"palmy" poems
Each candle may only burn so long
Some may not even taste its own fire ablaze
so profound, not even the wailing wind can topple
its potent peak
May not even see the swell sun that sacrifices itself every night for the scintillating stars
May not even hear the palmy peace past sorrowful sobs
May not even smell the swirling smoke of your fallen foe
May not even start its beginning
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC
1
**My dad suddenly walks in,
as if nothing has happened,
and he hasn't gone anywhere, leaving
six of us behind, notwithstanding-
all these years of absence and
pain unimaginable that changed us all
to see life in a new light that gets dim
without the lamp he held in front of us.
A shadow transparent gets in to the room,
he stands near mom sitting inside her cocoon,
lost in an ancient evening, pensive, forlorn
as if she feels an absence, tangible right there.
Dad's absence stands silent, perhaps
curiously looking at her with loving eyes
that's how he was, after a period of absence.
The pantomime, tears my sense of reality
in to shreds, I sit upright,
with my hands pressed against my palpitating heart.
Do I see it really or hallucinate him looking,
wistfully at the coconut groves dancing
beyond the extending rice paddy billowing,
in front of our farm yard, sleepy these days,
for a moment I think time has
taken liberty to flow back
and everything is right there
where we'd love it to be.
2
The absence was a hollow,
in the middle of everything,
breaking the mirror of reality
in to smithereens, the dark space,
in between sprang-
opening its mouth to swallow,
wherever one turned,
it stood in front defiantly,
posing a challenge at times,
it came behind hollering noiselessly,
bringing unbearable memories,
from moments hard to forget
spent in his company,
in my palmy days of yore.
3
Absence was fire within,
that needs no fuel to burn,
flood waters without a source,
that can wash away,
till one becomes nothing;
then little by little,
one comes in to terms with the absence
and at last it too is laid to rest,
and that eats a part of the soul,
causing bleeding in slushy green,
transparent white and blobs of sad black.**
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
They repeatedly boasted aloud
of conquests and victories
for a short period between
their palmy days of youth
and unexpected quick death;
a mad rush of adrenaline
before thought could wake up reason,
nothing more than a basic need
for impulsive violent action,
few drops of poetry could have changed direction,
a death wish triggered by moments of darkness
that invites a chain of tragic consequences.
But thoughtful they were
to hire overzealous writers,
being aware of their need of arming future.
The writers extolled the futile deaths
embellished words, made it look heroic
which really pointed only to a ****** end.
Look at each tomb stones lined
here in the cemetery, once more
see, if the names extolled once are still not eroded.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Barque of phosphor
On the palmy beach,
Move outward into heaven,
Into the alabasters
And night blues.
Foam and cloud are one.
Sultry moon-monsters
Are dissolving.
Fill your black hull
With white moonlight.
There will never be an end
To this droning of the surf.
1.8k
At the cross roads you stood waiting,
some design we never would discern-
brought us there at that moment,
prompted by some inner calling,
we smiled at each other at the same time.
A young shoot of life, full of green foliage
you were enchanting,
my mind was full with a feeling,
the name of which is yet to discern,
but sweetheart, don't forget this,
the palmy days won't last forever,
we are fortunate to have met,
here at least, we shared our songs,
let's make it sweet to our hearts
so that eternity would resound
with those pangs of love, when we aren't here.
I imagine me standing
at the crossroads
waiting for you to catch up,
we are but still strangers
belonging to two time zones-
though we are eternal soul mates!
I have my eyes turned to the past,
yours reflect the polar lights of future.
Can we tango together till the first daylight appears?
No, I am afraid, you too know this
we met at the crossroads
and soon our roads would diverge,
I won't feel bad, no reason for you to be sad,
make it last as long as it goes,
we play the way the part demands,
time is a tricky trap
we struggle like flies in a spider web,
I won't take anything with me ,
as I zip past
except the love that keeps cosmos buzz
remember one is all alone till one reaches the nest.
You have your road, a fine one,
I have mine.
the feeling that we are together is an illusion.
We meet at points
we never expected to meet,
and it thrills us, that's all we could expect
on the cosmic scheme of things.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
Arrogance of autumn winds,
mighty trees shake in fear,
on the hillside, wind's playground,
dead leaves are given
a new lease of life,
like a flock of tired birds,
they fly in a pathetic mirth induced,
downwards to the valley,
to their final, certain, death and decay.
The old horse, abandoned
looks on, with faint glow of hope,
lighting its eyes.The evening light,
fades slowly on its face,
Darkness reigns.
This hill station, alive only in summer,
looks desolate.Totally abandoned
tragic in its isolation after palmy days.
The visitors have gone down.
past all 33 hairpin bends,
to the plains, anticipating
a long bitter winter.
The old race horse,
looks like the quintessence of the gloom,
for a week stands there unmoving.
The valley slopes
in to a ground, near the market.
Cricket matches that electrified crowds,
stopped long before.
The racecourse is so still
like a house, death has taken over.
The crowd dissipated hurriedly
like tired migratory birds.
Once a cynosure, the race horse,
old, weak and abandoned
feels the onset of the worst winter
in his old, tired bones.
The chill spreads
from the hoofs upwards,
Buzzing of bees,
nowhere to be seen,
is incessant in its ears.
Its eyes don't see light anymore,
A winter with a dark message,
soon would arrive,
he waits, shivering, mute.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
*Before the breathing of this blissful altar,
There once was,actually,on this place,
A frightened shrine of Uzu deity.
Where we sacrified our last **** to Uzu,
Ate stragnled meat,food,wine,colanut,
Consulted our ancestral spirit,
Bowed down to the eastern sun.
But after our immersion into water,
We folded aside our old garments.
And believe in God Almighty.
Who on cross,with cross and cross
Saved all mankind of all races.
We are now carriers of cross,
Hoping for a blissful eternity.
Our fowl and palmy became bread and wine.*
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Whispered at night, a rapidly tumbling neon triangle stuck between decibles.
Thunder drums in fields, the fairy statues on my mother's nightstand.
And in the palmy middle, quicksand.
Knot at my neck; laughs are pulled from me like petals. Have I loved you, Have I not?
[Walking through town at night] is like starring in a silent film. Every passerby pantomim ing for coin, for dope, for a grimy existence adjacent to the rest of the country.
(Aged pinup scotch taped to a red chest of rusted drawers.
Dead lady, though she remembers model T's and powder blue bathtubs.)
I have been crying more everyday, draining evergreen and salt-serum.
Knew it from the future, being hard to watch it go.
Slowly my body rots from under me, but for now its still keeping time, still sees shadows of the people I claim to know.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
your peace, serenity
communicates to me
through my peripheral visions
feels like a game, sport
of an exhilarating sort
we keep this distance and smile
the mint, palmy green
of your eyes, I've seen
dreams of me buried within
the brief, subtle glance
bestowed upon me by chance
makes me miss the love I've never felt
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Of shadows refrained, and
hypocrisy big brained;
labels the crops,
f'r these art c'rpses.
promises in caskets,
f'r these art showpieces.
oh palmy, thy palmy
strengtheneth thy soil
f'r t is in vengeance
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 7:32 AM UTC
In dank imprisoned mind,
cellared,
thrown against a wall
by guttering candle,
huge monstrous thing
clawing at the stone.
On palmy beach, timorous,
hiding in sand, stored
Under feet in noonday heat.
Drinking wine with
the moon,
the three of us
flaggoned,
aliened underneath arches,
faintly there, drinking
out time away,
girding our *****
Merged with She,
sheet crumpled, replete
with lust.
In every space, nook, cranny,
in qiuet contemplation,
thought myself alone,
But you have never left me,
capricious, morphing,
paranoic delightful
shadow of mine.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
Your lavish words enthrall me once again,
Ravishing me; accept these fingers pale.
Bind me on your palfrey, free my bale
With ****** viscid hands like tracing rain.
You, my matelot, steer me across the main
Eschewing spume-licked sea-storms by your sail.
Your lavish words enthrall me once again,
Ravishing me; accept these fingers pale.
Chain my spirit and strip the palsied pain;
Tonight you take me. Swift my embers fail
As palmy eons end; my tragic tale
Shall meet me with the old conceited Cain.
Your lavish words enthrall me once again.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
lonely island of the atlantic
your glistening waves carry bottled words
left by old romantics,
traveling earth
yes the lonely island of the romantics
on your sandy dunes and
bright lit moon’s shine
i need you so bad
would you let me in
a new resident,
a lady gone mad
lonely island of the atlantic
your glistening waves carry bottled words
left by old romantics
traveling earth
yes the lonely island of the romantics
your palmy trees greet me
by your imperfect breeze
oh please let me in, let me in
i’m begging on my knees!
lonely island of the atlantic
glistening waves carry my bottled words
left by me, your romantic,
traveling your earth
yes the lonely island of the atlantic
lonely island of the dramatic
lonely island of the romantics
these are my bottled words
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
Stiffened by wind the
Canvas White
Glows on glittering
Scales of
Shallow Sea,
Salted against ice,
Resisting decay
Through sheer, restless
Movement.
All else is Blue-
Homeric
Wine-dark banished,
A brilliance of
Sun-Flowered-Yellow
Lights the view.
I sent this postcard with
Puppy love and
Grandchild
From Palmy beach,
Mother.
You demand a
Spreadsheet
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 2:25 AM UTC