"migrated" poems
As mother nature's
Punitive measure
Against a society
In maintaining
The statuesque
That doesn't bother,
Our rivers
Had become subject
To a water thirst,
To the extent
Of projecting
Rocky ribs
Terrifyingly protruded out
For easy count!
But now thanks to
The all-out, terrace making
And reafforestation effort
Of each catchment
Farmers have made a point
And also to the afforestation
Move of the government
Rivers aside from quenching
Their insatiable thirst
Have resumed
To brim over
With floods
Drinking water
To their hearts' content.
Our forests once stripped of
Their wooded cover
Have started, fast, to recover
From afar they are seen
Robed eye-catching green
From a fry-pan sky
Allowing a shelter
Also busy
Carbon to sequester.
Wild animals
That migrated
Have preferred
Back their way to find.
Now farmers don't have
Deep to dig
To sink a water well
Or find a nearby spring.
Birds are heard chirruping
Be it winter, summer or spring,
While Brooks bubbling.
Buzzing and hovering
From this to that flower
Bees are producing
Organic honey by the hour.
Promising a bumper harvest
Farmer's plots have
Fortunately continued
To resuscitate!
Those leaving
Their denuded abode behind
Away, who preferred
To stay
'We will return back
home soon! '
Is what
They say.
Happily enough
Mother nature
Affords us a second chance
Imbued with
Environment stewardship
If we are willing to mend
Our wrong 'Feast today
famine tomorrow! ' stance.
To dispel the spectre
Of climate change
And systematically face
The global challenge
True to the adage
'We have either to
swim together
or sink together! '
Hence in fighting the challenge
Or adapting to the change
Back scratching,
We have to be on the same page.
Indeed, irrigation must
Not slip our mind
For erratic rainfall
A lasting solution
If we must find.//
Once a famous Ethiopian Poet Pro.Debebe Seifu Who had passed away had penned down a picturesque poem lamenting the land degradation, deforestation and change of climate the country was suffering.The bad scenario seemed unrecoverable.Now a days Ethiopia is reversing that sad episode.I have therefore to write a poem on this
#change #trees #erosion #climate #deforestation #enviroment #degeradation #desertification
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
For seventy or more years TV
And radio ruled the world,
Along with telephones.
But then computers made their mark,
Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,
Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?
In no particular order.
So herds of sheep migrated
Into Cyberspace
Even Myspace!
Then on to Planet Facebook
And Terratwitter.
We talk with people we’ve never met,
And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.
It keeps us occupied I guess,
And gives relief from stress.
These images that yet fresh images beget,
I’m sure Yeats would agree.
I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face
And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.
A world of wonders beckons in
The depths of Cyberspace,
And as a Nerd before they were invented,
I have to say I’ve truly found my place.
Paul Butters
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
The butterflies have since moved, not migrated, but moved.
No trips planned ahead nor any reason to return.
Inside, the battle rages on:
To love, to forgive, or to forget?
Outside, experiences fill voids.
Like a Band-Aid on an open wound:
Temporary.
Love is a powerful tool.
Hatred is a powerful tool.
Indifference may be the most powerful.
That internal skirmish ceases and the external
emotional trips drift further and further away from that lonely island.
The move has been dramatic, yet necessary now.
At the start, it was a city;
Full of life and people and things to do.
Then the suburbs, less people, less things to do.
Next was the island: alone and isolated, but tranquility.
The homemade raft sets sail for a new destination.
Will it arrive in a bustling city port?
Or arrive at a small dock along a river?
The snake sheds it skin to begin anew.
Forget the genie and make your own bottle,
Write your own message,
And write your own history.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
The right winter
for dope and ice
for walks along the river route
home
The right winter
for arctic pin-prick wind
holes in boots
turquoise dress coat
far too thin
for walks along the river
But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way
when fabric moguls migrated south
Fascinated by nylon nasties
they traded their silks and cottons
for those petro-polyesterdays
While she—
could no more manufacture life
than mint their money
So, they blamed her
Pronounced her—“Dead”
Decried her *****
Now—
She wanders sadly under bridges
stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches
In dank canals, I found her sleeping
angered only at the falls
Poor outcast!
with current edge she splinters light
from cities sadder still
retching her oily stench
past Plum Island
into the sea— into me
What’re a few warm tears
falling from someplace on a bridge
to the icy waters of the Merrimack?
Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they?
Let them find each other there
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
I was a flailing phoenix
Trapped underneath a waterfall
Unable to rise from the ashes
While being continuously extinguished
Until you constructed a dam
With the flotsam from my heart
I opened my wings and emitted light
Fearing waterfalls I took my fire flight
I was elated to have migrated
Where the weather was tropical
And the conditions seemed optimal
But your aggravating absence
Endeared an enigmatic essence
A vengeful apparition
That conjured rain
I desperately craved your protection from the elements
Until I noticed the precipitation was my infatuation
For you and the things you do
The things you build
Make rivers stay still
And the things you say
Make me regret being gay
Because you're a ******
You live in your exclusive dam
Your teeth are like cleavers
Gnawing on sacrificial lamb
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
*Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows*
The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,**
I cannot sleep tonight,
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits**,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
**Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net**
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be-
And The Sun Goes
Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,
Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island
Where I washed ashore
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
She often times scared away her nightly slumber
Her thoughts grew louder and more chaotic with every tick of the clock
She let her past mistakes consume her
Rummaged internally for answers to her actions that led her here
Lying on a mattress which sat on the carpet of a rundown apartment
Alone
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
She kept eyes open all night looking and thinking and drinking
A lot of drinking to seize the thoughts that drowned her
She traveled back in her dormant state to find events she wished had happened differently Dreamt up memories where she never walked away
Or where she refrained from saying something in an outburst of anger
She was haunted by
Everything
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
Her thoughts had begun to agitate her being Transforming her mind into a whirlwind of anger and helplessness
She sat up at the edge of her mattress with the palms pressed tightly against her eyes, shaking her head in a frenzy
Her hands migrated to her hair, gathering a hand full and pulling
Eyes stung with the tears that began to surface She took hasty steps toward her counter in search of a bottle to console her for the night
The only thing that put an end to the chaos was
Alcohol
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened...
apparently in light of the European
i was not European enough,
a mongrel, a ******* Mongol...
eastern Europeans are Mongols,
mind you...
i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote
happened...
because the A8 joined...
when the Eatern European joined
the old post-colonial powers...
plenty of Pakistanis...
do i mind?
do i ******* care?!
i don't care...
you deal with: the minding!
no...
i have an inheritance tax
without any ceremonial
past...
your **** is your ******* ****
plus the Arab, and the curry...
**** off!
i'm no *******
*vierte ***** pussy-whip...
you ******* yo-yo oreo!
mind you?
put me down on this one...
i hate the Poles...
i ******* hate the Poles...
what they did to the Chernobyl me?
i hate the Polacks...
don't like them...
i'd rather spit
than talk to them...
i've learned my lesson...
i hate them more than
the Germans, or the Russians...
i hate them with the sort of hatred
reserved for
patriots...
Judas Priests...
i abhor the ****** catholicism...
it makes me... cringe...
then i think:
thickens the thong -
better than the Islamic
crap to mind making a boot...
Brexit only happened because
of the supposed invasion of the A8...
the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter -
somehow the "excess" Europeans
migrated...
whites combined with
whites...
Europeans mingled...
big problem for the Pakistanis...
Brexit only happened because
"eastern" Europe joined the
*vierte *****
well... "joined"...
some of us had enough sense as
to keep the currency...
******* Pakistani bullshitters...
what?!
i thought English girls loved
being gang-rape-fucked?!
no?!
my bad...
the joining of the A8
disrupted the presence of Britain in
the EU...
thumbs up on the curry-sauce...
thumbs down on the Baltic
sauerkraut....
guess what?!
**** you!
you ******* British Empire
bonkers...
relief contra racism with an
Empire disintegrating!
wankers...
sure, beseech alliances
outside of Europe...
seek them, find them,
govern them...
the next time you come shoveling your
**** into my: awareness...
i'll be asking...
so... Rotherham...
no, not really... don't bother me
with that sort of ****
you deal with your ********
before shoving your ***** into my mouth
expecting me to gargle
on the produce...
you're closer to Pakistan
than i am to Mongolia...
you draw the the postcard...
i'll draw the pretty picture.
don't get me wrong, thought,
i hate the Polacks...
i don't belong between them...
i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra
of homeless dogs...
than exercise the humanity
of a shared tongue
with these... mongrels;
mind you... the British are just as
bad... when it comes
to their, mongrel stature.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
He had a confident anxiety,
and a stage name.
Who the hell has a stage name anymore?
He ****** down cigarettes like he was
trying to eat their insides. Violently.
Swore he was a fighter.
Feint at the sight of blood.
I knew the last king of jazz, yeah,
he drank whiskey and sang out of key.
Stole his act from Tom Waits,
like any respectable artist does,
you'll come to find.
He was a big man, literally, intimidating in size
if he wasn't so **** funny. Not goofy, just funny.
Southern man, migrated north.
The south of the north; Buffalo.
Most depressing city in the world,
but you learn something from a guy like that
in a city by Buffalo.
How to survive, maybe,
or how to keep it together long enough.
Long enough for what?
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
They sat in his closet,
His shoes.
In the comfortable dark.
They seemed like him;
Well worn, and content.
I looked them over
Believing they were homelike,
Believing they were soft,
Unlike the hard soles I wear;
The small and binding ones
That sometimes give blisters,
Making me feel that his shoes
Would be much nicer to wear.
"Try them", he said,
And he handed them to me;
So I put them on.
And they didn't seem so bad.
"Walk in them", he then said.
And once I'd walked a mile, or so,
I felt the pebbles that had migrated
into the tears that I hadn't seen before,
I felt the roughness of the tread,
already exhausted from endless journeys;
I bent to disentangle the laces,
frayed from having been tied,
and retied.
My feet hurt.
I put on my own shoes.
They felt different.
They suited me more;
with new-found room to grow.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
When Rudolph became post-pubescent
His nose became non-luminescent.
The ladies, elated, said "Look, it's migrated,
And see what is now iridescent!
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
It's not as much butterflies in my stomach anymore.
They've migrated to my throat,
Choking me off.
I want to say something beautiful
Paint a picture of eloquence that would take your breath away,
But apparently I'm the one lacking air.
What used to fill my whole being with a flush anticipation
Has caused a fickle for my respiration.
Under the cluster of wings in my throat
I feel each movement-
The hum of so called life
(But will I still be living when I lack air?).
These butterflies have lone gone from wonderful and turned
Disastrous.
It makes me wonder how something so beautifully fragile could turn so
Deadly.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
The bandits and outlaws own this town,
The anarchists and killers roam free,
The innocent haven’t suffered,
They’re extinct,
Genuinely,
Intensely,
Migrated to a better place,
Now that the laws and rules don’t apply,
This world is free of substantial duty,
Discipline exists as a rule of criminal code,
The conduct of personal freedom is to live,
Numero uno lives to rebel and scratch out,
To know the enemy as himself,
Regretting nothing,
Punching himself in the chest
Treasuring the moment,
In all fickle splendor,
To not be thought about too hard,
Experienced in mishap,
Total bedlam the usual events,
Drunken buffoonery,
Lazy expectations,
Silly and trite,
Can’t tell the difference after a while in this town.
Maybe at one point there was a group,
A genuine collection of unique and careful persons,
With a great deal to offer and intelligence,
A new way to think,
An ****** for the masses created in a basement with some *****
The ceremony turned to reality,
Too intimidating to comprehend and soon it consumed,
Corruption and went ugly…quick,
Roots went sour and now spread,
Core and far and wide,
Grew up to make it all sunken,
Down the tubes,
Fueling the sun and expounding nothing,
Just mindless energy wandering,
No purpose,
Dealing with the devil everyday,
Coming up on top.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
When the sun glowed warm with brighter sheen
The Earth that lay inert in drunken sleep
Woke up suddenly to greet the glorious dawn
Casting aside the blanket of fluffy wool
Beams of light thawed and melted the icy crust
Leaving the land, bare, bright and new
A clean slate for life to make a fresh start
And give our Earth a lovely face lift
As winter slouched away in staggering steps
Spring, came down gracefully on dancing feet
Like an ingenious wizard with the Mida’s touch
Turning everything into glittering green n’ gold
So awesome it is to watch with widening eye
The first burgeoning of life with the kiss of spring
Every tree n’ every shrub, dressed in sudden sprout of leaves
And every plant and every bough bursting into newer buds
Daffodils on wayside nodding in blooms of gold
Pansies and daisies springing close to passing heels
The laburnum and lilacs, getting ready to burst into bloom
Flowers yellow, red and blue on every fence and field
Butterflies flitting round and round on colorful wings
And exotic blooms in gentle breeze swinging their heads
The birds that ere migrated to warmer climes
Coming back once more to fill the aerial space
Sparrows merrily twittering around tiled eaves
The robin springing, throwing a livelier note
The lark disappearing into the sky of fleecy clouds
The swallows shooting out into giddy heights
The feathered minstrels, filling the air in riotous rings
And Nature covering the Earth in quilts of lovely designs
Lovers leave their fireside hearths and coming out
To ramble through country paths, hand in hand
Oh! Spring has come to wipe away the frosty tear
And fill the hearts with overwhelming cheer
Let us join this array of happy crowd
And sing a song of joy with this mirthful brood
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
We live in a small place,
In the midst of river,
Encircled by water
People said that
‘It is a largest river island’.
We call it
‘Majuli’!
Land placed
At centre!
There was a time
When,
Our life were self contain
With nature and culture!
But, almighty probably
Do not like it!
Inundation gradually shifted to floods,
Small strike of water on land
Converted strike of wild waves
Land takes away,
Crops started to damage,
People lost their land,
Water on the ground and beneath decline,
Water in well poisoned,
Our tradition cut loose!
The farmer......
The potter......
The craftsman......
The fisherman........
The weaver...........
The...........
All are migrated
To the island with concrete
and mock matter
In search of livelihood!
Those who are here
Like us,
Still waiting
With a hope, that
Almighty will change its mind,
‘Bless us!’
Again we will
Perform ‘Sinha- Jatra’ of
Post-modern era!
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,
On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:
It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops
Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind
lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!
With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace
My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high
Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed
I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws
From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper
The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?
I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
I float outside of my body,
a dermal prison dented into the ground,
doomed to never fly and never float
and never travel beyond the sound.
My brain moves faster than a
high speed train,
cars in the fast lane,
the pounding of the rain,
sane,
sane--
I've gone insane.
It's infuriating
this
plastic mind,
soul,
body,
all disposable and
all utterly insignificant.
I know the fate of history
and the destiny of humanity--
we are temporary,
a dream stuck on a floating grain
in the misty seas of the cosmos,
swirling towards a black death
darker than any night or
any universe could be.
We are a fleeting thought
caught within the arms and tendrils of the galaxy,
draining into an immense
super massive
black hole--
the drain at the bottom.
We are accidents,
sad ones, at that.
The stars formed randomly from
the collisions and crashes of
millions of atoms,
perhaps themselves
the containers of still sadder
and more pathetic universes.
From this early crib
Sol and his brothers drifted throughout the blackness of space,
most dying and
the mediocre remaining.
This is the fate of humans
and indeed all of existence:
that the interesting
the beautiful
the bizarre and
the intense shall all perish
while the average shall
survive, stuck on their tracks
and predetermined paths,
lines laid out by the random assortment
of atoms, of particles
of the refuse of the universe.
We formed from the cosmos' ****
an explosion erupted from
the backend of existence
and out flowed reds and greens
helium and hydrogen
and burning water.
As the planets formed
from the wake of the exhaust
and the stars migrated to their final resting places,
the elements continued bumping
and colliding and crashing
until green ran the continents of countless and
insignificant planets, residents sticking roots down
and extending towards the mediocre light
of a wholly average Sun.
From this green and blue sea sprang forth
a multitude of parasites,
feeding off the grasses and the ferns,
the flowers and the moss,
warring and ******** and
laying their own universes down out of
their backends.
We are the **** of **** that ***** out **** to
power our **** and allow us to ****
which in turns ***** the ****
to ****
It's all ****
Existence is ****
Existence is ****
I am a dream in the mind of one
floating off into my dimension,
moving faster than sound,
light,
actions and existence
to cross the cosmic walls and
climb the galactic ivy
to reach out and say,
"I was here. I mattered."
I wish I could comfort them in my arms
to pet them and tell them it's all okay,
that they matter, but I know the fate of history
and the destiny of humanity--
existence is the most interesting thing we can do,
and even that is based on mediocre ****
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
Is there anything so extraordinary as a hand?
I asked, as I ****** his finger
with a gusto hungry to milk some essence of him
that would nourish me after his body left.
*Your divine digits! These brilliant explorers, who
fragile as separate spring shoots, can teach and tell and build what
would last for ever.
If a Renaissance lives, it lives in these hands , these ingenious orchestrations that can musick and paint and sculpt and-*
-and write?
Yes darling, and that.
I migrated my tongue and attention to his palm and slowly painted his love-line pink, tasting his future.
*Do you know, when I was once a little Catholic girl- they would tell their stories in Sunday School and I used to imagine the soul resided somewhere in your belly and felt like chicken noodle soup...
and perhaps not so, perhaps hands are the houses of soul where the most Authentic Self of selves resides waiting to touch, to hold, to caress... where the animal desires of humanity delight in the most truthful communication existing?*
-Then... what is the common language? Id?
Yes, perhaps you're right. And love.
His other hand, jealous of my attention, spoke aloud in a sonnet of pinches and strokes that could have drawn tears of reverence were I not held captive by the decadent finger between my lips.
Between gulps of air he queried my fixation
and with a final holy gasp I testified:
"Darling, touch is the only transparent sensation"
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Lets raise a black flag for the dark times we've had
And let the white one burn because it is our turn and we'll never surrender again
And then we'll dance in tears of rain
And wash the fears away
For our troubled minds have found refuge in words
Our screams were never heard
So we turned into birds
For we just long to belong
So we migrated
To a home we created inside our heads
They will never care that we had to tear
Through flesh and bone
To take control of our minds that owned
us
This home doesn't exist
Its a figment of our imagination
But creation
Is the only thing keeping us alive
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Epiphany from the Berry Fields
You would not come with me
through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit,
your reasons shrouded in obscurity.
I went there once to pray ---
Did I tell you? ---
I spied a grey squirrel
gnawing a cherished butternut
in a fury of drunken hunger;
forgot at once my prayers.
You went instead, alone,
to the Kingdom of the Mushroom.
I sealed my mouth
afraid to enter there.
You saw violent phosphorous rivers and
vivid galloping colors,
that were of mystical internal origin.
We might have eaten
vine-ripe strawberries and
drunk cold mountain water,
that gushed from the mouth of
the cave under the cliff.
Perhaps, like me you were afraid,
terrified by florid fields and familiar female.
How sad ---
Sometimes I am so dense ---
I should have told you,
*I went there in the distance
as a girl.*
Coincidental Drift
Through the airport window pane,
isolated, I watched the jet
traverse the field in silent shimmering motion.
My vagrant gaze remained
fixed upon the infinite horizon
long after the shadowy
plane had passed from view.
This seemed to me to parallel
my motionless furtive feelings,
as after one I've loved
has migrated in another season.
It was not long after this
that she re-entered the room,
bathed in the murmur of
alluring fragrance which
quickly drew my mind from
the solitude of thought to
a sensual appreciation of her perfume.
How easily she drew my mind astray
from pleasant thought of you and yesterday.
I recalled how earlier this morning,
as she lay neither asleep, nor awake,
but somewhere in between,
I had tried to touch her outstretched hand,
yet, uncannily she had withdrawn it.
The smoke that wafted above our bed then
was the only pervading reality and
not the Mona Lisa smile on her face,
nor the emptiness of my longing hand.
She's said, *She's ready ---
--- that her bags are packed ---
and shouldn't we be going?*
Yes, Yes I suppose it's time.
And a wind howling in my brain recalled,
I'd either been here once before or
seen it etched upon an empty sky.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
~
*Or migrated pod
Or fleeing refugee
Or corban
Or carbon dioxide
Or yubitsume
Or van Gogh's ear
Or black Friday
Or lazy evening at the carnival
(Tomorrow has already started)
Or free range
Or gated community
Or breast exam
Or storage crisis
Or fallen leaves
Or germ warfare
Or temporary file
Or permanent wave
Or thigh gap
Or physiognomy
Or soap made of heroes
Or multiplanetary living
(There's a floating graveyard between this world and the next)
Or logical fallacy
Or irrational number
Or elementary analysis
Or college guess
Or cardiopulmonary resuscitation
Or extrasensory perception
Or ten fingers and toes
Or a dozen eggs
(They say there's strength in numbers)
Or fifth floor, corner room
Or high as a kite
Or bellwether
Or mingled with bells
Or police sirens
Or loitering around in silent films
Or rule of thirds
Or tombs of second-hand kings
Or face in the rain
Or pareidolia
(Otherwise, at first light you might be smiling...)*
~
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 9:11 AM UTC
...it's been long since she migrated to heaven, for a sinner like me to be her son is amazing she kept composure & her level
...coming to terms with punishment being the biggest part of forgiveness & all I gotta do is to forgive me
...punishment is for the creator & I'm just a son to woman who died loving a man that made me
...over a decade later she's still comes to my dreams
...this morning I told her I'm in love with a woman & she just smile
...deep in her eyes I saw pain she felt from my past & in her voice I heard certainty of this future of mine
...a man alone can't make a family & so is a woman
...bless me this morning again by reading a poem jotted down for just a dream
...maybe not, it is for the lost trust & believe in love
...it is for the eyes that only choose to see darkness
...for the heart that chooses to remember only pain
...sorry for not being the ideal man but a heart can't choose who to love
...sorry for not knowing you well enough for you to be @ ease
...teach me how to love you or how to forget I ever loved you
...I know you're not my mom & loving you wasn't by choice
...if it was by choice it would be easier to leave you @ peace without any caution of tying a knot one day
...waiting for Mr Right shouldn't be pleasure if we're all the same
...from me to you, a man is made by his life's pains
...And in my dream this morning my late mother came like she does every now & then
...I told her I found a woman, I fell in love & she just smiled
...I wonder why she just smiled if it left me so unsure of me!!!
You don't fall in love with only those you know, some people just fit in your puZzle like they were made for you
...we only choose what we want to see but not feel!!!
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
All this lifeless air created from migrated diverted array
Shot from wasted uneventful deep rooted motionless fatigue
Squeezed beneath a realm of misguided beliefs
Things mixed and shattered, confused mistaken repeats
Dug from a soul that never eats
All this lifeless air was created by total dismay
From thoughts that creep without light often in the calmest state
Shaking the essence of what purgatory seeks to infiltrate
With masks that always intolerably penetrate
The gateway to a subtle overactive mind grenade
It hits like a brick, it comes out of nowhere
Breathtakingly taking you into its mystical embrace
To another space in a place where nothing feels the same
Only discombobulation and facades of an erratic charade
Leaving your thoughts confused and in an melancholic state
Calmness in your spirit is a lantern burned from the light inside you
It seeps from your pours and glows intensely within your core
Unmasking horrific ramifications that you justified in the past
Leaving your mind free to disseminate thoughts that usually trespass
Recognizing feelings can be often obsolete
The lurking and self loathing of being stuck in between
a domain of migrated air and empathetic domains
Dragging your lifeless air into migrated array
Only erratic melancholy conceives and births total dismay
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC