"impinges" poems
To fit well
into this scheme,
my slice of hell --
my wasted dream.
Never fit
the social stencil --
messy colors,
lines in pencil.
Could not see
that I was strange,
nor feel free
within their cage.
On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.
No context,
bridge, or adapter:
gender/sex,
and person after.
Categories
supersede
humanity
in word and deed.
Life between
the lines, beyond
median, mean,
and mode is odd.
On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Prologue
Flashes of a luminous glow
Swims like a Borealis across the sky.
The cold compelling breeze
Soothes my clammy skin.
A quiet rumbling,
Like the growl of angry hell hounds,
Anticipates the coming
Storm
The sky unleashes electric snakes
As the wind rips through houses and trees.
Sweeping rain impinges upon the earth,
Scrubbing the night clean
To claps of deafening thunder.
I stand, insignificant as a leaf,
And watch in awe
Of Divinity
Even as temple bells are chiming,
God has long left the altar to take a breath;
And in the wake of this night's monster
All is silent and dead.
It is strange
How such destruction calms my soul
And makes a hard atheist like me,
Hope.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
his mouth an infusion of lust,
eagerly impinges; suckling,
tasting as a kitten to milk.
playing in titillating wetness;
sliding tongue over fevered
flesh, leaving me blushed.
arched in desire…
laid back; glaze eyed,
licking delicacy of my essence ~
as I moan sweet and primal.
savoring labials to **** entering
sharp tongued cove of pleasure
widening thighs inch by inch.
our bodies immerge ******* hips
slow dips, locking lips muffling
sighs; drenching aches in rhythm.
a symphony of wood, soaked
tangled sheets losing ourselves
in ecstasies kiss; assuaging
hungered ***** unleashed
greed explodes; drenched in
trembling aches as we bend
into supplication of us.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
Evening's soul rests on dark, light, shades
even as shadows fall on streets
even as the drunk starts ululating.
Evening has a soul, and in it impinges
past.
In Evenings I just want thoughts to saunter.
Nascent. And in evening the ghoul starts talking
and the owl serenading. Dogs and ******* give moaning
catcalls, to signify their presence, that they are living
like me and you.
Evenings do a turn around as darkness spreads
into my body. I weave unbecoming fantasies.
Taking a blank paper for my mind to write.
Evening stares at philosophy, monotony
and rush of vehicles stampede thoughts.
Evenings go berserk with street lights
and quiet bonhomie.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen
Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character
Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”
With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken
Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue
In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser
Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling
Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling
Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows
Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter
Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
Once a baby Sky wanders in search of,
True love and peace in the universe.
‘
Spends many days and nights,
But does not succeed in his mission.
Suddenly he impinges against a dark Cloud,
Looking very dreadful like a monster.
Dark Cloud traps him into his clutches,
And gloats over an innocent baby Sky.
Terrified Sky, cries, yelps, shouts,
But finds no one to help him.
To release himself from clutches of Cloud,
Made every attempt but all in vain.
But had learned never to give up,
And struggles to keep his hopes alive.
Recalls the magic spells of his mother,
Perseverance, patience and passion.
Realizing his energy and mightiness,
Reaches at the zenith of his strength.
Whoops and roars on the monster,
As if Titanic were collided with an Iceberg.
Releases himself from clutches of monster,
Enthusiasm makes him win invincible battle.
Flies away to start next stage of his journey,
Exploring again love and peace in the universe.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Death, that lonely tarot card.
A silent grim specter
No one wishes to see.
It impinges upon the norm.
Egyptian curses scarier, more real.
Lacelike spider webs, the coldest steel.
Leafless trees, silhouetted against the storm.
Efficiently bringing portentous change.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
seasons are in a annual transitional mode
bright shades of summer now fast disappear
making way for autumns colors to explode
upon the tree branches mellow tones appear
russets deep browns and liquid amber tones
bright shades of summer now fast disappear
a time for recess where growth postpones
the waste of warmer days drifting around
russets deep browns and liquid amber tones
in the mornings lingering mists abound
gone are summer's brilliant azure tinges
the waste of warmer days drifting around
as months roll by winter's white impinges
a change of shade sits upon the land
gone are summer's brilliant azure tinges
the cycle of color patterns are never bland
a change of shade sits upon the land
seasons are in an annual transitional mode
making way for autumn's hues to explode
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
seasons are in an annual transitional mode
bright shades of summer now fast disappear
making way for autumn hues to explode
upon the tree branches mellow tones appear
russets deep browns and liquid amber tones
bright shades of summer now fast disappear
a time of recess where growth postpones
the waste of warmer days drifting around
russets deep browns and liquid amber tones
in the mornings lingering mists abound
gone are summer's brilliant blue tinges
the waste of warmer days drifting around
as months roll by winter's white impinges
a change in shade sits upon the land
gone are summer's brilliant blue tinges
the cycle of color patterns are never bland
a change of shade sits upon the land
seasons are in an annual transitional mode
making way for autumn hues to explode
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Dear ...
Yours is a post PhD thesis and sets us thinking about what life is but definitions are relative and subjective as philosophy and morality is not science--more by way of speculation and hypothesising. Truth is sui generis--we de-sanctify it by claiming we know it but it stands askance.
I would look at life in awe and in recognition of the limits of my own understanding, also in acknowledgement of my lack of maturity and perspicacity ---I shall not pre-empt bur rather live a day at a time-if lucky enough, I might learn to know a bit, just a tiny bit more ,of myself and my relation to life.
I do not need to have an answer to life's mysteries, complexities, nuances or its contradictions as my happiness and wellbeing does not rest on knowledge--I would deem myself lucky to have some oblique insight--to be able to see a moment in its intrinsic state is quite enough--though it is not enlightenment, a new consciousness would have dawned upon me as what was reflected by Blake in his AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE.
Whether life has meaning or not is definable only by personal experience, stripped of external influences or the ranting of writers and philosophers---it is the perennial 'I' and 'Life' that is the crux.
Existentialism is but a lonely and isolated way of looking at life and might be better suited for Western thinking in its vague and dubious search for answers to living unlike the Eastern which seeks to live in harmony with the self and the universe. As such, the West is Yang and the Eastern, Yin--the former involves struggle of the self, the latter is strife-free in its benign acceptance, acquiesce, humility, compassion and subjugation of the ego and not over-doing or over-achieving. That the West is bending more and more towards Zen, Taoism and Buddhism clearly shows a sharp shifting of thinking in espousal of Eastern wisdom.
Love is more real than life as it impinges upon me in my relation to those whom I love and also in my knowing I am loved in return.
It is not an abstraction like life or truth.
What shall save me at the end is not understanding nor knowledge
but rather in recognising I am but a ripple in the limitless vastness of the sea of life and my acceptance of such.
Do I make sense, dear Master?
My IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN--THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE (published by Brolga Publishing, Melbourne) is on sale in 14 countries under Lim-- for rating vide Lim Sing AbeBooks, et al.
It mentions, inter alia, existentialism, Camus and Sartre
with my deep esteem.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 11:59 PM UTC
Plum rain halts, river's still, sails fall
Isle's near, smoke's clear, wild **** soughs
By the dock, fishermen sing an old tune
I am home, far from Land of Shu
A dream, a song, two scores fly by
In a monk's thatched hut, I hear
the rain impinges upon the earth
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC
Poetry is much closer to music than prose, however lyrical the latter might be.
The latter impinges on the immediate senses while the former is of a much more subtle, profound, sublime and transcendental nature.
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 6:25 AM UTC