"letup" poems
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
41.9k
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
Palembang, 22 Juni 2011
Api itu hampir merajai waktu
Merenggut harta benda tanpa ampun
Mangarang tubuh yang sesepuh
Duduk pun terdiam di kursi besi butut
Kekuatan api bagai Sang Supernova
Membumbung tinggi tak ada yang terjaga
Meletup-letup bagai haus dan lapar
Tinggallah hamparan abu di senja tiba
Sebelum fajar menyingsing indah
Berisik di tengah jalan sirine mengulang
Langkah kaki mondar-mandir yang tentu arah
Bergotong royong pun dengan peluh dan baju basah
Ku duduk terdiam terpaku
Setengah melamun di sebelum senja muncul
Ku tersadar pun di tengah padam lampu
Dan ku lihat Monalisa tersenyum pada ku
Ku duduk bersimpuh di kaki
Menunduk dan berharap ini hanya mimpi
Dan aku bangkit tuk lihat situasi
Ku dengar mayat rapuh bagai tiada arti lagi
Tak mampu tumpah air mata
Hanya tubuh kaku mati rasa
Pikiran yang ingin selalu waspada
Mental ini rapuh butuh udara
Abu terasa di mana-mana
Terinjak, menyatu dengan tanah
Menutup mata kini selaalu terjaga
Menjaga hari tanpa Supernova
9 Juni penuh cerita
Di bawah tangisan dan panikan
Wanita memasak dan menjaga anak
Pria bahu membahu membangun rumah
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 1:26 AM UTC
Though monetary wise,
It doesn't promise to pay
I craft poems everyday,
For instance say
'Why my dream object,
To affections mine
Is adamant to reciprocate!'
The other way round,
Though to acquaintances
Absurd, it may sound,
Some, I have to spend
My poems to newspapers
Magazines and
Websites to send!
For love of the labour,
I will never
Letup the endeavour!
There is a
Great deal of satisfaction
From sitting hours,
To put words into action,
Racking brain
And stretching imagination,
From the earth's core and crust
To the sky and firmament!
At night, when all is quiet,
Till I hit the nail
Right on the head,
I will not repair to bed!
Reading poems
Has satisfaction
No less, for it affords,
Handshakes,with poets
Of all ages,
Poets with poems
Of all colour shades.
Probably the works
Of Shakespeare
That we hold dear!
What is more,Tagore.
In my duties
I will be remiss,
If I forget mention
Savo,Anna Akmatova,
Sara Teasdale
And Salomeja Neris.
Till getting a cherished corner
www.Allpoetry.com
www.poetrypoems.com
www.poemhunters.com
www.hellopoetry.com
www.writeoutloud.com
www.novelcollective.com
Ecstatic I was never!
Now I peruse the websites
Of contemporary poets,
Displaying poetical prowess!
I want to add of course
An east African voice!
Out, a poem to digest
One could make a descent
Into wisdom's pit,
So poem virgins
Why don't you go for it?
From my experience,
For uplifting poems
'Start with Helen Steiner Rice!'
It is my advice.
'It is by the brow of one's sweat
One could paint
The future with
A rosy pink,
Don't you think?
Sitting idle,
Dreaming a rose-bed
Is quite absurd!'
Reversing such mind set
Go for targets set!
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Pernahkah aku menjadi kembang apimu
Meletup-letup berirama
Mempesona penuh warna
Memantik rindu tak kunjung reda
Pernahkah aku menjadi senyummu
Segaris indah warna merah
Membentuk sudut surga
Di atas pipimu yang merona
Pernahkah aku menjadi bungamu
Harum mewangi walaupun sepi
Senyum melekat tiada henti
Bermekaran di relung hati
Atau
Apakah aku ini sedihmu
Terbendung oleh pelupuk
Membasahi mata cokelatmu
Tumpah menyusuri sudut matamu
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
Seven days straight, the sun rolls up,always from the same
side of town and just the same way it gives up and lays down
The same buses run on the same old routes.
No letup.
So dream a dream.
Next day,instant replay.
Know what ? I know the drill
Sunday.is like Halloween, Rubber faces and trick or treat with Reverend Ike.
Fire and brimstone. Please turn down ya cell phones.Pass the plate.
payola to heaven's gate.
Monday.Back on the grind, Blood,sweat and tears.
Grinding mental gears.Pop the clutch,Earn so little
Pay so much.
Tuesday.? just locked in. The Lotto is calling, cant win if ya dont play.
Teasin me bout easy street. Gimme my lump sum Then watch me fly.
Keep missin me with that later, greater noise.
Keep it real son.
Wednesday. Looking of into the sunset now.All ****** up
getting up for the down-stroke.Sweat of my brow. Feel me NOW ?
Take a deep breath blow out slow. If you dont tell it then the devil wont know.
Thursday. Gettin closer to shore,Go for your backstroke cause yer starting to
fade. In through the mouth and out through the nose focus your gaze on the
circling crows? Crows ?
Friday. Ah snap yer ends came up short. Tax man just waxin yer ***
Ghoulish?. Foolish. Some ends might not meet.
Sat-Day. Not so fat day. Pullin pocket lint by 6.PM.Chump changin.
is changin your mind. Gettin glimpses of stressin the old bump and grind On Moanday. ****
expletive deleted.
Stun-day. Hungday?
Rake your sh%@t in a pile day ?
No Doubt Assed out.
Hello... Monday.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
She only loved the way I made her feel. She didn't love me. Yet I'm okay with that, because I never loved her either. She was a temporary distraction in this eternally dull life. I guess she got something out of it too. She escaped her sad reality of always being alone, even if it was only for a little while. Yet I still wonder, why she keeps crying over my lifeless body. This stupid girl, were you so lonely that you made yourself believe that what we had was real? ...I hate that she keeps crying, it's been weeks since my death now. Why can't I pass on to the afterlife? She is probably the cause of my letup, I had thought. How much time has passed? Why can't I move on? Why can't she stop crying? Maybe she did truly love me... A single tear dropped from my right eye. Maybe I was truly inlove with her... I began to smile, and I thought to myself... "I guess I was the only one keeping myself back, from passing over to the afterlife. Goodbye my dear...." Yet I know she never heard those 3 words, that echoed from my lips as I began to pass on: "I l o v e... y o u."
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
Though monetary wise,
It doesn't promise to pay
I craft poems everyday,
For instance say
'Why my dream object,
To affections mine
Is adamant to reciprocate!'
The other way round,
Though to acquaintances
Absurd, it may sound,
Some, I have to spend
My poems to newspapers
Magazines and
Websites to send!
For love of the labor,
I will never
Letup the endeavor!
There is a
Great deal of satisfaction
From sitting hours,
To put words into action,
Racking brain
And stretching imagination,
From the earth's core and crust
To the sky and firmament!
At night, when all is quiet,
Till I hit the nail
Right on the head,
I will not repair to bed!
Reading poems
Has satisfaction
No less, for it affords,
Handshakes,with poets
Of all ages,
Poets with poems
Of all color shades.
Probably the works
Of Shakespeare
That we hold dear!
What is more,Tagore.
In my duties
I will be remiss,
If I forget mention
Savo,Anna Akmatova,
Sara Teasdale
And Salomeja Neris.
Till getting a cherished corner
www.hellopoetry.com
www.allpoery.com
www.writeoutloud.com
www.novelcollective.com
www.poemhunter.com
www.poetrypoems.com
Ecstatic I was never!
Now I peruse the websites
Of contemporary poets,
Displaying poetical prowess!
I want to add of course
An east African voice!
Out, a poem to digest
One could make a descent
Into wisdom's pit,
So poem virgins
Why don't you go for it?
From my experience,
For uplifting poems
'Start with Helen Steiner Rice!'
It is my advice.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
The numb feeling
It's back
I thought I was healing
But I've been hacked
The Demons came back meaner then ever
They have the upper advantage, even though I fight back
They have there hands on the grey lever
But they have something I seem to lack
My head is a dangerous place
Spinning with millions of thoughts and images
My head is acting like a dark cold locked case
Acting as though they can be characterized as erysipelas.
I scream and I shout
But my voice comes out silent and I am mute
Everything I learned as a defense starts to become a doubt
Everyone is giving me a shameful expression, kicking me aside with their boot
So instead as my defense I curl up
I hide from the world to avoid more pain
Waiting for someone to letup
Instead there’s just overwhelming distain
And I extinguish that old flame in me in submission
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
I warned that you that my head was too dark of a space to enter
I told you I'm a **** up - right down to my centre
I warned you that I am broken
Emotionally and mentally, I'm a burden
I guess that's why everything is all about me
I have these impulsive tendencies
If I feel fear or doubt
I lash out
I won't hang about
I'll speak in the moment
These impulses make me this poet
I find it hard to say what I feel
So I write it down before the ****
I warned you that I am a **** up
In my mind there is no letup
I told you I see things differently
Tis why I am eternally lonely
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC