"mastered" poems
This letter is truly and doubtlessly a letter to the only person who will be left when everyone else is gone. To the woman of my life. To my love, my life, my everything. To me.
Dear me,
You, the way you are, are perfect. You, with your little struggles you bear, with all the strength you carry so desperately around, finding a way to use it in your everyday life. You, with all your words stuck in your throat that you are so scared to say out loud – so you write them down.
You, with your smart-ass-mouth trying to make this world a better place. You, who has already realized that you must better yourself first to better others. You are all through perfect in your own way.
And yes, times were tough back then, but you were tougher. You mastered to overcome your biggest fear – the fear to stand for what you want and to love yourself entirely.
And even though, your selflove has improved so much over these past few years, you must learn a lot, you will have to endure a lot of pain and gain a lot of strength.
Selflove is a lifetime process.
My wonderful, beautiful love,
You carry mountains on your back and universes in your mind.
And every single day you wake up you are a better version of yourself.
Whatever you wish to do – do so! This is your life and you have to hold the upper hand in it. You have to be your own master.
Yes, let life be taught by others. Watch them live, but never become someone else while observing.
God did his best in making you special and unique – do not destroy his work of art in imitating.
Learn.
Observe.
Master.
Once you can rely on yourself, you are ready to change the world.
The world is waiting for you to make it the place it deserves to be.
A good place, a place with no fear, with no terror.
A place people can feel secure and loved.
Make this not only a vision but the reality.
Do your best and whatever you have reached at the end of the day – you DID your best.
You were great, and you could not have done any better.
I am proud of you.
And I love you.
To the dearest, most beautiful person on this planet, me.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
I am adept
In the art of being okay
I have mastered the craft
Of covering my troubles
I use all sorts of fancy facades
Acrylic, oil, watercolor
You name it.
I can paint over nearly anything
You will never know
How late I was up last night
Or why.
My eyes flicker
Like candlelight
But you couldn’t see
You couldn’t possibly see
I’m too good
For that.
I can dance, too
Waltzing away my sorrows
Carefully tip toe-ing the
Pas-de-I-am-fine
I get a standing ovation every time
I’m very talented, you see.
But my all time favorite
Is my disappearing act
I’m still perfecting it
Right now
But one of these days
I’ll show you
How I
Slip
Slip
Slip
Away
Right through your fingers.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
I know birds and bees
And magnificent trees
I have seen them on TV
I have climbed mountains
Despite my fear of heights
And have also mastered digital tides
There is nothing I don’t know
And nowhere I can’t go
There is nothing I need
Besides my 24/7 live feed
I have met some women
The greatest ones I’ve ever seen
Sitting inside my computer screen
And my conversations are special
Intelligent and profound
Now that I don’t need to make a sound
There is nothing left to lose
And everything left to gain
There is nothing left untold
In my digital utopian world
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
1
Backwater nymph,
queen of serpentine black tresses
flaunting its coconut oil gleam;
envy of leggy girls from the Western ghat mountains,
and lissome maidens from the plains,
who can never eat as much fish, even if they wish.
Wearing hibiscus flowers,
on coiffure like hood of a king cobra,
your coral lips silently speak
of hot peppery kisses,
waiting for me at shaded corners.
Your sultry body in me arouses desires,
that could only be whispered in your ears.
2
On a coconut lagoon when we met,
for the first time and spoke,
non stop, as if we knew each other life long,
I heard music in your words.
Oh! in the tongue you spoke,
I heard the cadence of a nightingale
ecstatic, on its wings above the clouds,
love had prompted us to fly above the storms.
Your gleaming coal black eyes,
like silver hooks, tug at my heart strings,
that makes music, only I can hear,
you are a free flying lark,
above Kerala's lush coconut coast,
that extends from sea shore to the mountains.
3
**When we relished steaming brown rice,
mixed with clarified butter,
with spicy tuna curry, tasting so dainty,
cooked in bubbling sweet coconut milk,
my eyes like two crazy butterflies
circled your face, a blossomed Champak*.
Mashed cassava and roasted squid,
melted on our tongues,
in a perfect culinary language
any one would understand without effort.
4
Your lips had cinnamon scent,
spice land's boons,
when we kissed we touched heaven
of scents and spicy tastes.
When our eyes fell on each other,
near the ancient synagogue,
the hay days of which is over,
a long jasmine garland coiling your hair,
marked you different,
from the the ladies of your neighborhood,
surrounding you.
How well you did pretend
that you have never seen my face before!
You have mastered love's cunning,
and all the wily tricks to cheat
the enemies of our fiery love
my Freudian mind perfectly understood.
Just imagine the brouhaha we would invite,
when we elope, in the last boat,
to Alappuzha, stealthily at midnight.*
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
348
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I’m accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though—
I thought If I could only live
Till that first Shout got by—
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me—
I dared not meet the Daffodils—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own—
I wished the Grass would hurry—
So—when ’twas time to see—
He’d be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch—to look at me—
I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they’d stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me?
They’re here, though; not a creature failed—
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me—
The Queen of Calvary—
Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums—
14.6k
You seeing me rapping will never happen
Before that I’ll start cappin
Walk off like nothing happened
Since I’ve mastered this art of war
I tend to take things too far
Don’t give a **** who you think you are
Your rap handle doesn’t exist anymore
My rhythms galore, your rhythms manure
Best left in a bag
On your steps
At your front door
Hottest your rap crap will ever get
I’m so polished this is a blemish not a scrimmage
I treat you little *******
Like a teacher’s pet
Up against a Vietnam war vet
Giving you your first shoots
Flipping the script
Double barrel twelve gauge extended clip
Special grip pressed against your lip
Having a hard time talking ****
A pistol whip left your tooth chipped
Fake rappers rapping hard
No street creed; they ain’t legit
This wack imitation ****
Got me ****** off
Don’t get me started
you rip offs should get lost at all cost
dealing with a real boss I can handle a loss
Testing me lyrically, you must be previously ********
Now you are dearly departed
I’m styling on you I’m wilding
Bloodline of Goliath
So go ahead start a riot
With my mic on autopilot
You can get chewed like trident
Eating wack MC’s
essential part of my diet
this ain’t even a battle verse
it’s a gift and a curse
running its course
on my high horse
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Most schools have projects, in science classes and such.
Most of us, mastered the science of surviving in projects.
It's those at the bottom who need the most help, but cant even get proper school supplies.. where's the logic ?.
But oh, the rags to riches story is prevalent isn't it? Nope, the only rich I know is Professor Richard.
And that's not even something worth mentioning, he does more lessening than lessons lets paint the picture..
But these young kids don't understand, they try to curse them, place them in prisons, its a trap from birth..
Give them these Rick Rosses as role models, knowing they don't have fathers, instead of Tupac Shakur, showing them worth..
My bestfriend Tony once questioned his dark skin, just like i once questioned my brown.
how profound, a couple 4th graders at the time, having to prove that they were "down".
Crazy how Tony proved he was down, now i visit his site yearly on November the third.
And things aren't getting better, but nobody gives a **** haven't you heard..
The prayers our mothers chant, ritually every night.
Praying to the Sun gods, perhaps one day we'll all unite.
-afj
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental **********
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy **** or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
11.1k
1. I just couldn't stop myself from falling and suddenly realized, I didn't want to.
2. Thank you for making my time feel worth something.
3. This is the third time I've wrote this and it still doesn't explain much...I'm sorry.
4. I haven't slept for two weeks because of you and I hope you still think I'm cute with these bags under my eyes.
5. All the ***** couldn't drown my love for you and never once did it make me forget your name; only my own.
6. There are over one million thoughts going through my head everyday, and I still haven't mastered the art of putting them on paper but maybe one part of this will mean something.
7. It's hard for me to explain what's going through my head right now...but I've thinking about you all night.
8. I just had to say this before it was too late but hell, I'm barely on time for class each day.
9. I wanted to wait for the perfect time, but that wait would last forever.
10. I don't know how to be alone and I hoped someday that you'd fill in the empty space in my bed.
11. My hands are shaking and I don't know if I am scared, nervous or anxious; but I know this time I won't chicken out.
12. I just had to get this weight off my chest and god, I almost forgot what it was like to really breathe.
13. I am tired of being afraid.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.
* * *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?
* * *
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.
* * *
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.
* * *
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.
* * *
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.
* * *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
(Villanelle)
It takes patience to wait for the perfect light.
Glance away and the image can disappear.
And sometimes the background isn’t quite right.
The moment missed is like a face out of sight
That against all logic we hope will appear
From around a corner, bathed in perfect light.
Or a pause in the music on a moonlit night
When hesitating lips touch, and love leans near,
But voices whisper that something’s not right.
Technology offers consolation in its sleight
Of hand: Digitally correct the analog *here
And now*, counterfeit the perfect light.
Yet we want more than the mastered byte.
We want the flash between the waiting and the souvenir,
The instant when self and spectacle fuse, reality felt right.
And so we hold on to what’s passing out of sight,
The collision between soon and too late, the sheer
Thread connecting to the perfect light
In which the background is precisely right.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
When you come face to face with your own mind
Is all you find, growing wild within
Are your eyes seeking to find
The Golden Fleece
Once again
Are you suddenly fleeing where clouds have gathered
With a burning candle raised on high
Wondering if you have mastered
This profound race of life
Not a tear, you cry
Do you continue walking within opposing views
Saving certain parts of all you find
Thinking surely it’s up to you
To tame the wildness
In your mind
When you come face to face with your own mind
Can you gaze upon the wildness and smile
Not give a care if the fleece you find
Yet enjoy the journey
All the while
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 9:05 AM UTC
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice
Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing
There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching
Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision
Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry
Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo
Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven
Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever
With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match
There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink
Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers
Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn
Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while
I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered
Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward
It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but
two left feet
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
“what are your special skills?”
well—
lately i have mastered the art
of silent tears
and wordless crying,
shuddering breaths
instead of wracking sobs.
my eyes don’t even get red.
if i do it right,
i have the exclusive ability
to break down in a full room
without anyone noticing.
also,
i can brush my weak gums in front of the mirror
and watch blood drip onto my uneven teeth
without flinching.
last,
i can give the best i have
every time
and still my brain can convince me—
worthless.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
I feel every emotion too deeply; they're a dagger to my heart,
and I'm too sensitive - it only takes one tiny trigger for me to fall apart.
Sometimes it feels as though I'm not a real being;
convinced reality is a figment of my imagination that I'm seeing.
I started to litter my body with scars from the innocent age of ten,
I haven't stopped although I am nineteen now - things just haven't changed since then.
I made my first attempt at the tender age of just twelve years old,
and to this day another fourteen have occurred; by this inner demon I'm controlled.
A patient in a psychiatric hospital 6 days after my eighteenth birthday,
after swallowing a cocktail of pills and alcohol wanting to die away.
But...
I am someone with raw passion that flows through my veins
and my curiosity and adoration for the world around me remains.
I have mastered the art of living in the moment and doing the things that matter to me;
and I'm full of devotion and determination to be the person I'm destined to be.
I use poetry as an expression of all that I feel and I am made of linguistic creativity,
and I love deeply without reservation everything and everyone around me.
So although I may have borderline personality disorder as a part of me,
I am still a kind-hearted and passionate person who wants to be the best she can be.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
once again she has mastered the art of getting stuck in the same empty room
the one in which she ends up in after a rough night
the intoxicated water streaming down her throat
and down the most sincere part of any women
flowing through every blood vessel
he grips her thighs
she accepts the hand shake
the welcome
the greeting
instead he is the one coming in
she serves tea coffee and truffles
around the house she is the tour guide
she opens the door to a room with double locks
as she is putting her clothes back on
he leaves
without a uttering a simple goodbye thank you
or ill never forget this
as she walks back into the room in her mind where he first sat
she notices the dust on the full plates and glasses
coffee untouched
tea untouched
truffles going bad
and she thinks to herself
how could I do such a thing
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
birth,
Man mastered the mammoth and horse, and Man was the
Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of an holy tree,
He compassed the earth therein, and Man was the Lord of
the Sea.
He controlled the vigour of steam, he harnessed the light-
ning for hire;
He drove the celestial team, and man was the Lord of the
Fire.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs
of the æeons declare
The last of the demons defeated, for Man is the Lord of
the Air.
Arise, O Man, in thy strength! the kingdom is thine to
inherit,
Till the high gods witness at length that Man is the Lord
of his spirit.
6.4k
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”
(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
*“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”*
(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”
Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?
Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…
Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances
(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated
Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
What is being intelligent?
Is intelligent being a person who’s a prestige's individual that mastered every curricular course
And can solve every question with no hesitation
Or
A person with Down syndrome, Autism, Mental Retardation, etc…
That has a unique characteristic that makes them who they are and do things other people can’t?
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
confidence
something I've not yet mastered
confidence is only doable
when I'm plastered
confidence
says more than words themselves
confidence is a book
that I tucked on the highest shelves
confidence
the unread page
confidence in the book of social skills
why learn it when I've got these pills?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Inspired by Disney's magical kingdom,
And enchanting fantasy tales,
You've reached the learning age of five,
Leaving precious memories, deep in my heart,
Like dainty little footprints, upon a trail.
Since the first day you entered my classroom,
Shying away, in a world of your own,
And nearly in tears,
Waiting to be picked up,
And taken back home.
But you gradually surpassed this fear,
Allowing me into your life,
As I reached out with dedication,
And unconditional love,
Opening the door to your future, and watched you strive.
By quickly learning your ABC's, 123's, colors,
Sounds, and mastered the writing of your name quite early,
Including other tasks, and now it may sound effortless,
But it's a gift you've certainly gained,
And today, I'd like to wish you a safe and successful journey.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
After I graduated, I thought about two things,
I’m certified, I am now apart of “the people”,
(And)
All I have to do is make a choice and I’ll find success,
Gave it my best, “no test?”; I had to teach,
No stress, I had to be,
The O next to the V,
The ego; “which is me”
(Wait)
V+V=4, it’s a six thing; you know love without the zeas,
But with the zeal; well; Overcoming Variables was never a test,
-Or a problem; I speak geometry, I took 2D, made it 3D, and that was simultaneously; how could I not be the best…
(What is a, reiteration?)
Two lovers, Zodiac signs,
Balanced is equivalent to love,
Be here, focus on now,
Now look up the meaning of dove…
If you think linear, you saw the O next to the V,
If you think like me, you saw the six steps in between,
I had to put my ego beside me or else I couldn’t teach,
That only happened because I met a woman who was a reflection of me,
It literally was a zodiac thing, that type of thing sparked protection with/in me;
There’s no uncertainty in my reality; I’m certainly certain,
I don’t see nature Changing,
I see people Loopin,
“Why” the (people) Shooting;
Their mind: This isn’t Workin;
Knowing for a fact; the solution occurs during the attempt; in working,
(Cliff Swallow); People Symbolism;
Outcome, United is; if chirping…
Well… I’m just saying (it) worked,
Because I no longer have belief; I’m a knower,
I mastered Mind, no need to grow up,
Please don’t say –“show us the-”-because the waves not for us,
If for is four, I’m removing it; not us;
Notice; Not Only That, Us…
It’s time to meditate,
Breathe and wait;
Losing all my words; like I had no say,
I’ve been a wave cause I flow with waaaves,
Change is who I am… I’ll reiterate;
By 7th grade,
I was late,
Happiness was mad; I had to elevate,
When I graduate (-ed),
Thought: “I couldn’t make “it””
Happiness was sad; that’s why I elevated,
Didn’t have a voice; that’s why I hesitated,
Now I have no voice because I -
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
I'm just a pool table floating through the cosmos,
a snail racing in the indie 500.
I'm a mess, ******* on dirt, lying in a basement,
the Click! Now that I have mastered the click I can free my mind of all misconceptions.
I'm a grubby snail person.
Dos Bros Tacos,
served with a hard shell.
I'm a cigarette, trying to hold water in my mouth, and you're a jar, trying to make me spit it out.
I'm a vegan, with primordial urges,
a user, with blood rush surges.
I'm matter, quickly vibrating,
an organic compound, slowly decaying.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC