"pellet" poems
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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव स्वरूपं" published in pratilipi on (Dec. 2017) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2P4j7vE
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That face of Lord Shiva is most beautiful in which he holds Ganga in his hairs
The Moon feels blessed by beautifying the head of Shiva as a glittering crown
The Serpants also became jewellery by themselves and decorated his blue neck
Shiva holds the trident on one hand and plays the Damroo from the other one
He has seated himself on a mat of Tiger Skin and rubbed pyre ash on his body
He has left elephant and the horses and decided to travel on an old Bull Nandi
By such an amazing face form, he is always ready for the welfare of devotees
The cruel and wicked have always been afraid of his eldritch face and form.
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Shiva (See Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Ganga (See Line 1): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the coiled hairs (Jatas) of Lord Shiiva
Damroo(See Line 4): A sort of musical instrument ( Pellet Drum )
Nandi((See Line 6)): A bull in Indian mythology who is the vehicle of Lord Shiva
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
791
God gave a Loaf to every Bird—
But just a Crumb—to Me—
I dare not eat it—tho’ I starve—
My poignant luxury—
To own it—touch it—
Prove the feat—that made the Pellet mine—
Too happy—for my Sparrow’s chance—
For Ampler Coveting—
It might be Famine—all around—
I could not miss an Ear—
Such Plenty smiles upon my Board—
My Garner shows so fair—
I wonder how the Rich—may feel—
An Indiaman—An Earl—
I deem that I—with but a Crumb—
Am Sovereign of them all—
4.1k
Does anyone remember when
Baseball fields were full
When you always saw a hundred kids
When you drove by every school
Pick-up games of baseball
On every field you'd pass
But now the only scrub that's there
Is just overgrown, clumpy grass
I drove on by a park today
One that I used to play baseball on
The backstop was all broken
And the dugouts, they were gone
The field was full of garbage
Weeds and echos of the past
I remembered times between the lines
With a long forgotten cast
"HEY MISTER...MOVE...WE'RE PLAYING HERE"
"CAN'T YOU MOVE SO WE CAN PLAY?"
"HEY BATTER, BATTER, SWING NOW BATTER"
"YOU'LL NOT GET A HIT TODAY"
I'd crossed into a baseball game
One from many years before
The ghosts of players long deceased
Were still playing here some more
I crossed back to the dugouts
Stepped behind and they were gone
But, as I stepped back to the old coaches box
I could hear their haunting song
"HEY BATTER, BATTER, BATTER, SWING"
"WE WANT A PITCHER, NOT A BELLYITCHER"
"HEY BATTER, BATTER, BATTER, SWING"
"WE WANT A PITCHER, NOT A BELLYITCHER"
I sat there watching the game take place
On a field not worth a ****
At least not in the present time
Then a kid hit a grand slam
He touched them all as he ran by
I saw it plain as day
The only thing I wished was that
I could join them and play
"HEY MISTER, STAND ON HOME PLATE"
"THEN COME WALK OUT TO THE MOUND"
"WE KNOW YOU WANT TO JOIN US"
"WE KNOW IT'S HALLOWED GROUND"
I did the tasks directed
I joined the players from ago
And as I ran up to the rubber
I went as fast as I could go
I could feel myself get younger
I didn't know if it was real
But, they say as you get older
You're just as young as you may feel
I pitched two good strong innings
Then the echoes chose to fade
I knew it was just imagination
Of long lost players I had made
"COME BACK AGAIN TOMORROW"
"YOU CAN THROW THAT PELLET KID!"
"WE'VE GOT TO GET ON HOME NOW"
and...go back...you know I did!
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
Need adventure Helicopter not included
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
Hi! I’m a hamster on a Wheel!
Gamely running on my bony little legs
[I’m getting somewhere! I’m getting somewhere!]
Every once in a while, I look left or right
See my **** and my compressed pellet food sitting in the same positions
as an hour, a day, weeks ago – and I realize:
IT APPEARS THAT I’M ACTUALLY GOING NOWHERE!!!!!!!
Which surprises me each time it crosses my little hamster brain, until I’m distracted
By my pellet food, the call of the Wheel, and other sundry carnal desires
Roiling superficially in my hamster-angst
While working the Wheel, surrounded by the detritus of my saccharine prefabricated life
I fail to notice
Outside my cage
Hands, lifting, carrying
Thousands of miles traversed
Steaming deserts
Steaming jungles
Steaming cities
Brutality, kindness, sensuality, love, hatred, atrocities, age, youth, heat and cold
All flashing by my glass shell as hands carry me towards a final resting place
Until
A jarring, toppling blast shakes my world
Tearing me from my Important Work on the Wheel
I look up, pellet crumbs falling from my mouth
Just in time to see my cage tumble from hands
Over a rail
Down
Down
Flash of blue
Flash of brilliant light
Flash of blue
Down
Smacking into a vast expanse of water
Unimaginably immense
Outside of my realm of comprehension – I mean, I’d never seen it in my hamster cage before, so why should I even expect it to exist?
What is it’s purpose?
It makes no sense!
It has no place in the world!
And as I slowly drown in the secret withheld from every hamster since the beginning of time
I take one last longing look at the Wheel, the cage, the pellets
And curse them
Curse the Deception that told me they were all that mattered
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
***** from the bottle,
Warm.
Hot dogs from the package,
When your down and *****
The grotesque becomes magic.
Pawning a guitar for a pellet gun,
To procure breakfast.
Squirrel stew in the back of a scamper camper.
Spotlighting bullfrogs,
And mopping floors for a hot meal,
And a cold beer,
And a sympathetic ear.
Nights when the blacktop turned into void,
And the painted lines became a tightrope to nowhere.
Full circle,
Bangor to Frisco,
Any woman who was willing to sleep in the bed of a truck
Was a queen for as long as she stayed,
Always had **** concealed on me,
The copper piece of road currency,
To the gold and silver, of *** and gas.
The exchange rates would change overnight,
But syphon some gas at a truck stop
And it all will be alright.
Misspent youth, following bands
And getting lost along the way.
***** from the bottle,
And hot dogs from the package.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
Sweetly reaching for my hand
A rattlesnake curls up in yours.
Smiling oh-so-carefully
To hide your poison pellet
Delivered with a kiss.
Platitudes and honeyed words
With fishhook barbs inside them.
Lies disguised as candy bars
Offered out with sticky fingers
Mostly crossed behind your back.
Promising that all is peaceful
And there’s no danger to be seen.
Alarms and sirens drown those words
And say my world is burning here,
And sinking in a morass there.
If only words were scimitars
To slash a way to truthfulness
And cut the evil from the hearts
That proclaim love for one and all
And secretly deliver hate.
ljm
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
i felt so safe, sleeping by the bear cave
and the honey he brought me kept me warm
the morning dew glistened while he danced for me
while i ate the honey
funny bear
you make my heart melt
last winter seemed like it lasted forever
and the frost froze off my toes
he carried me in some spring water, and cloves
i kissed him on his big old nose
i felt so good, laying there and dying
the comfort he gave me was irreplaceable
then i heard the hounds
he buried me in some cedar and pine needles
i could hear him climbing the big oak tree
the baying of the hounds must have lasted a hundred years
and i was still alive
so was he
then you came
you took out a pellet rifle
you started shooting my friend
you started shooting my friend
the excitement of the hounds grew
the hair on their backs stood on end
so did mine
so did his
why did you shoot my friend with that air rifle?
why did you shoot my friend 23 times?
i was laying there listening when he fell
when the dogs jumped on him, at your command
i listened while your dogs tore my friend to shreds
my friend didn't even make a sound
he was a good bear
such a good bear
he didn't bother anyone, and would have given the hide off his back
but you killed my friend and took his hide off his back
you killed my friend
you killed my friend!
you let your dogs tear him apart
================================
i can still see you dancing
funny bear
you saved me from freezing last winter
my toes even grew back!
thank you, my friend
your warmth and love has kept me alive
the things you taught me will help me forever
will you please dance with me?
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
Total parrot care
Cried the signboard
In the narrow sleepy by-lane
I gave it a dreamy stare.
I have been too rare on this road
Coming this way was no need
But when I chanced upon that signboard
My search ended for parrot feed.
Is there anybody there?
I echoed de la mare
Found none at the counter
Not even the shopkeeper!
Dismayed I looked around
If some human semblance could be found
But fell nothing in my gaze
Other than a parrot in a cage!
Turning to leave I was stopped by a voice
*Find here sir a variety of choice
Not just parrot feed
Under one roof all that they need.*
Who is speaking I asked in awe
There wasn’t a human face I saw
But could tell it with certainty
There were eyes watching me.
*Don’t leave sir without the delicious pellet
Once you take it you’ve to come back
Serves well a parrot’s palate
The bird loves this crunchy snack.*
It now emerged who was playing the trick
I was hearing parrot speak
None other there not one human folk
The shop was run by parrot talk!
*I scampered out with one long hop
Disappeared the lane the parrot shop
I was tossing on my sweated bed
By this funny dream that rocked my head!*
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
the snowfall came tumbling down
resting sweetly on my eyelashes and toes
like the feathers of one million unfortunate doves
that dad popped in the chest
with his pellet gun
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
In the shadow of a tall mountain
I pitch a tent
I lay a fire
I eat berries
I bathe in the pond
People come, people go
They say much, as do I
And once after the fortnightly storm
A hole I dig, and a seed I sow
Of a pellet of light wrested from my chest
And people come, and people go
But the sunshine never comes, for the mountain is tall
And the mountain is strong
But the sunshine I need, for the pellet to grow
And grow it must
Grow it must
Into a ball of light to walk into
That shines right through the mountain
And all around
But the mountain is tall, and the shadow is long, and the pellet has been sown
In the arc of perennial dark
People come, people go
But this time, one stayed
Without a reason too firm
And little is said
Except the voice of the lantern carried in anew
And the gentle, flickering light, flows on the seed
Like the lapping of rippling water on the pond’s shore
The pellet of light throbs softly, breathes easy
And after we pat fondly the mound of earth on the seed’s womb
We pitch a tent
We lay a fire
We eat berries
We bathe in the pond
In the shadow of a tall mountain
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
I taught her how to handle a
Pellet gun tonight.
Now her eye is black from the
Scope, her fake fingernails chipped
From loading,
And the pine tree nearly stripped from
Cones outside my
Livingroom window, where our
Jägermeister
Cups made little rings on my
Brother's Longfellow hardback
Copy.
The night sky is bright blue this
Time of year in Norway.
Sun never really sets.
I looked up at the brightests spots
Beyond the moon, as she took aim
And fired with a subtle
Psstkh.
"So close," she whispered at the
Unwounded summer evening,
And I smelled her lavender hair
And all the warm outsides
As I thought of satellites and
Discoveries, and how moments
Such as this one would
Always matter
More.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
"If you dont like the weather in Boston,
Just wait a minute"
last night
it was seven degrees outside
my teeth chattering
holding my body
for warmth
as I waited for my taxi
to arrive
the hail
felt like it was tearing my face into pieces
with every ice pellet
that hit my skin
I felt was tearing
pieces of you off my flushed,
warm cheeks
now,
it is morning
I havent slept.
my mind has been occupied
by you,
and lust filled fantasies
of you
inside of me
filling me until
I could burst
it is morning
the pellets that lashed me
violently
and landed in a soft pile
outside my bedroom window
are melting
I see the sunrise
the day
meeting the night
in a lustful embrace
if our bodies ever meet
I promise to make your sun rise
and then erupt
in a beautiful display
of spicy red
with hints of purple
to leave on the hotel sheets
a reminder
that tomorrows sunrise
is just a day away
you may be colorblind
but I will show you red
with my tongue,
my mouth
my lips
believe me
I will show you
color
how it's meant to be
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
I read a line of scribbled spit nickels
Down the front of your shirt
You pressed a sheet of purple glue
Upon your eyelids
So when you wake up
The sky glows merry
And the trees blow cherry blossom
Daggers in your mouth
The bees **** in your ears
The silence swims in centuries
Your pores are hidden caves
Through which the red sea tide escapes from
Down the river
It flows like spilling
A bucket of butter soaked
Fingers frying on telephone cables
Let’s be so close that we are hideous
I don’t blink enough
to miss the way your eyes looked like half squeezed limes
blond knuckled
teenagers loving their thighs
under the rusty playground slides
I tripped on broken windowpanes
To laugh until my lungs broke through
My temple of loose ***** xylophones
Crickets co-wrote my backyard requiem
My ears were sauce packets
Filled with broken glass microphones
Fast food pottery
Yogurt stains swing dance when I close my eyes
The chalk tastes like baby blankets
Horseradish carpenters bleed bitter pellet gun lubricants
I hung fifteen different shades of mustard yellow
So that I couldn’t hear your sandpaper cackle
Only your cousin’s frigid toaster
Can understand me
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:23 PM UTC
In my smoldering ash-head
there is a shadow of a prayer
shaped like his shoulders;
outlined lips silhouetted against
the sacred space between
your one wing and the ground.
he smells like coffee.
like your home, so silent
the half-twilight finds you
fully opened.
gasping hard.
he slips your hand
hard on hip, a crushed mist
on softened skin
everything is basking
in your warm rolling thunder
every wet breath is pressed
with the seal of your lip
you perch in my owl eyes,
back-bashed through the rafters
he fills you like my empty beak
could not.
I am rat spine pellet,
a meat wrapped skeleton
chewing itself to nothing.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
why is there trash in the Whitehouse
this question
the American people ponder
Obama garbage is polluting the residence
and yet he can't be removed
there must be a cleaning contractor
somewhere in the Congress or Senate
who has the wear with all
with a thorough broom
to excise the filth
that is inhabiting the place
action is needed on the clean up front
to rid the Whitehouse
of this most ugly affront
if he stays around
too much longer
Pennsylvania Avenue
will stink
worse
than a pellet of dog pooh
the American people
deserve a fresh smell
in the Whitehouse
the delightful bouquet
of a Republican resident
will make for a nicely perfumed incumbent
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
The first kind of carnival I encountered besides at the county fair was a huge one on the far outer reaches of the North Bronx on the way to Yonkers and White Plains call Freedomland.
I remember Disneyland and the black licorice drops there at the old time confectionary store. I hope to go to Disney World in my lifetime.
AS far as a regular circus I went to one when I was on a locked ward (we were let out under supervision) at the Lyons New Jersey UAMC. I was so desperately feeling like a failure due to confinement, and felt such hopelessness, that I contemplated joining the circus as a roustabout, but it seemed futile in the big picture, after all, I felt because I'd just be going from the frying pan into the fire success or lack thereof wise.
I think I noticed a certain clown looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and reading my mind there and letting me know I'd mad e the fright decision, and seeing a choice female acrobat stride by that reminded me that I wanted to start a family someday and stars of circuses are probably kept separate from the roustabouts.
I can remember going to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey circus with my mother as a kid and being thrilled at the taste of the cotton candy, the lion tamer doing his thing , the smell of the sawdust, and the ringmaster of that 3 ring circus and his whip. I was in awe.
In the meantime I was going to local carnivals and trying my hand with the pellet gun shooting sitting ducks that passed by in front of the king in the hall of mirrors, and going on the roller coasters and the Ferris wheel.
Later I went to the Barnum and Bailey circus as an adult and the trapeze artist, especially the female ones and , for example the parade of the Arabian horsed, thrilled me too.
I also took my foster son to a carnival and the sorta juvenile delinquent erstwhile deprived kid-he was, I though. I got a thrill out of him seeming impressed.
Enough of this, not that it's syrupy sentimentality, which I find enough in my poetry to have a sense of failure there but maybe kind of exercise in senility.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
there was a red bird
sitting on a branch not ten feet
from my porch
and I thought
to take my pellet rifle
and shoot it dead right there.
it would be an accomplishment,
taking calm and precision,
and it would leave an impact on this world
but not too big of
one.
that red bird
begged of me though,
reminding me of my mortality,
how someone else could take their pellet rifle
and aim their sights down on my chest,
ending me, just as I could end that
bird.
so I sat inside
and watched that red bird
from the window of room.
I let him live, and realized
I had accomplished just as much
and yet nothing at
all.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
The fallen pollen is reclaiming the oxygen,
Suffocating the rain until its soggy tendrils
Devour the world's sickness and plague.
Gunshots pellet the windows,
Booms of the ostentatious cannons
And blinding flashes of electric bombs.
Screaming birds; tumultuous ponds!
Overflowing and impenetrable.
The aggrandizing mushroom cloud
Envelops the sky into opaque nothingness.
With a bang not a whimper
The unending symphony
Self-destructs
Into clamorous silence.
Cries of the vulnerable innocents
Brought into the season of life,
Full of the absence of color
In chill, white hospital rooms
Where even the purest souls
Can sense the lies they are being told.
Oh nameless sadness, oh forgotten song,
Oh unspoken elegy
To the hidden
Stigma.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Most fruit bear their seeds in the middle of their flesh,
To protect their offspring from unwanted guests,
But a strawberry's seeds pellet its outer skin,
They don't care about their kin
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
Moments like these,
When you're at peace,
No one else to see,
and our hearts are finally free,
When I lay on my bed listening to my cats purr, while petting his fur...
Moments like these,
When i hear the tune of a sweet melody ringing in my ears,
No one else to hear,
and i feel calm for once...
Moments like these,
When i lay in a dark room filled with silence,
No one else to see,
and a sound of a soft rain pellet crashing against the window.
Moments like these,
I cherish the time you see,
and when i feel good to be alone,
it's because i'm finally at peace.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
I once shot a bird while my mother cried
A single pellet in a winged angel, stolen from the unforgiving sky
Neither burial nor pyre brings ease to her mind
for her boy shot a bird,
and she saw and she cried.
I held the rifle in front of me,
Its wood my flesh, aging and weary.
As I approached the pigeon bleeding, soon to be sleeping,
I laid a hand on maternal shoulders weeping.
The mechanics of life cocked bitterly in my hand
also ran red amongst feathers down into the thirsty earth once again.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
A man tore himself apart
It was just the other day
Limb to limb, bit to bit
****** pulp, sinew askew
And now he sits and wonders
Was he always in such discord?
Or was this a fabrication
A fabrication of the mind
Or of the absence of a mind
Self diagnosed insanity
A man who had reached an end
A break, a crack, in his psyche
Exhausted every nodule of sense
Along the highway of consciousness
But how has it come to this?
What was it that sent him into madness?
Was there an actual affliction?
Or did he see his reflection?
He took his manifestation of monotony
Blew it to pieces with a shotgun blast
Picking out buckshot with broken fingers
Each pellet another unanswered question
How many times can a man crush himself
Before he's pressed too thin?
How many times can his world be flipped
Before he knows which way is up?
How many deaths must he endure
Before he feels alive again?
But he can no longer take action
After all these mindless meltdowns
He lays on the forest floor, motionless
Becoming one with the earth
Buried in leaves and branches decaying
The dirt below him is cold and wet
Insects crawling and colonizing
Marching through his rotting flesh
And it all feels romantic and beautiful
Sunlight and serenity fall upon him
Feeling nothing and everything
And then nothing again.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC