"helm" poems
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.
Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.
America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Jade helm
"Mastering the human domain"
It's all about control
Controlling human beings
And enslaving us
In the one world/new world global government
Information collection
Pre-crime technology (minority report)
System has no empathy or remorse
Self organizing, vision capable, expectation capable, recognition capable, situationally aware, emotionally intelligent, goal oriented system. The system, thinks, plans and executes.
Back in the late 80's MIT students developed AI technology on a distributed network (CGI lamp taught to dance). It Learned and evolved in 24 hours what would take 1,000 generations to accomplish. They issued a warning of how dangerous this technology is to humanity.
GEOINT
--Jade 2 plus more
--Communications
“smart grid, meter, etc"
Will be connected to this system
Control the environment
“Microchipping”
It Surpasses RFID technology
RFID chips can be removed
Nodes can be removed on a network--unplug printer
Human beings used as nodes
Eliminate connectivity to global information network
Cash removed
One world government
Domain--Human dynamics, terrain, geography
Domestic threat assessment centers
Activity based intelligence
All aspects of human activity monitored
All collected data to be geolocated
And tied to a specific node of the network
Georeferencing
do you will it
will you do it
it will do you
All three of these phrases
Have equal value
In this system
Which is very dangerous!
**Generate answers to questions
That haven’t been asked, or never existed in the first place
“Ominous” A.I.**--according to the source
Gates and Zuckerberg--want to bring technology to third world nations
GEOINT--Collect all data--for human terrain map
No privacy--no encrypted data
Welcome to Orwell's 1984, Skynet or The Borg
Sci-Fi was telling us what would be the reality
Emotional responses trigger the system
It feeds off of fear and anxiety
All the social networking--facebook, etc
All that info has been collected
Placed into this GEO INT system
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
I was once a man greater than any other man,
Against the greatest odds I stood, where many ran.
It was I who would slay mighty dragons, and triumph over evil kings,
In every tavern and mead hall, they would hail my name and sing!
I was at the top of the world, and nothing could knock me down!
For my blood they came, but in their own they drowned,
I was hailed a hero in my province and legend in the realm!
Mighty Legions under a great empire, with me at their helm,
Glorious was the ground we tread upon, the sky open and free!
I used to be an adventurer like you…
But then I took an arrow to the knee.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
Lungs burning with affliction, no prayer can help you realize that you are on fire.
Help me, open my ribcage and read the encryption that is my heart.
This is where my ideas form; this is where the magic happens.
This is where trees become homes when I turn to prose.
This is where love becomes tangible.
Take the helm from my chest cavity and steer me home.
Sew me back up and pretend you didn’t figure out how my mind works from studying my heartbeat.
You can keep my memories there, keep my stanzas there.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Do you realize that every single time you open your mouth I’m wishing I could have a lobotomy?
I don’t want my brain to miss you when you leave.
I don’t want my heart to miss you when it realizes that it no longer beats in sync with yours.
You can take yourself away from me.
You can make me cry so the salt water stings my face like it’s a burning map.
You can take my poems from my veins and scatter them in the river.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Oh Captain my captain, I think we are going down.
But everyone is just an arm’s length from drowning.
When life preservers are anchors and every single thing is whispering for you to sink.
The Bermuda triangle is just another place where sailors go to pray and what kind of god ***** you in and tests you with a tempest?
You and I are so much more than child’s play.
Tell me to stay.
Tell me my ideas do not belong on the ocean floor.
Because you cannot lock up an idea.
If the sun shines through your blinds, think of me.
Think of the morning.
But without all your leaving.
Don’t think of the bags packed, of the plane tickets bought.
Of the ferry setting off its horn for you in the middle of the night.
Think of the morning.
Without all your leaving.
With the coffee, with the metaphors that were leaking through the walls as you blinked.
You wanted to keep them for yourself, hold them hostage in your bones.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
So next time you think of leaving, think of taking the ferry across the ocean.
Next time you think of whispering my secrets into the waves that kiss the rocks like they are not hurting anyone, think of me first.
