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"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
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Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
Fortunately it resuscitates
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
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91
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
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Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Communication
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.
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Indifference
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
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Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
Rivers Get Lost
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
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
Phoenix
*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
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Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
The Dystopian Part IV: The Beholder
*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
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72
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
0
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Loneliness Consumes Her
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
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22
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.
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Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
the Mongols are coming! / scenes from Warsaw
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.
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111
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?
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
"the Last King of Jazz."
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.
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Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Shoes
When Rudolph became post-pubescent His nose became non-luminescent. The ladies, elated, said "Look, it's migrated, And see what is now iridescent!
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Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
The Reindeer
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.
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Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Butterflies
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.
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Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
BANDITS AND OUTLAWS
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
0
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Lovesome Spring
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
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36
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!
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Tale of an Island
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.. .
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Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
An Era of Reform: The Moment of Truth
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.. .
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57
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 ****
0
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
Got the Spaceman Blues
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 ****
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100
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"
0
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
manos enamoradas
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
0
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Refuge
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.
0
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Ruminations on How We Grew Apart
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.
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66
~ *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...)* ~
0
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 9:11 AM UTC
Otherwise
~ *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...)* ~
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44
...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!!!
0
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
She Just Smiled...
...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!!!
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23
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
0
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
Erratic Melancholy