"incongruently" poems
A feather,
immaculately white,
with a hint of black at the edge,
incongruently shaped like a sword,
was lying orphaned on the third step,
as I descend.No one noticed it.
Or, what is there so special,
they would have thought.
I stopped to pick it up,
on an instinct, softness prompted,
or perhaps a wish waiting there,
far off in the dark corridor of mind,
a need badly felt,
while rubbing against,
rough edged time;
is it hope of a possible chance
of a caress. With a smile I turn,
serendipity starts its game then,
at that moment one least expected it.
No, I am wrong in saying that,
that moment was indeed ripe,
then only the meaning of the word
gets justified.
She was looking at me,
standing on a step, arresting her ascent,
transfixed, looking at the feather too, now and then,
as if it is a quill immersed in liquid magic,
I hold to write, something she would,
spell out, in a moment.
"Tell me" I turn playful,
sensing her mood in that glowing moment,
so rare,we share, that has a hidden significance,
I was certain.
**"That's the feather I dreamt last night" she stutters.
We feel the spell of serendipity,
binding our hearts at that moment.**
0O0
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
oh stone of my heart, can you blossom beautifully?
can you let your cracks heal even incongruently?
can you take a seed, and by the sunlit sea
watch the unfolding: lilacs and daffodils, on earth gray and green
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 7:03 PM UTC
In unconventional form my thoughts are not restrained,
nor is my curious charm, for neither shalt be tamed,
and those unchained thoughts fairer are
when incongruently arranged; and wilt be perceived by
sights power and the apprehension gained.
Therefore, against all burden I resist, and readily carry the
suppleness of my worthy bearing
-here where I literally speak no words in a
wordplay tryst unerring.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
A sleepy-eyed, soft cornered state of consciousness exists
before my brain synchronizes with my body’s motor functions,
before my eyes lose the filmy residual images of the distant places inside my head.
It seems so innocent, naïve even, this state,
lit dimly and incongruently by speckles and shafts through shuttered windows.
I love the way light behaves here;
the way it bounces off objects in interesting angles,
or diffuses gradually,
or hunts for hidden corners.
I love the way it highlights the peaks in sheets, but also emanates through them.
Or the way it rolls over arms and elbows,
cheeks and noses,
but leaves other areas steeped in dark shadows.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC