"illustrative" poems
Illustrative disregard is creating
Nervousness which controls my limbs
Fragmentary is the heart
Infected by a broken promise
Disrespect stings me
Elevating my pain
Loyalty has been compromised
Intrusion has enraged me
Trust slips into abandonment
Yielding to uncertainty
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
.....
Not an interesting metaphor
To Keep the brain on
Or just showing day dreams
Even an unnecessary composed poetry
Made to be happy for the king and queen
Decorated with false songs of a garland victory
Just defile your voice
Or Just a lie of fabricated cry
Acting as the heavy down eyes
Just showing forged mercy to love
Even a painting of an outward woman
While stupid men became tickle with a synthetic beauty
Then If composed a true poetry
However, So many illustrative metaphors
which have a form of sacred truth
Perched the purple nature into you
Knowing Spring with the aromas of mango buds
Saying the real life
Demonstrates the truth of death with death
Like inventions of science
Rendering with expressions and feelings
Owing water to thirsty men
Explain the friction between light and darkness
Dragging the stone of truth
Thousands of music grant the intangible beauty of life
Love became harmonious
And the dreams are to raise thousand colors of love
Life flows like spring water
Of course a poem calls an eternal love
There a hidden beauty craving all time
And an upstream pouring the pure love
............
@musfiq us shaleheen
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
Whenever pencil and paper smooches,
Fascinating Illustration is made !
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
i stay awake late
contempleting the possibility of decoding the illustrative lyrics
spoken between my head and my heart
my wheels keep turnin' circles
still
it's a start
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
early morn (5:00am) scanning, scrolling,
unrehearsed searching and the question
appears in a “loves that got away” column,
*(why do all these descriptors start eith S,
I think I know!)*
and off on another self-effacing, investigative determination, a mental biopsy of another hopeless cause,
that results in poems too long
though the body and mind are rested,
with six hours of uninterrupted sleep,
and volumes of dreams,
the quest bags a burr in the bed,
(yes, rhymes with head)
but n o t h i n g pops in with a grin,
and a bell ring, stating presumptuously,
why that’s me
and the fault failure fear
in me
engorges
this really distresses,
with & in a deep sense of awful,
how can I not recall this momentous
illustrative precious precision
proof of why life is worth living,
and worser still,
don’t I get to choose,
isn't this an interrogatory,
suitable for a pre-provided
Multiple Choice Answer?
a pause to collect myself from a
falling into a hole of nefarious negativity spiraling,
*suddenly
recalling so many
kind and gentle touching brushes
of your comments re my poetry,
which provoked warm tears*
^***and one more tine,
poetry has saved
a life***^
5:37am Saturday 2-15-25
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 5:47 AM UTC
You go strains of mad when...
...Ambition becomes Eating Your Own Hunger Pains
With savaged pride you feel that all you need to achieve in life
Can be done faster with gold and good courtship
You croon apologies to your ideas and hope they stay.
They don't stay.
You go strains of mad when...
...Demonic intercession is hailed as miracle
You pay your division of a vast tithe into coffers you never see
and watch with shame and awe at a penetrative truth
working noisily behind curtains.
This polls well.
You go strains of mad when...
...Dust and diamonds are sold as combi-packs,
**** comes in boxes of strict six; for illustrative purposes, if you want four you've got to sell or discard two for your reputation.
There's no loyalty card or price-break on bulk.
I'm flat broke.
You go strains of mad when...
...A nobody sketches you with disarming accuracy
Their medium is a third hand snipe relayed with bitter remove
No more the taut nymphette lounged aground, on the rocks
The naked crystal uniform of your debtless regime, gone.
You're a shirt and name-tag girl now.
You go strains of mad when...
...Pockets burst outside the Church yard sale
The Ministry guilts you into buying all the furniture and music
moving it one piece at a time into your life until
suddenly you have a Church to burn
Just in time for winter.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
It is generally supposed we come to this place
As a just reward for treachery and traitorousness.
Indeed, nothing could be farther from the truth;
Most of my compatriots her have blindly hitched their fortunes
To some flag, some shining dogma, our fates sealed
Through an unwillingness to be sufficiently self-interested,
The refusal to abandon ship once it became apparent
That the experience upon the rocks
Would be neither enabling nor ennobling.
My own case is illustrative of the rule;
My father, noble sovereign ascending to the throne
Via parlor tricks and the rustic embrace of folk legend,
(The fornication resulting in my birth brushed aside
As some accident of mistaken identity or enchantment)
Is celebrated, beatified really, in song and legend,
Yet I, who pulled myself up by my own bootstraps as it were,
Winning his queen’s hand and defeating him on the field,
Am consigned to this unhappy place in perpetuity,
Suffering demons who hiss ******* Usurper!*
As they put me through my paces
(One takes their rebukes with a grain of salt;
They are all mad, the likely result of dealing with this glut of madmen.)
As I noted, the presence of myself and my brethren in this place
Serve as a testament to the merits of fidelity,
Which we commemorate daily, some days several times
(I confess it seems more than a touch silly,
But the necessity of creating distractions
Trumps other concerns in a locale such as this)
By staging caucus races, each participant addressing
The ******* in front of him directly,
Paying it fealty--My liege! My liege!--which is answered in turn
By a cannonade of noxious farting
(We assume the smells to be offensive,
As the atmosphere here is somewhat deleterious at all times)
All to the great amusement of those sprites
Who observe our machinations,
They in turn guffawing madly and urinating downward upon us
While we, as the acidic waste corrodes us, also cackle like lunatics,
Fairly shouting Ah, the gentle rain of Heaven--thank you, Lord!
Though, oddly enough, our laughter at times
(Most likely due to the aridity of the atmosphere around us)
Seems to catch a bit in the throat.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
you call me pretty and I deny it humbly
then you say you wanna **** me,
so we agree to hang out the next day.
impulsive as I was that night,
I was hesitant and indecisive in the morning.
you tell me it’s hard to kiss me,
because I’m not an easy stranger like all the other girls you’ve slept with.
I’m someone with a heart and you know I have a brain.
despite my capacity and our compatibility,
you would never commit to me, it’s not even worth a try.
we both know this,
and you lay me down anyways.
while you smother me in kisses and compliments,
my mind is raking through doubts and worries.
the emotional side of my mind overpowers my need for affection.
so I pull your lips from my neck and tell you not today.
it’s always too much thought,
and not enough action.
—
a new idea pops into my head.
I can picture it now;
illustrative and colorful,
a masterpiece waiting to be drawn out
quickly denied by darting self-doubt.
I’m already questioning my skills as an artist
before I even attempt to put my pen to the paper.
I never think I’m good enough,
it’s always ‘scrap that’.
everyday it’s a battle of getting my thoughts into pictures
and quickly giving up and turning them instead into words which never fail me.
am I even an artist if I’m scared of my own work?
it’s always too much thought,
and not enough action.
—
I know the different between what I want and what I need,
yet I push aside ‘minor’ details and negativities
for a fix, a fill, a drag, a sip;
for temporary numbing and partial satisfaction.
will I ever get what I deserve?
the question is,
will I ever let myself find it?
I’m too busy wasting time getting trashed with the wrong people,
avoiding the challenges I face with my art,
and giving up my body to people too afraid of commitment.
I claim to know my worth,
yet you don’t see me dropping
or quitting lustful nights and regretful mornings.
or pushing myself to work harder instead of sulk in my bed.
when will I have had enough?
it’s always too much thought,
and not enough action.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
If I could find the words to speak
and say them without getting weak,
it's all right there inside my head
thoughts just jumbled up instead.
Give me a chance to write them down
and I'll describe my world without a sound.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
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Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
It seem like the world has been silent enough to **** paint poets
with man ruling and running history all in the adventure to discover the value of the soul.
For an unquenchable fire within that has been set ablaze by the drumming heart of a fervent soul that bleeds with free domain,
so dominant and illuminate in an illustrative manner like a mitric star that fell from a stella nest to nurse nothing but cowardice that evolved and blistered with scars that never healed.
So i pose a question,what is a man?, except a dark creature that roams freely failing to dominate the world yet calling himself a conquer.
Conquer and divide is said to be a mandate,Iron in ironing out ironic facts makes one bleed in terror and shrink in fear, only to freeze and fade with time.
What is a soul?
It is empty. What is an idle mind if not the workshop of the rumors, rumors that gave birth to suspicion between two brothers and later contaminating the whole society with hate.
Indeed rumors are Lucifer and pregnant with ignorance, and ignorance is never a defense but a bullet fired without recoil only to destroy the future, and to shamefully tell the world that sword is more powerful than the pen yet the pen puts a clause and instills war and battle fire with fire, ashes to ashes in prying eyes of the metric world that fall with mediocrities of the world above putting a silent mode to the test and screams
IF ONLY I KNEW.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
Things Two & One
bring the greatest of fun
flying kites inside days
of icicle rain
sure, their messes
are of epic proportions
but so are subsequent
clean-up forays
author-architecting
an illustrative lesson:
it’s OK to make messes
they’re classes to master
skills of the pristine
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
I was a blank book. Within me, you wrote a beautiful love story.
Filled my pages with illustrative words and added a hint of mystery.
And then you stopped without finishing the end,
Turned me into a masterpiece, over which the lovers lament.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 3:22 AM UTC