"mynah" poems - Hello Poetry

When you sit swinging at every blink of my eyes. The dark circles under sing the setting moon lullabies. Free shadows of spring sunlight, and whispers in the corridors. ” I wish to never be alone”, says the Gardener in his mother tongue. He pulls up hope in a tin can pouring over new buds, his whistles add sweetness to my ears. that Mynah that sits under the banyan tree, sits on it today. And sparrows picking at raw berries, flutter as I near them. Wet grass pins at my feet, random flowers that mysteriously grew; falling from the paradise. Here’s to my very own forest of life & death. For I have failed many friends, those which never came back. Though I waited, and I wait. The woman in my house, with rags for clothes, dead faith that lives in the cracks of her lips. And when she walks, her bunch of keys rattle her bottle of liquor she considers hidden. Her hands that pet rotis and light stoves, escape destiny and destroy hope. Olive shaded walls of my home, frequently fall short of peace. The ringing of bells from the latest exhibit, the tv making up for all those who were once before. I raise the volume from 45 to 80, All sorts of sacred prayers surround my very being. I devour my pancakes and drain down coffee like religion itself. shattered chandeliers bring me patterns of floating aspirations. Sofa’s hold me any way I Can sit, while I forge some sleep, and fool my mind. Rested i am not. Empty i am. My walls are so high, i only feel free at the top. And sometimes think I’d like to fall. when the waters from the shore mumble to me, “don’t fall for the charades.” I stay put and cherish all the beauty. At least, that’s what I think it is. A passing wind slips from my hands, parting from every inch of my spine. I plead, “take my heart with you.” And so, my heart beats in my rib cage, But never at peace or in one place.

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Sep 3, 2020

Sep 3, 2020 at 2:33 AM UTC

amtulhajra

A Home in my Head.

When you sit swinging at every blink of my eyes. The dark circles under sing the setting moon lullabies. Free shadows of spring sunlight, and whispers in the corridors. ” I wish to never be alone”, says the Gardener in his mother tongue. He pulls up hope in a tin can pouring over new buds, his whistles add sweetness to my ears. that Mynah that sits under the banyan tree, sits on it today. And sparrows picking at raw berries, flutter as I near them. Wet grass pins at my feet, random flowers that mysteriously grew; falling from the paradise. Here’s to my very own forest of life & death. For I have failed many friends, those which never came back. Though I waited, and I wait. The woman in my house, with rags for clothes, dead faith that lives in the cracks of her lips. And when she walks, her bunch of keys rattle her bottle of liquor she considers hidden. Her hands that pet rotis and light stoves, escape destiny and destroy hope. Olive shaded walls of my home, frequently fall short of peace. The ringing of bells from the latest exhibit, the tv making up for all those who were once before. I raise the volume from 45 to 80, All sorts of sacred prayers surround my very being. I devour my pancakes and drain down coffee like religion itself. shattered chandeliers bring me patterns of floating aspirations. Sofa’s hold me any way I Can sit, while I forge some sleep, and fool my mind. Rested i am not. Empty i am. My walls are so high, i only feel free at the top. And sometimes think I’d like to fall. when the waters from the shore mumble to me, “don’t fall for the charades.” I stay put and cherish all the beauty. At least, that’s what I think it is. A passing wind slips from my hands, parting from every inch of my spine. I plead, “take my heart with you.” And so, my heart beats in my rib cage, But never at peace or in one place.

32

I’ve got fifteen years tied in knots of green and brown and I have decided that it is time for a change of scenery. So I climb onto the roof and pretend I am a chimney, spewing smoke of blue and grey and lung cancer and voggy Hilo mornings. A helicopter circles overhead at an altitude of 805 feet, its searchlight catching the neighborhood lying spread-eagled on the living room floor, brutally desecrated and left bare-bones to die. I am a catalyst, an instigator, a cynic with a palm tree. Today I read an atlas and find naught but “A Hui Hou” scrawled across the pages in black pen. I burn the book, the bridge, and the old tires in the backyard. On Saturday it rained and the floodwaters took my bicycle. Sometimes I sit by the roadside reading Bukowski with hibiscus in my hair and Indiana in my eyes. Hunting dogs clash with rescue dogs at the house with the stop sign. The moon falls from the sky and engulfs the mynah birds and the plague. The floodwaters recede and leave a jigsaw puzzle on the slopes of Mauna Kea. “I am not afraid,” I say, “for I am only gravel.” I play the eight-bar blues on Fortieth and sing songs of drugs and missed connections. I am hit by a truck and a little gold car, but I proclaim myself immortal as I am flattened to the pavement. I am the Ki’i Pohaku beatnik, and I write of nature and nurture and the never-ending rain. Someone has painted my walls blue and my hands grey. So I pack my suitcase and run down the highway for seven thousand miles and all I see are mistakenly-numbered houses and blank maps and dead neighbors from families I used to know. There are torrents of rain now, forming puddles in the forest. I know the reason. It is twelve in the morning. The neighborhood grows obscure. We are demolished.

0

May 5, 2011

May 5, 2011 at 1:13 AM UTC

katie-mora

the ki'i pohaku beatnik

I’ve got fifteen years tied in knots of green and brown and I have decided that it is time for a change of scenery. So I climb onto the roof and pretend I am a chimney, spewing smoke of blue and grey and lung cancer and voggy Hilo mornings. A helicopter circles overhead at an altitude of 805 feet, its searchlight catching the neighborhood lying spread-eagled on the living room floor, brutally desecrated and left bare-bones to die. I am a catalyst, an instigator, a cynic with a palm tree. Today I read an atlas and find naught but “A Hui Hou” scrawled across the pages in black pen. I burn the book, the bridge, and the old tires in the backyard. On Saturday it rained and the floodwaters took my bicycle. Sometimes I sit by the roadside reading Bukowski with hibiscus in my hair and Indiana in my eyes. Hunting dogs clash with rescue dogs at the house with the stop sign. The moon falls from the sky and engulfs the mynah birds and the plague. The floodwaters recede and leave a jigsaw puzzle on the slopes of Mauna Kea. “I am not afraid,” I say, “for I am only gravel.” I play the eight-bar blues on Fortieth and sing songs of drugs and missed connections. I am hit by a truck and a little gold car, but I proclaim myself immortal as I am flattened to the pavement. I am the Ki’i Pohaku beatnik, and I write of nature and nurture and the never-ending rain. Someone has painted my walls blue and my hands grey. So I pack my suitcase and run down the highway for seven thousand miles and all I see are mistakenly-numbered houses and blank maps and dead neighbors from families I used to know. There are torrents of rain now, forming puddles in the forest. I know the reason. It is twelve in the morning. The neighborhood grows obscure. We are demolished.

51

They asked, "why are you as silent as a stone?" She replied, "why should I be voluble as the Mynah? My heart and tongue are deprived of goodness just like a desert, deprived of a sea. Another voice said, "Ergo, redundant talk comes with unbearable guilt." They asked again, " if so, why do you not speak the despairs you hide?" She replied, " Because, the gift of patience usually reigns.

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Apr 11, 2021

Apr 11, 2021 at 8:13 AM UTC

Writer_in_Moonlight

Silence

They asked, "why are you as silent as a stone?" She replied, "why should I be voluble as the Mynah? My heart and tongue are deprived of goodness just like a desert, deprived of a sea. Another voice said, "Ergo, redundant talk comes with unbearable guilt." They asked again, " if so, why do you not speak the despairs you hide?" She replied, " Because, the gift of patience usually reigns.

5

All time bird can be crow only ever Black in colour scavenging all day long Caring nothing about neatness or anything! Dogs eat the bones they throw clearing flesh Efficiently bringing by hovering everywhere! Full meals or bits of meats they share with all Going by the policy of united we stand ever! How healthy and active the crows are ever I see standing on the balcony of my building! Jack of all trade these guys do hard work long Keeping their noise heard all round the place! Loitering round us they pester us to give food Many a time when we come out to see the sky! Nothing we can do but offer some leftover foods Obviously irritated to avoid their bickerings! Popular among birds like mynah, sparrow, eagle Quixotically crows overshadow them by numbers! Regularly they start their chores like we do Surprisingly very early in the morning itself! Tickling nook and corner of all materials all day United they raid everywhere sans rest ever! Verily they are indeed hard toiling creatures Whether it is summer or winter in the whole year! Xerox copy of black crows reminds of uniform dress Year after year without change or colour fade ever; Zealous lot these creatures indeed we have to imbibe!

0

Feb 9, 2012

Feb 9, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC

t-a-ramesh

A Zealous Lot Crows Are!

All time bird can be crow only ever Black in colour scavenging all day long Caring nothing about neatness or anything! Dogs eat the bones they throw clearing flesh Efficiently bringing by hovering everywhere! Full meals or bits of meats they share with all Going by the policy of united we stand ever! How healthy and active the crows are ever I see standing on the balcony of my building! Jack of all trade these guys do hard work long Keeping their noise heard all round the place! Loitering round us they pester us to give food Many a time when we come out to see the sky! Nothing we can do but offer some leftover foods Obviously irritated to avoid their bickerings! Popular among birds like mynah, sparrow, eagle Quixotically crows overshadow them by numbers! Regularly they start their chores like we do Surprisingly very early in the morning itself! Tickling nook and corner of all materials all day United they raid everywhere sans rest ever! Verily they are indeed hard toiling creatures Whether it is summer or winter in the whole year! Xerox copy of black crows reminds of uniform dress Year after year without change or colour fade ever; Zealous lot these creatures indeed we have to imbibe!

26

Christmas excitement Gaffers & gofers booms & boxes trucks & trolleys They've chosen today to shoot a movie 2 floors below me No pics allowed Twenty four tropical Christmases It still seems so odd so discordant Disconnected Gambling movies filmed when most of my friends are last-minute shopping and thinking of Santa They're wrapping presents and keeping secrets Thinking about how long the turkey will take to cook Dressed in jumpers coats and scarves Fingers blue noses red No puddles to slide on here no snow Just air like silk and monsoon rain Sweat trickling in endless rivers No goose bumps leaving tracks across my skin Out the window cheeky mynah birds chatter a white bellied eagle soars Not a robin in sight As the sun sets painting the sky a kaleidoscope of gentle colour A nomad soul wonders why she's happy to wander And yet she so longs to belong

0

Dec 24, 2010

Dec 24, 2010 at 1:22 AM UTC

jacqueline-le-sueur

And yet

Christmas excitement Gaffers & gofers booms & boxes trucks & trolleys They've chosen today to shoot a movie 2 floors below me No pics allowed Twenty four tropical Christmases It still seems so odd so discordant Disconnected Gambling movies filmed when most of my friends are last-minute shopping and thinking of Santa They're wrapping presents and keeping secrets Thinking about how long the turkey will take to cook Dressed in jumpers coats and scarves Fingers blue noses red No puddles to slide on here no snow Just air like silk and monsoon rain Sweat trickling in endless rivers No goose bumps leaving tracks across my skin Out the window cheeky mynah birds chatter a white bellied eagle soars Not a robin in sight As the sun sets painting the sky a kaleidoscope of gentle colour A nomad soul wonders why she's happy to wander And yet she so longs to belong

44

Gentle rustle and creak of bamboo Far off soothing flute and soft drum, gentle mist caressing marsh Barefoot monks pad roads accepting simple alms of curry, rice; Blessings and incense float on smooth air. Sudden cacophony of mynah explode the grove, a steady chant bubbles under the noise, some new symphony of hunger below bloodshot sky. Dogs militate exercise, giving voice, cat slips in knowing, paws daddy whiskers. Hawking cough of the headman announcing his non-demise- neighbourly sighs. Crab unburrows and scurries aside from sand to lapping tide to feast on volitional jelly who come inshore to breed and die, so many alien pearls strung glistening along the strand.

0

Jul 31, 2016

Jul 31, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC

mike-adam

Dawn overture

Gentle rustle and creak of bamboo Far off soothing flute and soft drum, gentle mist caressing marsh Barefoot monks pad roads accepting simple alms of curry, rice; Blessings and incense float on smooth air. Sudden cacophony of mynah explode the grove, a steady chant bubbles under the noise, some new symphony of hunger below bloodshot sky. Dogs militate exercise, giving voice, cat slips in knowing, paws daddy whiskers. Hawking cough of the headman announcing his non-demise- neighbourly sighs. Crab unburrows and scurries aside from sand to lapping tide to feast on volitional jelly who come inshore to breed and die, so many alien pearls strung glistening along the strand.

27

White cube, chrome cage, black mynah bird; Yellow eye stripes, beak; feet Perched; scratching, scrabbling, Slowly rocking; suddenly squawking ‘All systems go, all systems go.’ Haacke’s dream: his intention ‘All systems go’ Of the mynah bird’s volition. But silence fills the gallery. The script is written but The mynah bird Refused to learn his lines.

0

Jun 24, 2010

Jun 24, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC

alys

The Stage is Set

White cube, chrome cage, black mynah bird; Yellow eye stripes, beak; feet Perched; scratching, scrabbling, Slowly rocking; suddenly squawking ‘All systems go, all systems go.’ Haacke’s dream: his intention ‘All systems go’ Of the mynah bird’s volition. But silence fills the gallery. The script is written but The mynah bird Refused to learn his lines.

12

Dawn prevaricates- reluctant to break But mynah beaks open their cacophany amongst rustling bamboos Dogs stretch and yawn nuzzling to run in the relative cool I wait Let light encourage Snake to slither home to burrows, fat from night feed in they squeeze Full moon round as cheese sinks stately behind the promontory On turning sun drips honey over greened mountains Five islands sit- their time will come As mine, alas has gone

0

Jun 7, 2016

Jun 7, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC

mike-adam

Samui so long

Dawn prevaricates- reluctant to break But mynah beaks open their cacophany amongst rustling bamboos Dogs stretch and yawn nuzzling to run in the relative cool I wait Let light encourage Snake to slither home to burrows, fat from night feed in they squeeze Full moon round as cheese sinks stately behind the promontory On turning sun drips honey over greened mountains Five islands sit- their time will come As mine, alas has gone

24

The bakula and the madhumalti Sway in the warm wind Watching children play In stained shirts With mud-filled nails Bare feet and beady drops of laughter Unmindful of the heat While a dog playfully rolls over Trying to catch the sunlight That falls through the trees A white-eye flies low, resting on the firangipani tree Butterflies dance around the hibiscus And bees swarm Hedges have blossomed with flowers And the mynah calls from outside— To awaken the forgotten child in an older heart And tell her that summer reigns

0

Apr 20, 2025

Apr 20, 2025 at 11:43 AM UTC

nishu-mathur

Possibilities

The bakula and the madhumalti Sway in the warm wind Watching children play In stained shirts With mud-filled nails Bare feet and beady drops of laughter Unmindful of the heat While a dog playfully rolls over Trying to catch the sunlight That falls through the trees A white-eye flies low, resting on the firangipani tree Butterflies dance around the hibiscus And bees swarm Hedges have blossomed with flowers And the mynah calls from outside— To awaken the forgotten child in an older heart And tell her that summer reigns

18