"plainness" poems
Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would no guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the grass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-littered ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigures them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
8.8k
Simplicity
Short, direct, clear
Elegant in it's plainness
Modest in it's tones
I'm a simple guy
But see it's no bad thing
Because simplicity
Is a beauty of it's own
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
we were sisters, weren't we?
i remember when we were young -
everything was easy then, wasn't it?
before your beauty bloomed and
my plainness stayed,
before the curve of your hips and the sparks of your smile,
set my mother's heart on fire.
we were sisters, weren't we?
when we used to kneel by the hearth for fun,
digging up buried treasure,
sifting through the ashes with our clean-girl hearts,
laughing.
that was before the bitterness choked our home.
we were sisters, weren't we?
you used to crawl under the covers with me,
whisper ghost stories and laugh at me when i got scared.
i reflected your prettiness then,
it shone on me like
the sun on a mirror,
my glass face unmemorable and making yours
all the more dazzling
(not that we knew it:
we were both beautiful,
before we knew any better)
we were sisters, weren't we?
i held your hand when my mother cut you with her words,
i stood up for you when she worked you, i did.
i never once raised a word when you would come to my room,
crying and
raving about her.
i held you when your missing for your own mother rose up sharp in your heart, and i
defended you when my mother spread words like thorns in the villages.
i never once envied you your beauty.
we were sisters, weren't we?
and when that prince came for you,
laughing and
pebbling our window with stones,
i helped you shimmy out into his arms.
i would clean the mud off your shoes when you would stumble back in,
right before the sun came up,
i would put you to bed and make you tea to warm the early-morning chill out of your rose-pink cheeks,
and i waited for you that night you didn't come back.
we were sisters, weren't we?
and you left us.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
come here. i’ll wrap myself around you
most of the time i’m sure i’m a sliding glass door
obvious like a schoolgirl crush
never able to hide the pink in my cheeks
or bury the truth behind enough broken parables
i’m about as vigilant as a chihuahua
perched on top of a sofa barking at the mailman
forgetting for a moment that you could pick me up
and put me down on the floor but
i promise i’ll just jump back up again
never fully accepting the plainness of my bluff
the winters crack my knuckles but
i don’t want to buy another pair of gloves
i’ve got ripped fingernails turned ******
and a kitchen sink full of unwashed mugs
and you’re pulling my hands away from my face
trying to show me how much we look the same
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 9:05 AM UTC
Scarlet roses
Adorn the plainness of my grave
To hide my bed below
Where I sleep at last
Scarlet roses
Turn to black
Dying, just as I have
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 1:14 PM UTC
a wasp flew a straight line
from its nest to me
cloaked in puny sunshine
it thought itself to be free
unheard was its buzzing
unseen its rainbow wings
untold was what it carried
i only felt it sting
the suspension like a drawn sword
cut through the silence within
the absence of feeling retrieved
was healed by the relief of loss
an epitaph if to be given
would affirm the infinity of the end
a promise given in portions
partitioned to satisfaction
make one see through the gloss
to the plainness within
that grieves in honour and truth
shedding tears of blood
it tastes the purest fruit
in the acceptance of its pain
lies the moral of our story
- Sneha Iyer & Vijayalakshmi Harish
04.01.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish & Sneha Iyer
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
Sweetbitter kiss caressed
lips. esophagus. stomach. chest.
inaccessible 'till death.
untouchable--so close to the chest.
unable to put out fires, burns
will have to rest
where they lie smoldering, watching
eyes walk bye.
I close my I.
Carry me, now--not home
not to neverland
not over the rainbow
Just carry me softly in sweet-smelling acidic things.
--a little corrosion does a girl a world of good--
sing me songs, wolf-in-sheeps-clothes, that my mother used to
and bring me gifts on angel-dusted wings,
nothingness never before made greater feeling.
Our lives themselves strived for meaning while we strived for the reason for being
the way the great cold faceless hands created
our unyielding . . . softness
separate from and not unlike a feather
equal both in whimsical light, lack of value, disease and helplessness
great beauty, plainness, and utter insignificance
Us little things are great only to those with great imagination--
light in the clouds,
break in your fever
blip on your radar
the fast one before the flatline always seems so much shorter than it should. Shorter than they said it would.
I relax
sweet relief
sweet goodnight
we'll wake up and try this one more time.
we won't get it right-- you can't
get it right
give me this bip, this sleep, this chance.
********* we'll still try--
to get it right sometime.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
You bring your coquette and charming.
I bring homebread and cheese.
You bring fresh fruit, and spread
I bring romance and eloquent
I bring wine,
And you bring tea.
I've admiration of the old-fashioned kind,
And you've your poised elegance. Sweet
And subtle seductiveness
Do we now practice.
Light and deep conversation,
Peals of laughters
And whispers in the silence.
I don't mind the seeming plainness
of our meeting.
As long as I can enjoy
knowing you're enjoying
Our special spontaneous
Lunch date
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
a wasp flew a straight line
from its nest to me
cloaked in puny sunshine
it thought itself to be free
unheard was its buzzing
unseen its rainbow wings
untold was what it carried
i only felt it sting
the suspension like a drawn sword
cut through the silence within
the absence of feeling retrieved
was healed by the relief of loss
an epitaph if to be given
would affirm the infinity of the end
a promise given in portions
partitioned to satisfaction
make one see through the gloss
to the plainness within
that grieves in honour and truth
shedding tears of blood
it tastes the purest fruit
in the acceptance of its pain
lies the moral of our story
- Sneha Iyer & Vijayalakshmi Harish
04.01.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish & Sneha Iyer
Co-written with my akku Vijayalakshmi Harish :)
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
She is a landscape
Her eyes, filled with lakes
Her body is the rolling hills
Her hair, the grass and leaves
Her voice is the brush of wind
Her eyes, the dirt of flowerbeds
She is a landscape
But all she sees is destruction
She sees the pollution in the lakes
The bumps in the hills
The dying leaves of fall
The plainness of dirt
The sadness in the birds call
We look upon her
And see the beautiful landscape
But alas, her eyes are the dirt
And cannot see
What beauty is built around it.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Water has no color
Water has to scent
Water has no texture
Water has no taste
No color paste can be made without water
No aroma, perfume or sweat, can smell without water
Rough lands are soften into soil through water
All meals are cooked and all drinks are made through water
It's the most simple words
that create complex worlds
In plainness lies poetry.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Examining the accuracy.
Exploring the brightness.
Hunting for certainty.
Inquiring the directness.
Inspecting the lucidity.
Investigating the precision.
Pursuing purity.
On a quest for simplicity.
Researching transparency.
Chasing articulateness.
Frisking comprehensibility.
Going over conspicuousness.
Inquesting a definition.
Rummaging for distinctness.
Scrutinizing the evidence.
Shaking down the exactitude.
On an expedition for explicitness.
Working the legs towards intelligibility.
A perquisition for legibility.
A wild-goose chase for limpidity.
A witch hunt for obviousness.
Interrogating openness.
Probing the palpability.
Prosecuting the penetrability.
Racing perceptibility.
Raiding perspicuity.
Coursing the plainness.
Following the prominence.
Hounding the salience.
Meddling in the tangibility.
Prying into the unambiguity.
Reconnaissance in the cognizability.
Seeking decipherability.
Snooping for explicability.
Sporting limpidness.
On a steeplechase for manifestness.
Studying the overness.
Tracing unmistakability.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
There's a blank sheet of paper I hung on the wall
My mother suggested to after a fall
A fall of inspiration,
Dead of true life,
Hope prancing, leaping, dashing,
In the light of unconventional thought beyond all comprehension,
Of dancing on cloud floors, declining haze of the forests,
While insouciant specks of light, similar to glowing pointillism
Can sharply puncture one's un-anticipating boredom
And infect with a communicable virus of
Celestial inspiration.
I always look back on that paper and perceive,
Beyond my tantalized body and anguishing mind
Through it's blankness, it's empty slate,
It's disgusting plainness, piercing my hope,
It's beauty in its... Lack of anything, null, nought, nothingness--
An array, plethora, profusion, superfluity
Of inconceivable courses of actions
Breathtaking inspiration.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
You and I were tangled in the madness
Like insects in the spiderweb
Helpless Prey
for something that feeds on our suffering
Your Misery and Mine
Became hopelessly entwined
Until the blurs replaced all the lines
That we drew in the sand
When we first began
Our time in each other's lives
I was still a slave to my hate
Too bitter and sour to remember the taste of
the Honey of Love
Warmed in Passion and Lust
Until I saw you standing
In the settling dust
Your eyes are deep shadows
Who knows how far they go?
Oubliettes of old memories
You'd known long ago
The Juliet to my
Tortured Romeo
Your voice became a song
That would guide me home
when I was lost
And had nowhere to go.
And then... you faded
You faded away
You disappeared from my arms
Back into the Haze
into the Sun's hateful rays
And the sky was ablaze
til my nights became days
And everything turned to a thousand different shades
Of Gray
And that's where I stayed
Alone in my Cave
Burning in Solitude and Rage
But Yesterday
You may have Saved me
Because Today
I have this Strangely Amazing
Sensation
of Pure Elation
And maybe I've just gone crazy
But I think
that you Gave me
A new sense of sight
cuz Lady,
Where once my eyes saw only grays
Obscured by the flames of my internal blaze
Nothing fed my insatiable hunger
My Spirit raged at the plainness of lovers
You came along and you sang that old song
And now once again I see
Everything in Color.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
time passes, does it not,
trickling away in drops, from a leaking tap unnoticed
imperceptible, drops of our days and months that
tsunami into years
we might grow more cynical or wise
we might allow the animals to howl or to transform
or we might eliminate hierarchy and symbolism
and see plain and clear past the allegory
what is left of the experiment
(an unintended one, an unknowing participant even)
the residue, the remains of the years –
what chemical composition do we have?
What has transpired here? -
as clueless as we are of the first expansions
the time when the universes arrive in another cycle;
or perhaps we could see everything in the cocksureness of faith
and drag on, in suspension, leave in doubt or in certainty –
each but a conditioning, a myth,
the truth shrouded in symbol and plainness
O sweet loves,
Time wraps us in its mysterious archaic cyberspace
an inner space that draws a roar, a bark, a howl
and we have justifications, visionary words, systems
to put everything into perspective
like a Titian framed so elegantly in an esteemed museum
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
He sighs through his nose and closes his eyes.
This, as they say, is the life.
Forget the sun-stained beaches.
Abandon the synthetic blue sea.
And who needs smooth sand?
When one has air?
And pray tell, where is the demand for rushing waves?
When one has silence?
Pictures and people are shown to him.
Autumn ’58, she tells him.
The jive, she says.
Bright dresses, say the pictures.
Polka dots. Fedora.
Vague smile, he says.
Here’s something he knows:
Peace lies in thoughts.
Serenity basks in plainness.
Know nothing.
Remember little.
Vacant, simple, and ignorant.
Ignorance, they say, is bliss.
Less, they say, is more.
Simplicity is splendour.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
To Think and Ponder every face
that's frowned, and to feel their
anguish and sorrow. That I might taste
of their wounded souls and Empathy in me abound.
I ask why must the lonely
be lonesome, and their hearts be
made cold, e'en though they may act lively,
They dance, but, hear no sound.
And why must they be conscious of
their "plainness"? For surely everybody feels
that doubt. Their Brains think of love
as something to lose, and never again be found.
~I resolve, feeling is Better than not feeling
Therefore, Tis better to possess a heart without sealing.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Gets no love the one who doesn't love.
It's not Karma, but simple logic.
Even if he does, it's a sort of odds,
Making the canon candid.
It's not Karma, but simple logic;
The misanthrope is alone -
Who doesn't like water, will suffocate in,
Who doesn't like life, will be perishing in.
The misanthrope is alone.
This is all a matter of nature-
One may hide in a mass like serpent,
Still being poisonous, threatening.
This is all a matter of nature;
The old song of yin and yang-
Darkness isn't overthrown by brightness,
But they fulfill the scheme of destiny.
The old song of yin and yang-
The side uncursed by goodness
Is the side blessed with senselessness,
Extreme plainness and severity.
The side uncursed by goodness
Fulfills the dark side of the bright -
Without looking for doing the right
Since it's all self-implemented.
Fulfilling the dark side of the bright,
Giving chance for the light,
And bearing all the dark of the moon,
He may be a hero, the antigone.
Giving chance for the light,
Getting no love while another does,
We - people - serve perfect bad examples
For there's no hero without Antihero.
Getting no love while another does,
Even if getting that's out of odds;
Darkness isn't overthrown by brightness,
But each fulfills a scheme in destiny.
We've been and we'll be gone even as antigone.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
How East and West have borne an angel indescribable to man:
In every detail flawless, gorgeous, a jewel in ways unseen, unplanned.
I long for you, you precious diamond, in ways I have not felt before;
Your every movement fills my heart with reckless happiness, and more.
But I do not deserve you angel, not now nor will I ever so:
Your radiance is mirrored only by my undeserving soul.
How could a man of simple skills so dream to call perfection his?
But maybe one so humbly met might show you what perfection is.
I am not handsome, only fair, yet would that not your grace enhance?
I am not brilliant, yet intellect has never given stranger's glance.
I am no prodigy my dear, yet creativity in bounds;
Enough to write ten-thousand songs if smiles could be borne of sounds.
I am not strong, yet broad of back, enough to bear your burdens well.
I am not brave, but that won't stop my staunch protection from all hell.
I am not perfect, not like you, but you should love me all the more,
For what slight flaw you may lament my humble plainness shall restore.
So now you have my simple words, along with all my heart can give;
I wish I were the flawless creature you deserve to love and live.
But though I lack in every sense, there is one trait that I do harbour:
This heart of mine is bursting forth. I love you, darling, like no other.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
'the tragic chapter'
she was a strange one
and that was probably the kindest thing
that was said about her
she had the kind of voice
that reminisced of old school
pre-Disneyfied hideously terrifyingly
mind-alteringly ugly witches
and her looks were not exactly top-shelf,
shall we say
but surely somehow she could have
some kind of productive fulfilling
if not altogether happy life
because everyone can have that
if they truly want it
or so we’re so often told
however
there was a problem
though this individual
held no false pretenses of siren’s voice or angel’s beauty
though she acknowledged and owned and satirized
her own plainness
she would never really be fulfilled or happy
because she had
a particularly devastating and incurable fatal flaw
you see, even though she was a perfectly capable girl
with a good idea of what she found pleasing
materialistically and career-wise
her personal life was another story
even though she would
never dream of playing princess
she still believed herself
to be entitled to no less than
a handsome prince
or knight, or duke, or CEO even
job title wasn’t really the issue
this was due in no small part to that little life gem
we’re all given
that maxim of anyone being or doing or having anything
they ever desired
so long as they wanted and worked for it hard enough
and unfortunately
another of those few things
that could be said in her favor
was that she was nothing if not determined
to the point of obsession, as it were
it was this very determination to land the alpha male
she was never entitled to
that would see through
to the very end of her tale
she knew what she wanted
and knew she would never have it
but the lack of having did nothing
to ease the wanting
so she wanted her way through an entire life
with a successful career
and her own home
and two cats
named Doppelganger and Die Fledermaus
and she spent her down time
in her house
with her cats
talking to her prince
that never was
because she was far too stubborn
to take any lesser offer
than the man of her dreams
but dreams aren’t real
and unfortunately
no one took the time to point that out to her
until in the end
when her cats were dead
and the few friends she had
got tired of listening to her
ramble through her fantasies
and gave up
and left
and she was alone
in her house
talking to her dreams
because those were really
all she ever had.
the end
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:32 PM UTC
I said goodbye
she helplessly cried
full of me
for the first time
Teardrops of
the other
by the other
Not to impress
or annoy
the canvas
of the truth of I
remained untouched
but
this uttermost cry was
maybe a cheek warming
Silent expression just
in the conscious presence
of both
embraced by both
Goodbye to this roof that welcomed
our dreams…
Goodbye to this roof that
accommodated our flows
cries
highs
ties
pies
spies
allies skies
I s
Eyes
Aiaiai s ….
All of her dramatized stories
that agonize
are
to be capsized
to emphasize -
harmonize -
energize
so that
I s
are re centralized
re authorized
along the curly hum
For the game!
like the newborn tree
growing inside of me now
of
Me ?
me again?!?
but
I need not much of these anymore
and such are all things
that gave breath to us :
the in/sentient
courageously left behind
for a cry that bore generations
and such is her’s now
A means
that helped me grow
towards this no thing thing
and You
You ?
But you…
…?
An immortalized posture of a shoulder shrug!
Nothing more
and nothing less
You - as love apart
but still with me
by each one of my shoulder shrugs
like the nameless sage of shoulder shrugs
In the western ‘who cares’ style….
We are so good at that!
So …
so ?
Be proud just!
to be commemorated as such
I will Never
pick a wildflower again
to place in my beloved vase
I did it only twice
Shamefully
Watching the truth die
Instantaneously
and no we do not like duality
But there will NOT be a third time
for such sad action
You have my word on that
I walk now alone
content with a song
of a bird welcoming
my accord
Carrying your light
in my heart
Plainness is my courage
I know you now
Your love rains
beads of truth
shaping words
of peace
that I read
incessantly
as us
knowing my duty
I go
go now
Taking nothing
Needing nothing
Leaving all
Things and
Insightful of
no things
I am you
With you
Listening
Just
to these
final
immaculate
droplets
of hers
before she willingly dies
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
I’ve never been an artist. I wasn’t born to hold a paintbrush in my hand. I’ve never felt the need to capture the reality I see with charcoal or pencil or oils or clay—I just haven’t. Some people stop seeing the world as it is and they change it with their art but I’ve never been an artist. When I see something beautiful I remember it and I learn from it but I see no need to recreate it. I don’t feel the urge to twist it. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but a fake one is only worth questions and I’d rather have the world be raw and blunt and unpolished than have people try and show me how they see it because I don’t care. A picture may be worth a thousand words but there are millions of words inside my head and I can show you everything you need to know with a question and some time to think because the world is not beautiful sunsets or rainy streets it is ketchup stains on trembling lips and empty backpacks soaked by faucets. It is a scarf wrapped too tight around a freckled neck; a goodbye kiss and a leather suitcase and everything in between. You can keep your charcoal if you want it and draw the smiles why I tell you all the reasons there are smiles to draw. The sunsets and the rainy streets exist but they are not important. They are the neon lights and the shadows they don’t reach but they do not highlight the people dancing in between. They are the best days and the worst but they do not show the days of effortless laughter over fractured dreams, messy hair and tear-stained skin. A picture is worth a thousand words but if you have a hundred good words a million pictures can be born. I’ve never been an artist, but I understand that the things that are real are invisible. They cannot be captured by a pen or reined in by a canvas. What everyone calls art could never be extensive enough, exquisite enough; real enough. No matter how many images you see there are always pieces missing. I’ve never been an artist. But if you hand me a paintbrush I will use it to write. I will use it to form the letters that form my life that form the world. And if you insist I can write the word ‘art’ but know that I don’t believe in the plainness of charcoal and paper I believe in the long nights curled up reading and the silent afternoons wishing your story was the same as one you’ve read. Or one you’ve written.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
people keep telling me
not to be like this
the way i am
don't do this
dont do that
you know nothing
its said don't hurt
because see 'hurt' is bad
and bad is bad
how can you convert it into good
or welfare
no matter what you do
and how
people will still be rude
acheful
and deceitful
its not in my mind
to see what they see
they say you know nothing
accept other people's view
to understand them
even if they are outdated
kindless, rigid, heartless
we are asked to realize
especially if it hurts
so what if you are hurt
i am asked
to re-evaluate myself
x-ray and realize
'i am wrong'
they are all right
see..they hide well
i am asked to conceal as well
but see
i can't
i suffer because of this
of my sheer plainness
of my brutality
of my severity
just to be a real
in a world where everybody
does nothing
other than hurt'
yet again
i am asked 'don't think, don't feel'
'you are good'
not knowing it's my heart
that get hurts in the end
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
my life is
mediocrity
plainness
inadequacy
weakness
and that is hard to change
I could end it
guns
knives
poisons
ropes
but that has it's problems
so I keep living
I can't fix anything
but it is changing
slowly
is it good change?
is it worth it?
I don't know
I don't really care
it is what it is.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
Rhapsody Told
The wild tempered without with a demure conscious knowing with the slightest effort a
Flame explodes from the red hair to the soul of her feet extolling virtue that is volcanic at anytime
Eruption the fire sprays out over everything for a time it consumes then with the act of a fiery dancer moving
To the somber beat the longer she twirls it begins to subside the super charged body retreats into
Mellowness but the facts are known now you prize her more but with caution you both hold the reigns
As hearts race with excitement in moments it could be continued calm or white water either way life is
Enriched you don’t have need of searching for the next thrill just look into those deep burning eyes
There not to be trusted for ordinary display they say come and ride the wild wind a tempest stirs within
My breast hold my hand we will escape together to the islands of the sea stand at the edge darkness just
Beyond the natives savage fire match his moves as he sways and then more violent his actions become
There is the time when you let go and become prime evil raw gratitude expressed brings life full circle
You return to the accustomed expected norm but on the inside the beat of drums that are foreign
Continue to hold you fascinated and bound customary moors are abridged the soul quickens with
Delight bring on the night it just feels right when I hold you tight the grand totality of freedom gives us
A soaring we leave the plainness of earthen ground behind to catch the wind in our teeth take out large
Bites the night air stirs up what could be if you have the courage to grasp it is it thunder or is our hearts
Exploding what vistas we behold canyons and rivers lie below somehow there is a story being told it comes into our
Knowing freeing minds no guessing now articulation speaks with clearest words some never know this
Reality lies dormant all you do is stoke the coals and say come with me dear wife the night is alive it
Belongs to lovers bold the day is for working the night is for loving bliss
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 1:37 PM UTC