"hugely" poems
1.She seized me with one glad eye,
Some cryptic intent lurking behind.
The other eye gestures to me,
To move closer, I couldn't see why.
2.But her overture my system accepted,
Though not fully understood by me.
I couldn't even process the proposal,
But the verdict was out without the judge.
"My system is compromised, no doubt,
She has managed to hack it, I did suspect.
My legs moving towards her in quick time,
Is clearly the evidence for the breach.
Her kohl lined eyes, too played some trick"
On mind's screen, thoughts flashed.
3.She met me half way through,before
It became too evident, the undercurrents
That control the whole episode,unferled.
The smile she flashed was a command,
Didn't I hear a click, somewhere deep inside?
4.Her Kohl lined dark eyes
Concealed a suggestion of magic.
Dramatically she said what sounded,
Like a convoluted password,
My transformation was completed.
As a green parrot, so exotic!
5.Did I ever in my life
Had any hunch, that indeed I was
A parrot in disguise, and my sole aim
Was to meet her, the siren with distinction,
I loved the stupor slowly taking over.
To me it was what was badly needed.
After such magical change to an avian!
That too without even the wave of wand.
6.Gently she lifted me and put,
At a spot on her left shoulder.
Then, as if by some prompt,
I started telling her, things he liked to hear.
This I guess as parrots we learn from nature.
A line of eager admirers she walked past,
They seemed pleased hugely, no doubt,
Because, she is with some one,
She seemed specially care.
7.At home, the enchantress was
In her elements, on a cage hung high,
On a perch, I sat gazing at her.
The prince in daring disguise,
In a bid to meet the enchantress in person,
And lose myself in her radiance.
Her face beams a smile that sugests,
All of this was a trick , she had perfected
In keeping with nature's wish.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
Heavy lavender blossoms, lifted
by sudden rushes of night wind.
Jacaranda, her scented branches swept into
dancing alone under the only streetlight.
Hiding further in the dark, bushes of
kumquat fruits, ripely orange,
tempt me to taste them.
In the deep blue air, first stars create
orbs of light beyond themselves,
glowing hugely in the sultry, silent sky.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
--To W. A.
Was I a Samurai renowned,
Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow?
A histrion angular and profound?
A priest? a porter?--Child, although
I have forgotten clean, I know
That in the shade of Fujisan,
What time the cherry-orchards blow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
As here you loiter, flowing-gowned
And hugely sashed, with pins a-row
Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned,
Demure, inviting--even so,
When merry maids in Miyako
To feel the sweet o' the year began,
And green gardens to overflow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round
Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow,
A blue canal the lake's blue bound
Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo!
Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow,
I see you turn, with flirted fan,
Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . .
I loved you once in old Japan!
Envoy
Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago;
But that I was a lucky man
The Toyokuni here will show:
I loved you--once--in old Japan.
2.5k
*This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I was reminded of that joke about eggs by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.
Timothy: “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” …
Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…*
Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door
(1)
“Dad,” says 6-year-old Tim
back from the neighbour’s
*“Sandra next door and I’ve decided
to get married”*
Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks…
*I’ll humour him, just kid along
with this precocious child of mine*
(2)
“But you’re too young, Tim,”
says Dad
“That’s OK,” says Tim
*“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year
younger than she”*
“Oh,” says Dad
*“but marriage is such
a huge responsibility”*
“Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp
*“Haven’t you seen my school reports?
Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible;
it’s the same on Sandra’s card”*
Dad’s smile weakens
*“Well, what will the two of you
do for money?”*
*“Oh, we’ve worked that one out
We get $20 a week in pocket money
between us and we reckon we’ll take
on extra jobs:
I can mow our lawn;
and she’ll wash dishes at her home
Beside we’ll save a lot of money
since we don’t at all eat out
and lodging is free -
a week here and the next at Sandra’s”*
(3)
Now Dad has lost his smile
These kids have thought of everything,
he thinks. *I’ve got to do better –
come up with an objection that’ll strike fear*
“Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad
*“about babies? Married people make babies –
what you going to do about that?”*
“Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed
*“We’ve googled all that:
Every time Sandra lays an egg
I’ll crush it under foot!”*
Dad sighs with relief…
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
Every single day is partitioned fairly, I'd think
amongst us denizens of this uncertain universe,
that makes no loss ever in its unceasing transactions,
as every end is a new begining and also the reverse.
I wonder again on the complex algorithm at play
and demands upon each moment to accomplish it!
With a laugh I just let go the thread of that *****
thought on processors and servors for a humanguous
operation needed for that to go on for ever and aye!
What nonsense! the human logic is hugely flawed
Cosmos has better manuels of operation never
needed to be written down, just like the affairs of heart
of men and woemen that jostle in this planet ,driven
by urges prompted by mind, body and if you'd believe
without any qualms,the spirit, but I wouldn't insist.
Dusk was falling, and I sat smugly on the sugary sands
of the bikiny beach, with a vengence on my face
(but not with the bitterness of one, just now short changed)
And with an adamence to get my fair share of that day's
catch, plucked fruits, harvest,hunted gold or whatever!
I didn't want anyone notice as my exchange was
happening in in silence, on cycles higher without any means
tangible, of communication of any meterial sort.
Then there was a on sand behind me, I felt warmth,
the dog was snuggling closer and closer to me to comfort!
Her liquid eyes said, all that I wanted to hear
She was my solace for the day's battle wound, I reckoned
exuding warmth, she drained my pain like the bad blood
darkly stuck,let out through the cut I just had survived.....
Night was long and the moon anointed us with her balm
on the sand bed a man and a stray dog slept unstirred.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
"I always wanted to wander."
"To wander? To where?"
"From Walla Walla to Uganda."
"That's a wide world to wander!"
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?"
"To wander?"
"To where, Uganda?"
"Youbetcha!"
"I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!"
"Are you refusing me?"
"You're confusing me!"
"Do I do that usually?"
"Yes, and it's abusing me!
"I didn't used to be."
"But you see it's no use to me,
So start talking lucidly!
You're coming across abstrusely
By talking so loosely.
You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy."
"It started out grand!"
"But quickly got out of hand."
"But you fail to understand."
"You should have planned."
"Is that a reprimand?"
"You're like the ampersand."
"I don't understand."
"It means 'and per se and';
The pronunciation became bland
And three Latin words became 'ampersand'."
"But, don't you need a vacation?"
"What is the relation?"
"It's a matter of pronunciation,
And sometimes punctuation.
Some words deserve elimination.
Yes, and some deserve illumination.
Thus my original illustration.
In the interest of communication,
Some things deserve enunciation."
"I will accept that explanation."
"But, I'm still hugely fond of
The two of us going to Uganda;
As we internationally wander
I'm sure it will make you fonder
The more the two of us wander."
"But I really don't wanna!"
"Don't wanna what?"
"Go to Uganda!"
"That's what you don't wanna?"
"You betcha!"
"It's okay. They probably won't letcha."
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
Starlings fly in silver sky
Bullfinch in the dry grass sings,
Emerald teal in tandem fly
Explosively on phosphor wings.
Miracles are in the air
Golden sun in evening glow,
Marigolds of orange flair,
With lavender, in patchwork grow.
Sap is flowing in the wood
bursting buds of olive greens,
Winter flees as winter should
Whilst bubbling brook transform to streams
Miracles are in the air
Colour rich in reddish hues,
Greens of fresh lime , aqua flair
Spring arrives in vivid views.
Silk striations lace the sky
With molten, mackerel clouds of gold,
Evening chill for you and I
Suggest we snuggle close to hold.
Miracles are in the air
A Moonrise breaks horizon’s door,
Hugely round with craters bare
We laugh with joy and seek for more.
Tantalizing night upon us
Stars ignite the heaven's fire,
Black as pitch with jewelled Adonis
Hot white pinpoints of desire.
Miracles are in the air
Passion in the blood doth boil,
Moonlight through her silver hair
Exquisite as blue fire on oil.
Marshalg
@thebach
29 August 2011
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune’s ******* be unfathered,
As subject to Time’s love or to Time’s hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th’ inviting time our fashion calls.
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-numbered hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of Time,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
1.3k
burning strangled fleece we bump chaotically
soft arrogance in morally languid pronation
leg burping fossas femoral twain (in which i'm
giddy a mustache of bristles coarse fuzz and grumbling
prickles hugely onyx( graciously bundled
to what about the huddled pulsing of EXPLODING GRIT!
in every flush molecule of bashful prim ) we girt
or flay the frightened silence scrambling gently on our scalding merriment.:',). . . . . . . . .
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 10:55 AM UTC
Awaking to the noise of innocent birds
quivering in the shelter of the falling water.
I hear chilly raindrops drumming the surface of the windows,
making the satisfaction of my warm bed one of which even poetic imagery cannot define.
I relax to a heated glass of milk,
in the company of a delicious homemade biscuit.
Tranquilising on the sofa which I pleasantly sink into,
whilst my lover’s gentle eyes make the room even warmer.
The smell of the sizzling bacon,
that is succulently frying in the kitchen,
allows my mouth to water greater than my tummy rumbles.
It was no less than I had expected on a Sunday morning.
As I sink my anticipating teeth into the perfect sandwich,
I briefly appreciate that countless people would lust for this lifestyle,
that I hugely take for granted.
I could pretend that I care. But I don’t.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 7:32 AM UTC
slips from nothing hugely poem of
light creating light by leggy moon
over whole earth palely tousled in
maimed and drizzled in silver curving
a point is risen amongst (man) and time
earth away sprawl echoes of finite
sleep.but though it moon over(in
a little naked comely heap of pert
and blazing tinder calmly foisted
between sabled ******* of aching
stupid darkness)burns how and fiercely
eloquent
o moon though small and nothing hugely
poem shall i (man) a poem slip by mortal
wiggling fumbles; and O moon!quiet sleeping
curves away silverly(into pimpled quavering
neatness)i muscle leanly dispute the soil
and up to you gallop sloppy gallons of kiss
(for you are most pleasant.UR round and fit
nearly in my lips (who shall pluck you from
between ******* and fill me burning
)Lust
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
I admit it,
I'm a little bit scared,
Because I can think ahead
Because I can imagine
Imagine what might
happen.
There's a message in my
notifications and it fills me
with a thrill, it's only been
about a month but I miss you
still.
We were so weirdly inseparable.
I press, depress the key and wait,
await my fate.
Here's a possibility:
*I slept with someone else, it's over,
I'll miss you.*
I'll admit, if it happens, I'll
feel a little mad, and more
than hugely sad, because
You'd do it
because you'd think
it'd do me good to lose you.
If this happens I'll lose more
than just you.
You yourself are more than 'you'.
So for now,
I'm a little bit scared
to blink or think,
because each moment
seems too *god ****
fleeting
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
From childhood to adulthood
there are changes ... numerous
too numerous to count, to remember
yet a few are etched in the memory,
even in the subconscious
lasting a lifetime
through all the decades of my life
most are hugely positive
very little sadness is remembered
mourning over a three day old baby girl,
a miscarriage nine months to the day nine months later,
the death of my beloved husband after fifty years.
I happily remember the joy of our wedding day,
the uncomplicated births of my five living children,
funny ... I always wanted five, even before our marriage
and there are five, still living good and happy lives.
I've even met someone new
who is going through the same, too;
life can be good, as good as you expect,
hope is the key ... I prayed to God ...
He graced me with a lovely friend
one with whom I can share
and he can share as well
in this ... we are making
new memories
in time's changes
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea.
Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil.
China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created.
Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory.
It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction.
To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change.
China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily.
...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation.
China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink!
…..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome.
Marshalg
22 May 2015
AUCKLAND.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Sometimes I picture myself in a red prom dress,
with converse under the tulle, and glitter
covering my eyes as I nervously glance
away from your face, inches from mine,
trying not to stare at your crooked bow-tie.
Sometimes we’re jumping over the tide’s
foam, under the moonlight, licking the salt from our lips—
my saddle shoes on the dunes, your jeans rolled
above the ankle, but my curls falling loose around my face.
Sometimes we’re moving black and white photographs,
1920’s with fringe and silver canes,
and sometimes
we’re like this. Naked on your mattress,
with the ceiling fan at a standstill, sipping
stale beer from old bottles you left lonely
on the windowsill. And sometimes I know better,
but tonight I answered your call and I came over
to your lazy bones on the sunken couch,
watching the lava lamp’s goo stick to the bottom,
yet still lighting
the entire room with a neon glow.
By now, you think I would know
that I can never count on you unless it’s cheap,
and convenient, and broken, and me. It’s only
ever me, but I can’t just haphazardly
stay in the spaces of your life that need filling.
I picture us, hugely, with a white house,
blue shutters, little kids building towers on the porch
just to knock them down.
The whole bit, picture it! But all
you ever see me as is figure
that you can reach if you squint hard enough—
a mirage that you like to believe
only you will ever hold.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
For Berlinski
<X>
it's so true, can't believe it though,
this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum,
mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of
shut-up
my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud
but here it is,
a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen
where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the
goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?"
silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest,
the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday
for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the
the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me
lazy tired
no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless,
sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers
I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises,
that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted
in a human chest, and the dust mites
*but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets
that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ****** oh so common, and
the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74 on
the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet
fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master,
leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool;
oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!!
please let me be still crazy till long after my
bleached bones rumble,
"boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"*
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
I stopped mid-sidewalk at 11p.m. tonight
with my hat on backwards just to match my heart
and my sweatpants tucked into my boots
with green acrylic-splatter on the left toe
from when I was ****** and painting you as hard as I could
into the paper. I stopped
and attempted to fit myself into the splits
the clouds would make in the skies. I tried to make
a tiny infinity out of the two-pack Oreo wrapper
in my jacket pocket, but all I got was a crumble
that sort of looked like your face sitting in my palm
when I pull your cheek to the side and drag one last
goodnight kiss out of you. So, I threw it on the ground,
and I know that’s littering, but come on you treat me
like trash anyway. I pictured myself making one of those
sled-ride snow angels right in the middle of the grass,
and in my haphazard mind I figured it would be cinematic
and lively, but it was just ******* freezing and I was soaked
the rest of the way home. But I did it. At least I did something,
while you lie in your bed with tomorrow’s practice clothes laid out
just dissolving social media pixels in your head. And you could be calling
some other girl, how would I know?
She could be lying next to you with her yoga pants
tossed neatly on the bedpost, you ********* her while your roommate is asleep.
How would I know? The most you ever tell me
is how much beer is in the fridge or how you just won’t
have enough time to **** me quick before you gotta be somewhere
so I should just come back next week
like I’m a shopper waiting for the ripe strawberries to come in.
So I stopped in the snow and I cried a little
because I’ve let myself get so stupid over your sometimes.
And I hoped, hugely, that you would for once see me
slide into your dreams and make it into your mornings
like a gentle reminder that screams please, don’t forget about me
and hugs you like the sun,
but how would I know, anyway.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Micah The Mouse was a rat;
At least that’s how he behaved.
If he didn’t get his way every time
He’d holler and he’d rant and rave.
He got to be such a big mouse
That his head swelled up too.
He became so hugely obnoxious
Other mice didn’t know what to do.
They held a spontaneous election.
They needed to elect a top mouse.
Micah bribed the weaker leaders
So, Micah got the run of the house.
He kept up his pattern of bribery
And threatening those in his way.
Without anything like scruples
He’s still on the throne to this day
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
In Micah got horrendously fat
By overeating just a tiny smidge.
He got to be so much like a big rat
He grew too heavy to cross the bridge.
So he roared and ranted and raved.
And blamed everybody around him.
That he was the cause of his problems
Seemed to completely astound him.
The wonder in all of this sad story
Is why the other mice could not see
That Micah was only in it for himself
And not for members of the citizenry.
Micah got to eat while others starved.
He got what he wanted, moved on
Yet somehow those that elected him
Never quite seemed to catch on.
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
(Image from www.sharktacos.com)
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
Giving up on desire
Doesn't mean anything negative
But the fact that this has moved
From there to excitement
To fanatical activity
Return to the basic elements
From working out my approach
My message, my feelings, my love
It's hugely powerful
This emotive movement within
This cry for fulfilment
For manic soothing, showing
Just doing it and not wasting this impetus
To create and make marks
The result is immaterial
The process all.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Behold! My sorrow storms straight through daylight.
And not on the last stroke of midnight, when demons sleep.
To entangle me with its invisible ropes, ropes tugging me tight.
Twisted, Swooned, crushed, haemorrhaging deep.
Labyrinth of shame, heralding my doom, looming ever close.
Earning waste with each second more, till sudden salvation.
That scarce shall cast upon my dim verse hugely verbose.
Inside this too stagnant a mind flows nothing but indignation.
Malaise made manifest with the profusrness of a poet's pain,
Entitled as imbalanced brain, a fresh sign of insanity.
Idle hours thrown away like confetti and time spent in vain
Narrow words written by young hands but a spirit of mundanity.
Morbid fascinations of mine with this lack of hope.
End so soon as I leave this world, unable to cope.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
Aidan,
There are a few things I wish you had known
And in lesson from which you'd have grown
A lot sooner -
The twist of time left your path entwined
In more vice than virtue,
I really need you to see that.
Altruistic aims, aren't always mutual gains
Only act on impulse if your intentions are true -
And only for those who'd do the same for you.
Unbridled fury does not buy you respect,
Or victory - things can always be approached better.
Remain yourself, but keep logic intact.
You needn't be afraid of vulnerable thoughts.
Collect yourself outwardly. The battle you have fought
Is not one that others can see.
Caution - it may feel like
You're battling me.
As you traverse the plane of your mind,
You may find that what you once basked in
Is now a question of
What could have been
Choose your memories carefully in which
Your creativity is hugely dependent on
Don't create what you can't feel -
Delve,
But don't drown in the ethereal.
Try not to lose yourself to
What others think of you
Or your writing, your music, your views
I know this stuff's hard, but I hope that you try.
Anyways. Take care of yourself. Tell mom I said hi.
- Aidan
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
Look up -
The blue of sky
Can stretch a question out,
Unravelled hugely there, held up
In air.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC