"imparting" poems
I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky
So you will be reflected in every pool of light
And shimmer like a halo around every face
I want to distill your very nature
Wear it like a perfume on my skin
Letting it permeate my every pore
Seeping
Inside
Me
To my very core
I want to reach inside your chest
To unfasten your heart
And swallow it whole
So it will beat forever in tandem next to mine
Each beat imparting
Every word
You could never say aloud
Love
Want
Need
Mine
Please
Please
Your eyes are by far my favorite
Two sparkling jewels
Hidden like a holy secret
Underneath your veil of lashes
One look and you
Undo me,
Unravel me,
Undress me
Again, again.
Behind my lips
I keep your kiss
My smile suggesting a clandestine wish
Only you possess the key
To unlock me
Turn it slowly
So I may relish the twist of my womb
And the fire that travels up my spine
To light my eyes
So that you will know
What you
Must
Do.
I want to cut you up in little pieces
And scatter you amongst the sky.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
~
*Lost inside a labyrinth
Tight-lipped tinkerer
open-mouthed cynosure
Pressing matters completing their circuit
all things said, but not spoken
Osculated locution, succinct phrasing
released, but not heard
The human element imparting
seminal spark
—together felt and touched
A tingling syntax
owing to its art
becoming its nucleus*
~
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
*stellar direction in undulating terrain
punctuated by meteoric columns of infinite light
imparting a clutching embrace to the face of now
lunar reflections form a fluid nocturnal path
to an osculated gateway of fertile encompassment
culminating in breathless pillows of untabled silence
stars without fault grace the expressive heavens
while muted words gaze out through rooftop eyes
cascading over living stone in waterfalls of emotional geodes*
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Upon this wizened, ancient lyre
I'll sing the ballad of the Roses, till I tire
Each one of them a blessing true
Working diligently for the life of every one of you
A true Rose is a beating heart
In which lust for justice bubbles, brews
In Parliament, they call them Labour
But a Rose is anybody whose heart harbours
A love of life and all it's creatures
Considering the workers to be teachers
Imparting the wisdom of their experience
Marx, the most exquisite of their preachers
His words shine bright and cast a light
Upon the path of destiny, he predicts workers delight
But not before the struggle, toil
The quest for righteousness embroils
All human hearts in earnest endeavour
Across the worlds sands and soils
O rustic Roses, I worship and adore you
If you have time, allow me to implore you
To see yourselves the way I see
Creatures of brilliance and majesty
Who devote themselves to the truest fight
For workers wage and workers right
Long may your light shine at me
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.
Who else got the fire in imparting?
or …
did theirs even start a single spark since then?
Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.
And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?
Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.
And you
You seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.
Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!
And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.
Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?
Get Ripley’s here!
Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!
©Glenn L. Sentes
February 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
Imparting knowledge and skills on
self-management in your children
should top all your priorities
open yourself to them
be deep in their hearts
In parental love and kindness
teach, guide and advise them
about the value of self-management
taking care of themselves
must be done on a daily basis
Washing eyes properly
brushing their teeth
brushing their hair
changing ***** clothes
looking into the mirror after dressing
Should you enable your children
in managing ther own lives
they shall grow into
responsible future citizens
in charge of their own destiny.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
Hail to Thee, Immortal Three
Knowledge we sing on laud
Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates
Philosophy, to be human awed
Teach through time, consciously
Nod not, what others fraud
Socrates taught, Divine Being
God not of brutal Athens’ passions
Entity of Beauty, Truth Seeing
Goodness unseen in day’s fashions
Soul for unalloyed agreeing
Lessons humanities’ compassion
Talk eternal justice, everlasting life
Socrates’ Sovereign Right of Reason
Clearly mind deceived sense’s strife
Invincible perfection be God’s season
Thus, our key to knowledge ever rife
Priests who find this, absolute treason
No church or Socratic school
A barefoot man roamed to teach
Socrates mocked for looking a fool
His speech not one to simply preach
Plato witnesses a martyr’s drool
Cruel hemlock, words did so breach
Handsome aristocratic youth Plato
Followed Socrates’ Eternal Wisdom
But soon to find his own credo
In Medara to find Euclid and freedom
Egyptian geometry to provide dado
To Plato life, expression; not a system
Eternally an artist, Plato did develop
Philosophic circle in Academus groves
Bring Athens, world knowledge envelop
Discretions of sensations, be not oaths
What man may be, an animal jealous
Plato’s allegorical cave found in droves
As Plato once be Socrates’ disciple
So too, to Plato would Aristotle be
Passing comprehension archetypal
Successions of genius’ visions do see
Aristotle taking it step further, as vital
To science of hands-on discovery
And this is where we see a parting
Of two distinctly opposing philosophies
Plato being at odds, with science starting
Aristotle’s truth, finding no apologies
Things not happening by chance imparting
Frivolity of duopoly, dichotomy to Socrates
But a new era has surely now dawned
Science exploring an invisible atom
And the seen and unseen correspond
So to Aristotle’s, Plato’s, Socrates’ datum
Brilliant new philosophies have spawned
An abstract notion of conceived stratum
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
*My darling little one I am tasked.
Tasked with the idea of imparting what I know.
It might not all help,
But it is what I wish I knew.
If you don’ t already;
Pretend you like yourself,
Because if people think you are untouchable
They won’t attempt to approach you and tell you the negative things that you already tell yourself.
Take the time to listen to classical music,
You will like Toccata and Fuge in Dmin,
Trust me.
Don’t regret anything;
You are who you are because of what you have done,
Even if you don’t like the person you are now,
Use the present as a catalyst to become who you picture yourself being.
Fall in love with weird people.
They are a different type of person
And you learn much about how the mind works from them.
Pick up the ukulele.
It is bright and happy.
But only do this after your long stint as a metalhead.
People can say what they want,
But you have to be talented for metal
And if anyone knows about community and looking out for their own it is metalheads.
It is okay to be unhappy-
Even now I don't have the hang of this one.
But maybe someday
Maybe someday.
My tiny shining star,
The world will be cruel to you,
But it will be kind if you let it.
Take in the little things that give you joy.
But your Mum and I cannot wait,
To see the joys you experience
And the mistakes you make,
Because I will be waiting with tea and gumboots
And your Mum will be waiting with blanket forts and chocolate
And probably a better solution.
You will be an unstoppable force in this world
And I couldn't be more excited to meet you*
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
Writing always seems more urgent
When it's written in italics,
Even when the topic,
Is rather mundane.
Consider this example:
I like to eat sandwiches
Furthermore, everything
Seems much more urgent,
When written in bold font,
We revisit the example:
I like to eat sandwiches
...and a step even further,
Writing seems absolutely
Crucial when written in,
Bold font, with caps-lock,
Once again, we recapitulate:
I LIKE TO EAT SANDWICHES
At this point, it seems as though
I am imparting unto you matters
Of the utmost severity, that could
Be the difference between life and death,
...but really, I just like sandwiches.
This amuses me.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
Sleep beckons.
I could close my eyes and call it a day.
Lie down and die – maybe dream
Of all that was unaccomplished.
But with dreams there comes no guarantee.
Compensation for dissatisfaction?
Rebuke for procrastination?
There might be none,
Or some that I might not even remember.
Life is meaningless.
We are but sparks: destined to fade away.
This isn't a game, there are no rules.
No prosecution for any infringement.
I choose to while away at a make believe game
With make believe rules.
But I play fair,
Lest I should be judged by me.
I granted myself the liberty
Imparting meaning to my existence.
Meticulously building a façade.
Filling the void that I was born into.
One reckless step and it might all collapse-
Life, rules, beliefs-
A heap of nothingness at square one.
This choice-
The liberator from the drudgery of existence-
Is the one that binds me.
So I force myself to stay awake
For a few more hours each night.
Trying to get the blocks in place.
Convincing myself that what lies ahead is all pleasure.
Will it be reward enough
For all that I have suffered and lost
At my own game?
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
why keep people in prison
for their whole life wasting away
when they could be going through
mandatory flight training
for a one-way trip to deep space
who wouldn't want to do that?
people would commit felonies
just to be chosen; & everyone
would understand: like, why did
he **** his whole family? -
he wanted to go into space; oh..
no volunteers will be accepted:
[I've been trying to get into solitary
for years, but they won't let me;
seems u can't just walk up to a cop & say,
I'd like to go to jail please; doesn't work;
u might get into the nut house,
which is okay for bed rest, narcotics & casual ***
but if u want to relax & just read,
it's annoyingly rigid;
solitary confinement would be more spiritual;
isolation, darkness, light, self, emptiness;
living inside a stone cube, just meditating;
day in day out night after night of pure consciousness -
one-way space travel would certainly build character;
if u want to live;
& not self-destruct;
the longer u're out there
the more advanced earth technology becomes
until one day when u're so far out
u can't see the Milky Way, a Space Agent arrives
to check up on u & bring much desired supplies;
"What's **** look like now?"
"What?"
"How much time has passed on earth?"
Temporal equation: the mechanical man speaking
in computer code replies: translating light
into quanta, distorting time so the curious prisoner
can see in virtual 3D artificial reality; so much time
elapsed he can't understand a thing; language purely
visual, people silent;
moving & not moving
but drifting in & out, coming
& going; transient shadows
indistinguishable from the
advertising background;
back in the comfort of cramped life-support,
wide electronic-data screen
windows, mechanical man implants
the virtual reality device all creatures
have now; download completely liberating
the body from mind functioning in its own
sphere; ****** functions taken over by
nanocurcuitry imparting semblance
of spacial autonomy, electrified zombies;
as one after another pulls his plug.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me to the ground
hammer me
hammer me
with your hard hitting pound
hammer me
hammer me
hammer till I cry
hammer me
hammer me
blacken both my eyes
hammer me
hammer me
break my jaw with your clenched fists
hammer me
hammer me
so my face contorts and twists
hammer me
hammer me
I so enjoy the bruising pain you dole out
hammer me
hammer me
with your forceful clout
hammer me
hammer me
so that I bleed most profuse
hammer me
hammer me
keep imparting your gross abuse
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
harvesting parts from my garden of carnage
farming the darkness of my own catharsis
revealing the marks regarding the tarnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist
how many times have i died?
to show the "i" that i am inside
nothing to hide, i'm cut open wide
these lines of rhymes are my suicide
embarking on journeys to harness the farthest
charting the course that startles the smartest
imparting a sparkle with scars as a garnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
We, at various points in life,
draw a line
in the sand.
Marking where we've been,
where we stopped
to never venture forward.
Winds bring change no lines
can withstand. And we draw
them again in defiance.
We eke meaning from this sand
that would otherwise
mean nothing to us. Imparting
our own ideologies
onto an unresponsive medium
as a testament
to ourselves. Our independence.
The sand is most susceptible to change,
shifted constantly
by the sea, our feet,
the wind.
Still, we draw our lines anyway.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 7:36 PM UTC
Sitting alone, but in the company of culture
Smiling.
The throbbing crowds
The chatter and clatter of cutlery.
Here amongst his own kind
Eager tourists.
Content in their unspoken bond.
But once in a while,
A couple leans over, American.
They break the vow of blissful silence.
Navigating the tricky meander of
Polite but broken conversation.
They share stories of sites,
Experiences,
Imparting knowledge and tips.
The Kellner comes with his meal.
He whips out his tourist guide,
‘Is that beef?’
The Kellner trembles as he struggles
For the word and
He quickly tugs the arm of another
For an explanation.
The tourist points to his book
‘Is it that?’
The Kellner agrees.
This compromise satisfies all
We all continue on our merry way.
The Tourist with his meal and book
The clatter and chatter continue.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
Laying as a foetus
Insensate
Transform with rigor
Punctuate in loss
Ballad of fate
As a marionette
Automata
Permuting ones ego
Rote in distraction
Panacea we chase
Venerable
Peculiar transition
Scrupulous mind
Chromatically alive
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
Prayers answered by
Echoes of themselves imparting
No advice,
Repetitions of the question
Asked over again
Whispering softer
Each time it is refracted.
No thunderous voice from clouds agape
To shed light through stormy skies
Or seas parted to pave the path.
Spread the blood of the martyrs and
The Lamb across my door,
God does not live here, anymore.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
I got my ears plugged
Eyes tight
And
Lips shut
Reluctantly refusing
Self alluring truth
Profusely inviting
Petty captivating lies
Reinventing exits
To build refuges
Soothing fugitives
Before the hurricane rise
Are we daydreaming
When the sun's ray shines
Or are we relieving
Among the moon night sky
Promises burying hatchet
Imparting forgotten hatred
Cycling seems to be reversed
Rewinding lost tapes reserve
All this delusions inverse
Contrary motions now swerves
Hallucinating angles preserved
For I shall ink no further
The truth of this lies tethered
As this true blue love leaves
Incepting my stray mind free
©2014 Maman Screams
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart
comes: it howls in thy empty court.—Ossian.
I
Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choak’d up the rose, which late bloom’d in the way.
II
Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
III
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.
IV
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
V
On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.
VI
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.
VII
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
’Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.
VIII
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!
1.4k
I wished you could've met my beloved
Mary-jo-anna while she still lived among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways
Her eyes could see through any secretive soul
Her fragrance would soothe any pensive nerve
She'd make every meal a gastronomical delight
Her embrace would cradle me to a blissful sleep
Her mind could cure the most torturous disease
She'd make every tune a sensuous delight.
Life was wonderful for us indeed
When Mary-jo-anna was still among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways
But she fell foul foul eventually, of our Big Brother
For she showed the people his hypocritical ways
Exasperated! he conspired with the village elders
To drive her away, with lies about her “devious ways”
She's now an exile among the sages, hidden away
Imparting on them her wisdom and wondrous ways
While our village degrades to hatred and hypocrisy
Under the thumb of Big Brother's oppressive ways
The people are awakening to what they have done
And long to have Mary-jo-anna among us again
Free among her people and free from ridicule
To impart on us her wisdom and wondrous ways
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Eternity
It turns me so gently
In a moment
I felt the crash of waves
breaking on shores of our past.
An ageless zephyr speaking silence,
imparting truths ever clearer than the last.
In a moment
I witnessed a presence of self
that was static and, yet, yielding to the motion.
Feelings flowed and I dared to experience,
wading through a river called emotion.
In a moment
I knew that I knew nothing
of certainty and its incarnations.
Though if in my doubt is fate assured,
let my anxious heart melt into patience.
In a moment
I found only this moment
And it turned me, again
Eternally
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
Not many would better understand than me the meaning of first hand serving experience.
I volunteered and used to teach in a group called 'Swapan' (run by the social service group Nishqam of CITM Faridabad, now known as MRIU) which undertook imparting laborers' kids free education.
I don't believe in donating because I don't earn yet, but I volunteer whenever I am able to go out to their world. I just wait for the right time I get to be in contact with such people.
What I did in Swapan program was more than just teaching; we used to take care of their health by getting them periodic vaccination, by having them attend a regular school near our college, getting their fees deposited, organizing events for mustering funds for the same and many more.
But at the end of my 2nd year I met a serious accident, just prior to my 4th semester B.Tech-Biotech exams which pushed me into a 23 day coma; I was close to death. But I didn't lose my spirit even after I came back to my senses.
As the path of destiny had it, CITM became MRIU which didn't continue with the MDU degree I'm currently enrolled into. So I was made to shift colleges and go to Rohtak for college since then and there was no such opportunity anywhere in close proximity.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
I dream a reoccurring dream
One that luckily frequents
I walk into a little dive bar
It smells of smoke and whiskey
I sit a table with three gentlemen
They happen to be outlaws
These aren't ordinary outlaws
They are the men that set the bar
There is the Man in Black
Next to him is good ol Waylon
Next to Waylon is No Show Jones
These men have seen it all
I sit down and order a glass of bourbon
They treat me like an old friend
They share their stories
Imparting wisdom I could never imagine
From the pain, the woe and the happiness
I take a lot with me
They tell me not to go soft
Stay the course, be who you are
As I finish the bourbon, I shake each of their hands
Giving them my honest thanks
I am an outlaw
And I hope to fill their boots one day
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Sifting through throngs of ordinary people
Feeling the sweat run down your spine,
Knowing that somewhere, lost in the nowhere
Penniless thoughts are sweeping your mind.
Whispering breezes caress the deep valleys
Towering aspens reach for the sky
Loveliness stretches across the whole landscape
And ordinary people live life as they die.
The everyday actions of ordinary souls
Which gather like old leaves in piles at your feet,
They billow and flow like windblown confetti
And lay there like derelict snow in the street.
The passion and pain that flow through the lifeway
The highs and the lows that paint in your mind
Magnificent portraits of colour and texture
That render your eyesight effectively blind.
You scream at the hollowness, vacantly pulsing
Thrash at the emptiness shimmering there,
Long for the avalanche of substance returning
Long for the touch of her long golden hair.
Swim through the morass of ordinary people
Wade through the ordinary thoughts that live there
Making the most of the moments of lightness
Through quivering lips you discard despair.
Dancing in puddles and splashing through gutters
Cascading on through in a frivolous way,
Tossing your mane with a smile built on vapour
Dispelling your cares like windblown hay.
To gasp for air in the turquoise downtime
****** out your palms apon your knees,
Feel your chest convulse with effort
These flooding tensions gush to ease.
Whispering nothings are echoing softly
Silkily wafting from this side to there
Imparting the message that life is worth living
And crimson & scarlet diffuse in the air.
This ordinary day has done it’s thing now
Temperate airs have cooled to chill,
Vistas fade into the distance
Starlings flock upon the hill.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
18 January 2008
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 3:57 PM UTC
Tell me a story, or I won't even blink,
I want you to take me to worlds that I
think I could find beauty in, places
to hide deep within like an inside
joke, or a laugh, or a path
to take into Neverland,
a bridge to Wonderland,
any land
as long as I can have you in it.
Tell me a story, fill my sinuses with stink,
I want to feel the ship I want to smell
the brink of desperation, to feel
a strange, secure, separation to
myself, filled with a wealth of
nonsense knowledge, take me
through foliage and laugh as I
bask in a seething sun,
come on, let's go, I crave fun.
Tell me a story, help me taste a
waste of time, I want to laugh a
rhyme and commit the crime
of uselessness and happiness and
bonkerness and silliness and fun
watch me run into a field of fantasies
tongue sampled teas and
smile at simplicities'
sanctuary.
Tell me a story, and allow me to touch
a part of your mind you let
locked away, darling, parent, sibling,
quibbling cognitive miser
tell me a story and you'll end up
wiser for knowing it, for imparting
it, let's party it and part with the
sweetest words of goodness,
I could hear from you
To be continued
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC