakes for dinner, and coffee and tea.
Four cups, of course, will keep me from sleep,
From dreams of cars-money-dread-gasoline.

I used to love everything that tasted sweet.
Now it’s the black, bitter, burned and caffeine.
Except, sometimes, the way you make it for me:
Milk and sugar.

I know I always scoff at how much you need.
Two or three spoons, then add the cream.
Drink off the spoon, unstudied, guilelessly;
The world hasn’t caught you and made you be mean.

Dear deer-eyes, sweet-tooth, rabbit-knees:
Pour a sugar mountain as high as you please.
Fay Slimm Apr 2017
Dawn and night-clouds part the horizon,
Dark muddy blues turn suddenly light
Spilling change on her hues as she rises,
And oh that fullness of sight.

Glow of greeting bequests later heat-time,
Brazen sun brooks no trace of the night.
She aims to captivate dark guilelessly
With oh such flourish of style.

Her blush in pale sky flashes a brightness
Over first tremble of her prelude to fire.
She welcomes day by blazing sublimely  
In oh what a show of surprise
thyreez-thy Sep 2023
Every human regrets existence at least once
To the bumbling genius and even the competent dunce
Assuming we live just to meet our demise
Thinking this is hell, humanity must be a disguise
Contemplating a worse case scenario
Like a curse, falling down like a domino
Ripping off hair, skin, even your very own soul
Begetting traits of a meat puppet with no true goals

Yet, even then, we choose to exist
Through tears and fears we choose to exist
When we feel queer, as we smear tears, we we choose to admit
at our lowest point, on our knees we choose to submit

The same emotions that invite us to death are all the same
Those that are frightened by it feel too ashamed
Telling us to jump off a roof, yet dissuading us
bit by bit
Vera Causa and effect, the reason yet the precipice
Our own heart hates us
Yet saves us when we want to dismiss

Maybe it's the birds chirping joyfully
The sound of children ceremoniously
The that of "It'll get better" "It must get better!"
Or that our Death brings a greater regret

Be that as it may, Exist Guilelessly and Free
Sometimes your very constraints are the ones you cannot see
To Be or Not to Be, or answer is yours
To see this life as a blessing, or an arduous Chore
Poem I wrote on what life means to me
James Floss Jan 2019
I live shamelessly
While guilelessly
I know what I did
And did not do

I ask for forgiveness
When necessary
And forge through
The rest of it

Learn from the past
Shape the future
Our presence is present
Make the most of it
fatemadememortal Dec 2017
there is no way i could have predicted
how life taking me away from you would leave me afflicted
i lie here in my bed and press my form against a "body" pillow - a cruel facsimile
because in truth i would give anything to have my cheek pressed to your chest
resting
blissfully

it gives new gravity to those words we know so well
"and i can't make it on my own
because my heart is in ohio"
because i have left europe behind but i seem to be missing a piece of myself
and i feel its absence like shrapnel

my dearest friend, what can i do?
because i am stuck here, and i am without you
so i rewatch our shows and listen to our songs and read your poetry
but it's still a hollow feeling, as though settling for a forgery
because finding a soul like yours, one who knows me so well, so effortlessly
is comparable to finding a fallen star earthbound
and you wield your empathy and intuition so guilelessly
that letting you in and letting you know me was easy and honestly left me spellbound
because even when i tried to shut you out, you persisted
no matter how stubbornly i resisted
you were gentle and steadfast
and i came to rely on that

so here without you, i am bereft
emotionally destroyed at this theft
of my platonic soul mate from my side
but i will persist holding on to this:
the knowledge that come hell, high water, or the zombie apocalypse
i will see you again
i miss youuuuuu
for THE Apache Tomcat
Jill Aug 13
Barbies wear muselet helmets
Sherlock journals clues
Cricket-stump bin clinks dismissal
Bread is hard with mouldy middle
Cheese is soft with tinted velvets
All in greens and blues

Newspapers a carpet curtain
Other signs of note
Sinks drain-weary, veiled by dishes
Door blocked from unseen militias
Ashtrays strain with liquid burden
Mangled ends afloat

Late-night fry exudes lard landslide
Interesting leads
Window signs of blunt force impact
Latches show no signs of contact
Perpetrated from the inside
Casual misdeeds

Bottles strewn with empty glasses
Evidence galore
Christmas tree is snapped, now supine
Couch chair at confusing incline
Wasting roast potato passes
Solo on the floor

Shrouded dark in grown-up questions
Case remains unsolved
Pre-teen sherlocks are defeated
Unaware that help is needed
Claiming all adult transgressions
Guilelessly involved

Knowledge comes with maturation
Young gumshoe, take heart
Heavy is the comprehension
Adulthood in wise dimension
Toughest form of education
Living will impart

Trauma is by drink upstaged
Of subterfuge beware
Brace yourself for understanding
Bottle is a sly red herring
Denouement is disengaged
You won’t find it there

Life perspective is revealing
Sooner follow pain
Core of more investigation
Drink was only compensation
Obfuscating tricky healing
Alloyed with the leaden feeling
Undiscovered chain

You were just a fledgling hawkshaw
Grant yourself some grace
Rest the blame that you digested
Drop the anger you invested
Hopping off the guilt-rage seesaw
‘Case closed’ in its place
©2024
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2020
Sunshine up the coast, just a single line of bright sunlight shining through the, ever present, rain.
The ocean lies flat, barely a surge on the West coast, which is a rare thing. They tell me they can't get out of the harbour on the East coast,
Big waves rolling in from the Pacific. There is nothing but a vast ocean between the shores of Chile and New Zealand then to the South, Antactica with it's massive glaciation surging to the sea.

That Great Southern Ocean, with it's parade of icebergs and permanent population of killer whales, that ocean generates the atmospheric depressions which whirl up in tight formation and hammer the islands of New Zealand with those titanic South East gales.
They only blow for a day or so but in that time they tear the place to pieces.
Curling into Cook Strait between the two islands the South Easterly generates mountainous seas which slam into the inter islander ferries, quickly shutting down operations. The big boats with their cargo of wild eyed, green, sea sick tourists and chained down vehicles, heaving wildly in the giant combers and fleeing with all possible haste for the shelter and safety of a lee shore port.

Blasting North from Wellington leaving deserted, rain soaked streets in the city, the South East gale howls up the island to concertina up against the 8000 ft flank of the Egmont volcano this further compresses the gale transforming it into a howling banshee which allows no man to stand upright.  100 year old giant mamaku treeferns thrash about like matchsticks, the gale shredding huge forests of vegetation, a phalanx of leaves and branches flying horizontal with the ground surface and freezing rain which sears when it hits the face and leaves the toughest men running, with panic, for shelter wearing torrid, bright pink, stinging cheeks beneath their wildly, startled eyes.

The gale endures into the night, all power is gone and no repair crews will venture until it is safe to do so. Outside the monster moans in it's fury and the wife and I cower sleeplessly under the covers, in bed waiting for the juddering roof to be torn off our dwelling allowing the deluge to saturate and destroy all.
There is no sleep to be had and as the night progresses the terror rises incrementally with the rising shriek of the gale and the blast of the teeming hail impacting like bullets against the windward windows.

The night is interminable...and then, suddenly, the eyes crack open to a beautiful calmness, the morning sun, guilelessly, pouring in the bedroom window!

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
5 July 2020

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