Without the poems.
Before I even started writing.
Remember how I chased butterflies and the sunset.
How I begged you to let me climb up on the roof to watch the sun rise again.
Remember that my ideas are my prayers to a god I have not yet found in the curve of your spine.
Remember that I want nothing more than to not have to miss you.
Remember that every time you dismiss my words, my art, my need to chase the sunset; you are diminishing my creativity.
Remember that you cannot lock up an idea.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Lonely Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Sailing through Eternity
The yellow skies reveal her ardor
Searching for inlet or harbor.
Where she can safely drop her anchor
Without hostility or rancor
Stay forever, or a day
If on a whim she sails away.
To search again for other shores
Unmindful of the ocean’s mores.
Sometimes storms impede her course
Fill her journey with remorse
Thunder sounds a deaf’ning roar
Through driving rain, can’t see the shore
Lightning bolts around her flash
As if to call the Captain brash
For thinking that she has control
Over purple ocean’s vitriol.
If ever she regrets her plight
When yellow skies turn dark at night
And midnight storms have lead to loss
She rights the ship and bears the cross
And waits for morning dawn to break
Sun through last night’s rain will make
A rainbow reaching far away
Certainly it will show the way
To steer her sailboat that day.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Buoyant Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
PwL 04/21/15
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
Asleep alone
I got the light scare
Of a nightmare
With my plight there
Which wouldn't fight fair
Awake awaits
Chirping is all I hear
Dragging life into focus
Getting the lens clear
To see things are hopeless
My aches and pains
Are my body's refrain
To remind me of existence
Despite my mental resistance
I am lucid
I take my shoelace
And loop it
To run a new race
Timidly trembling
The violence in my dreams
Matches the silence and screams
That defile us and our team
Making the nightmares real
And the pain I can feel
So it's love I steal
A devil's deal
Hell unsealed
I can hear the vultures chirping
Or maybe they're just burping
Out the demons I ignored
My forgiveness they implored
To meet a silent scorn
Like a muted tribal horn
Banishing them to another realm
With my ostracism at the helm
Until the lonely are overwhelmed
And I see the error of my ways
Once I'm part of this chaotic haze
Practically paralyzed
I am lost
In this game
I've met the boss
He and I the same
He is a voice
Chirping in my ear
Saying I have no choice
I should give in to fear
And just drink beer
Until the end is here
Carelessly comatose
The birds that once sang beautifully
Now retreat dutifully
When they see my thoughtless anger
Turn me into a ruthless stranger
Creating danger
For those living righteously
They start fighting me
Trying to enlighten me
Which is only exciting me
Because I lack the sight to see
What the world could be
If we could harmonize
Like the birds
Not using argent lies
But soothing words
Yet there is no tax exemption
For my reluctant redemption
So my mind invented
No incentive
Soul slaughtered
The tear jerking
Birds chirping
Constantly remind me
Inside my sleep they find me
Thrusting me into a life unwinding
Through my window the sun is blinding
When I start to fear my brother
After seeing mirrors in others
Reflecting my attitude
Of ingratitude
I had a nasty nightmare
Of Camp Crystal Lake
Filled with misfit flakes
Paying for their mistakes
With pain and suffering
As deep as a submarine
Being torn apart
For every decision
Hiding their heart
To avoid incisions
And once all these losers are slain
The birds chirping start a new day
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
Gil-galad was an Elven-king,
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
His shining helm afar was seen;
The countless stars of heaven's field
Were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
And where he dwelleth none can say;
For into darkness fell his star
In Mordor where the shadows are.
4.9k
Average-joe protagonist wipes beer glasses
at the helm of his sports bar, blissfully ignorant
of the imminent laughable tragedy. Clouds circle,
and there's that obligatory radio broadcast,
the one that warns of inclement weather-
rainy, with a chance of Selachimorpha.
You hum the Jaws theme, tracing pickup lines
on the skin of my back, while sharks pour from the sky,
the improbable tornado dropping great whites
on the California shoreline. One arm curled
around my waist, you tickle erratically
until I squirm away, only to creep back again,
and put my head in the mouth of the sand tiger,
wandering too close to the edge of the water, foolish,
but this is a b-movie, we swam out too far
knowing how it would end. The extras
scream and scatter, arms flailing,
going through the motions of surprise,
stumbling in their scripted attempts
to flee the inevitable. Predictably,
they fall. We all fall, and the girl trapped
in the hammerhead's belly
has this peaceful expression,
as if she can't quite remember why
she ran away in the first place.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Some times tremors of foolish wise thoughts,
pass man's mind like waves of earth quakes
across the muscles of unsuspecting earth,
to day one of the type has visited my brain,
i ask myself why John F Kennedy committed suicide,
with all the resources and riches in America of Kennedy's time,
The FBI, CIA, NATO and the shrewd Mozart, the security masters
of the world's vogue all guarding the Kennedy the president,
how came that the public imbecile had claim on his life,
money overflowing like the waters of River Congo,
into insatiable Atlantic basin is the simplest measure
of American riches that Kennedy headed at his time of demise,
full backed with intellect matchless muscle from study of history,
eloquent like the weaver birds of Uganda in the city of Mbale,
sending all packing in the likes of Nehru, Nyerere and Nkrumah,
perhaps subdueable in single phase to the mighty of Castro,
how comes that a madman killed Kennedy in the fullness of the day,
was it the invisible hand of the Ku klux **** Synagogue of Satan or Freemason,
the death of Kennedy is none other than beautiful suicide
or the active curse of fate, misfortune and violent death.
Why Nkrumah died out of power was political suicide,
his knowledge of the world set African pace,
towering mentally above all else in the chronicles of consciesism,
he stood like a tor on the African mountains against Senghor
Why Colonel Afrifa putsched Nkrumah is none else
other that suicidal politics played at helm of power.
why Tom Mboya died is suicide of suicides
to believe that reason can overwhelm ethnic sentiments
in a tribal consciousness of country like Kenya
in time of Kenyatta,
to foolishly conceive that Kikuyu can assassinate a Kikuyu
was Luo foolishness of that particular century,
it is Mboya who bought the gun that shot him dead,
it is Mboya who bankrolled his own assassin
he brought to the world political suicide of the century.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
Ku terlelap seperti lalu lintas jakarta, berjalan dan berhenti, dari padat menjadi kosong. Yang tak tahu pergi kemana. Gambar-gambar yang lewat begitu saja seperti cepatnya kereta. Lampu-lampu jalan yang menerangi aspal hitam. penjual-penjual yang menjual minuman di lampu merah. Pengamen yang bermimpi membuat kemacetan menjadi hal musikal. Keringat-keringat dibalik helm dan jaket kulit. Tawa-canda dibaluti pendingin didalam mobil. Bis-bis kota dengan kepenuhan penumpang. Orang-orang yang mengumpat jika kau dengar dengan seksama, umpatan mereka begitu indah, tak ada seorangpun di bagian dunia lain mampu menirunya. para pedestrian yang semakin tergeser eksistensinya karena tak ada lagi ruang bagi mereka. Stasiun-stasiun yang nampak menakjubkan ketika sepi. Spanduk-spanduk keagamaan yang dipasang sembarangan sama layaknya dengan iklan-iklan yang berteriak ke telingamu tiap radius 10 meter. aku terlelap bagaikan lalu lintas jakarta. Aku tak tahu kemana.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
belaboring hurt-bells
of twilight
outside there is a furious wind
sweeping the sour-faced pavement.
the helm of the morning
fits through the pinecones.
through the dandelion,
the diadem of some mystic flower,
the flurry of children
and the fury of the populace.
i know whence the wind stirs
cold flame from the many a dead
stones, sequined floor and the
dreary stillicide of night.
our bodies rise to the sun
that is a full woman
or a ripe apple
or a half-bitten moon in glare
and when her lips purse
there is pang in the wind that blows austere beneath the foot
of hills in ruin.
let the night come later than
a bird's secret sojourn,
or the cicada's enigma.
let the cathedral of my heart
quiver later than the unsheathing
of the night's bone
but in the twilight,
when the skies are bruised with
silence and somnolent without voice
my hands shall leap into the wind
and make do, the belaboring
hurt-bells of twilight.
no more than a crepuscular twining
of a sad vine on a melancholy hymn
that makes fuller with its tender
maneuvers, the trundling in
love's wearisome vessel.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
There goes Lady Fate,
donned in solar sparks
and her lace corset
whose overt promiscuity
catches the attention of
one unsuspecting astronaut–
his helm fogs as he exhales,
his breath crude and lascivious.
Even Neptune’s eyes themselves
glitter wetly with passion
as she struts towards Polaris in
her pinprick stilettos.
She adjusts her stance accordingly:
I. Purse lips into a smoulder
(might as well look
pretty while ya get the job done.)
II. Aim for the desired target
(that there’s the bull’s eye.)
III. Wreak havoc
just as any Fate is meant to do.
(But, of course.)
She picks up her staff and fires.
The universe tremors
in an unbridled spiral
of colour and chaos
as the planets
d a r t
about like billiards, * * *
colliding/|\with/|\ the/|\ stars
who, in the midst of the madness,
d i v e r g e and c* r* o* s s
for fear of being vanquished.
A cluster of mismatched constellations
and forsaken cosmic particles
settle into a state of
mutual negligence and destruction.
And, together, they liquefy into
a festering pool of molten silver.
Lady Fate grins–
yes, she has the stars right
where she wants them now–
and, in a final act of defiance,
she strikes against the earth
and watches with satisfaction as
it hurtles towards the silver
and sinks down into the molten
like an eight ball.
(And everyone knows it’s
Game Over
once you’ve sunk the eight ball).
From where she stands–
bent over Polaris
in seductive pretentiousness —
she relishes
in the screams
of some wretched lover–
the first to ever be
betrayed by the stars.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
How could a human
So desperate for love
Stay in a love
That will destroy her
Love does not ******
Love feels
As one flows
into the other
She is at the helm
Committed to death
When love unmasks ******
That has suicide
As a result
death has,
nothing to destroy
in her but passion
body being vessel
Giving into love
Soul acquiesces into dust
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
I see it, in my minds eye
how he, on a day like today
bowing so, in the way that he would
arm outstretched, would to me kindly say
"Care to join me for a walk?"
And oh! on a day like today
with the rain, falling just as it should
I would say, with his arm as my helm
"what perfect weather for a walk!"
we would tread, in the shade of the wood
'neath a gamp and the dripping of elms
with old leaves, as a path for our feet
and our words, as a path to new realms
on sundry things we should naturally talk
if we should, and we should, time will tell
on a day like today, time will tell
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
Intimidated by political thugs
Prone to insert in one's mouth
The nose of a loaded gun
Or suspend a plastic bottle full of water
On males' reproductive *****
Devoid of freedom of expression
Also denied to his right and
Deplorable condition drawing attention
Shunning his God chosen land,
What is more a bright and warm country
Under the sun ,a journalist dreaming began
Fighting all odds between
The deep blue sea and the angry Satan
To migrate to a better place,
Where for democracy
Avowedly there is a better space,
Inhabited by civilized people,
Averse to discrimination based on race!
Burning his boat,
Crossing desserts,
Crammed with other refugees,
Packed with him in a boat
Some trying to reverse
Their economic lot,
Surfing uncharted waters
Seeking a paradise on earth
He headed to the country he sought
Though some their lives
At the hand of brutal traffickers lost
Beaten and thrown out of the boat,
Also at a port
Suspected of a terrorist bent
Many migrants to prisons were sent.
After a humiliating acid test
Why for a dreamland his country he left
As migrants' bane
They placed him at the foot
Of an ice-clad mountain.
“I will never see
My country again,
You are trying my patience in vain!"
He vowed
Despite the razor-sharp cold untold.
Then they took him up higher
An epitome to a cold fire!
Once more
He put his foot down
Putting on more clothes and
Changing attire.
They placed him
At the mountain's helm
As hell dark
Where the angel of death
Is seen stark.
Then in his head
Something began to bark
“*You rather choose
the better evil
If both your assailants and hosts
Are no two different devil! *"
Seeing first hand
Those with cold shoulder
Assylem seekers adore to attack
Though there are
Few not off humanity's track
At last he decided to return back
And under his country's sun bask
Mum for his rights to ask
Killing his journalistic knack!
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
Your memory I did underestimate,
for its to the thought of you that I **********
How can this feeling I once thought so brief
carry on such a semblance of relief?
For little did I know the power
of your presence in my weakest hour
Despite the distance that I feel,
nothing in each day could be more real
than your portrait in my mind ingrained
which makes me giddy like a monkey trained
This nonsensical poetic verse-
oh how it makes my childish laughter burst-
must end now for I did find
that in the duration it took to write this rhyme
The thought of you did overwhelm
such lustful waters at the helm
So let not my abrupt end here seem dour,
for I must relieve and take an hour
to go be naughty in the shower.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
My Journey
once young i believed of a world made of ice-cream and chocolates
i believed in air castles
i dreamed of the tooth fairy
friends was best friend forever for life
long hair was important, weight unimportant
dad and mum was super heroes
the world was at my feet waiting to be conquered
volcano's erupted
wars came and went
people died and were born
poverty came and went
governments changed
i grew up, the chocolate and ice cream melted
i woke up in a sticky mess
what happened
i forget the most important ingredient of all
god my father, my keeper, my salvation and joy
as it all came crashing down and storms whirled he held my hand
even when i questioned my creator and accused him of doing a bad job
his love and dedication never wavered
thank heaven for that mercy
i've searched my life time for unmovable inner peace and joy
though i was a bad made when i could not find it
now i know
money cant buy
only god the father can lead you to it
only the father can restore my air castles, my world of ice-cream, chocolates, cappuccino and balloons
i left he tooth fairy behind
i was blessed with new better friends
and my super hero's was re employed :)
i am truly living my dream without the crowd, competitiveness, chaos and speed of modern life
the future awaits
my captain is at the helm
what more can a girl ask for
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
Plot a course through downtown doors
then drift along the concrete shores
of asphalt oceans navigated
under stars
imitating
broken curbside glass--
over crunching gravel miles
measured in half-hours
and meted out in heavy, fogging breaths
and squinting, midnight eyes...
Counted out the blocks, counted steps
and concrete squares by metered
three-four thoughts dancing across
reflected skylines, just behind the eyes.
Each step's a held breath,
each footfall a prayer on crumpled paper,
each set of shoulders, a hanger for...
coats are homes
for hands
rolling up in pockets
fishing for some solid anchor,
sinking into years of walks and silent words like these.
*** * ***
Listing hard, adrift for years
water-logged and pocked--
no anchor--
shredded sails and leaning masts
tell stories
of deck fires:
leaping rats,
and charred strakes
Clear deck,
empty hold,
abandoned helm.
this coat's Atlantic fog.
Frayed rigging like cobwebs stretch
down and across
like lines on faces aged by the frost
on midnight walks.
Strike the colors, mate...
Admit you're lost.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
"Have you ever sailed across an ocean, Donald? On a sail boat surrounded by sea with no land in sight. Without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come. To stand at the helm of your destiny. I want that, one more time. I want to be in the Piazza Del Campo in Sienna. To feel the surge as ten race horses go thundering by. I want another meal in Paris, at L'Ambroisie in the Place Des Vosges. I want another bottle of wine. And then another. I want the warmth of a women in the cool set of sheets. One more night of jazz at the Vanguard. I want to stand on summits and smoke cubans and feel the sun on my face for as long as I can. Walk on the wall again. Climb the tower. Ride the river. Stare at the frescoes. I want to sit in the garden and read one more good book. Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that. Just one time. That's why I won't allow that punk out there to get the best of me, let alone the last of me."
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
WHAT is a Hindu, a Moslem or a Christian?
Whence he comes and where he goes?
Ocean is a solution, salty, but-
Corers of Suns gleam on the crest of waves-
One, only One at the helm in the blue.
Pools and streams and lakes and bays
Wells and springs and rain and ice
We see nothing but a drop, in them drops
Nay, vapor condensed: Nay, H2O-right?
Think a little straight, sit up aright
Am I not right? -break, break that H2O
Baffling bright white-light you can see.
Of heat and Energy, Oh! 'Sivam'!
You may call it 'Noor' in Arabic
'Siv' in Sanskrit-what then-
Releases combustion in cells?
Nothing but very heat and Energy.
Uranium and Thorium release the same.
We find Energy unborn eternal
Omnipresent, Omnipotent
Omniscient, and Formless.
The Almighty is Brahma,
Paramatma and Allah.
Jehovah may be for some,
For some Agni, may be that-
Radiant and resplendent Yogic Light.
Cant you see Ocean in rain drop
Cosmic power in a cell or shell?
Cell or Shell-what is in a name?
Is chariot, coat or prison of the soul.
When walls get weak the soul will part
Out through the vent as air off the balloon.
Reading Holy Scriptures, not knowing the sense-
What use? -observe the Nature and think
Knowledge is a chain of fact as pearls
Stringed by Reason and Faith with a Coir of the Truth.
Tension brews as experiences tightly
Loaded on the string, still stronger by Faith.
Knowledge is light to enlighten the folk
Not to **** but for, co-existence in Peace.
=================
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
the wind has caught up to us once again,
billowing around the spinnaker
as she dips the helm ten degrees starboard.
we've reached six knots,
a nautical dilemma when the cat's paws
signal the departure of a strong gust.
she rides the wind-waves,
a natural captain, she is,
as we continue on home.
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 8:29 PM UTC
My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, for ever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound,
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound:
Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions
In music’s most serene dominions;
Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.
And we sail on, away, afar,
Without a course, without a star,
But, by the instinct of sweet music driven;
Till through Elysian garden islets
By thee, most beautiful of pilots,
Where never mortal pinnace glided,
The boat of my desire is guided:
Realms where the air we breathe is love,
Which in the winds and on the waves doth move,
Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.
We have past Age’s icy caves,
And Manhood’s dark and tossing waves,
And Youth’s smooth ocean, smiling to betray:
Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee
Of shadow-peopled Infancy,
Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day;
A paradise of vaulted bowers,
Lit by downward-gazing flowers,
And watery paths that wind between
Wildernesses calm and green,
Peopled by shapes too bright to see,
And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee;
Which walk upon the sea, and chant melodiously!
2.5k
While referring to me
She previously used it to mean a
Very Important Person.
But now I've realized
My mistakes & worth in her life as a
Very Idiotic Person.
I used to care so much for her
I was protective for her future
My directions were my misgivings
This is what she thought of my advice.
She grew sick of my advice
She used to not follow it and suffer
She wasted eons stuck in the bog
All that after eating Punjabi junk food
And guess what, she prefers suffering health problems
And wasting her precious time in pain
She ditched me instead of abandoning junk food.
But to tell my young girlfriend
To follow a discipline in her life,
Is it such a grievous crime by me?
Whatever you might say,
She ditched me for it,
Like she did 2 years back.
She will think, *'Atul is a true lover,
He'll wait for me to repent,'*
I am neither that ever forgiving God,
Nor I'm an idiot to again forgive,
I have moved on bearing at helm the self-respect I managed to preserve,
But she's surely not the one for me,
And I no longer care who's mine,
I'll live with that apparently egotistic persona.
Because I have kissed death once,
I realize what my standing in life means,
To me, I am the most important person now,
I'll live my life on my own terms,
Alone if I must.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC