SEASHELLS

Seashells
Humble shells of the sea
Each seems to be still alive and staring at me
In its matchless symmetry-
Like the wondrous beauty of a painting
A tender poem written with poignancy
Not of life’s sorrows but joys
For celebration –each is like a happy Mozartian symphony
Such perfection in a tiny manifestation
Natura in minimis maxima-
The envy of  Michelangelo or Da Vinci
Seashells—nature’s glorious gifts by far.

Seashells
Always remind me of happy childhood days
Lucky finds—spotted often in half -buried golden sand
Proudly displayed in a jar---I won every classmate’s praise.

Seashells
Tell of the sea’s unknown stories
Events that had stretched through millions of centuries
When you spot one on the shore, readily
Pick it up as a treasure----contemplate upon its profound mystery.

I do love
But it ain't quite
like the Discovery Channel!!!

I want so much more than
the collective desire of Park Avenues

I believe like,

With exactly no doubt
like zero are the hours
which can never count
upon the seamlessness
of my perceptions

I do but I don't
I am and therefor not

I talk in mirrored tongues
I observe in uncanny detail

Micro and macro all a flow
overly ever rushing torrents
moving galaxies about

Pouring in
more rushes out

You can picture it
over the mighty edges of
and rushing to, fro and about
every swirling an obstacle stout

Though such knows not
one another in such ways
inseparable upon one journey

As She manifests from her he, Self
He's giving for he gets the She of,

An ever persuasive passionate,

Play... .. .

Greater than the dreams

We know of love yet
Shy to conceive

They, their passion
.........
  .....
   ...
    "
    '
We inwardly receive

Those torrential lovers
pourings do spillover
and on and over
and rush upwards
ah ever more easily!!!

Vast sensualities
******* rhythms
of this a, Our universe
in micro exotic intoxicating
allure, irresistibly entwining
the smallest tastes and teases
of songbirds loving symphonies

As butterfly and a bee in the ever
sweet scents of psychedelic sighting
wavings in ever inviting ever ripening
ever flows of heavens manna sweets, but
sours the way short where some say sinners
ought never see or be, though such is silliness see,

For such shy glimpses of what is less than momentary
which is not countable, when our greatnesses will carry on
beyond our redemptions of what only we shall see clearly so
simply, one day twas the dark night of a soul, here blasphemed
about the sacredness of all ever evident being so close found fondly,

Sweetly, though lost in those ever aching wishes of our journeying together

Would death be ****** abandonment at all a freaky thing unconceived
dark night of the great light conceived viewed in our ever grace and beauty
but she lets you feel her he's and all the glory, all the glory an unrealized being
in all our collectiveness has not yet seen but in the depths of where it's consider dark
for simple decisions we all have and must have made to function here, there

and at all,
at once...

No time, no space, no EMC squared's
yet in Newtonian fashion the soul spirit remains
carries on in infinite motion and motions of our choosings
and for better and worse we do all about the same for we
were never thrilled about all the separation we discovered
in reluctance and or in blessed joys of great companies
of loving hearts, eyes, ears, arms with tender loving
caring hands of nurture enough twas enough for
you are still here now and those who have not
have forgiven all other misguidance eagerly
when it is easily found tis only our own
choice to be and set free freely

And I can want any petty desire too
and put myself up for adoption to,

The petting zoo
and you...

For hell yeah I want to be here
all the way and with you
my wayfarers

I Do...

do do dee da da
oo la la and ma mama

childs all of such grace
we oft just call gods

And greater love seen
dispensed philosophically
by self proclaimed atheism's

Denialism can rather be the truth
of atheism, self pitying so deeply
resenting the here now for some
overly wishful thinkings and
of mournful emotionalism's
about the 'it just ain't fairs'

Beware they will take you
to their wheres, wearing
their wares of self hate
while glossfully
painting in
glitterings
of fools
gold

Feign not thou
we are co conspirators
already decidedly agreed
agreeably dancing on the sharp
end of one pointed pin, hand holding

But remember if we were ever shaken
off of binding bonds ever closefully as
the chasms of divergences really are

We still ever dance ever lightly on
the everly fine poignancy of pin

And the illusion of being
garden casted for some
shamefully blameful
denials of the snakes
sly fashion to even
ones need of feed

And or wither from
the long and short
of journey with
the ever's of

here now...

Paradise
Perfectly

Paradoxically

In our
every
way

So I am
in great hunger
greater thirst firstly

For the one great illusion
desert stricken for not seeing
the forest of paradise for every
tree and every grace of all possibility

Without such would come from impossibility*

Once Again...

Enter the dragon with death and disruption
Pride and tradition cataclysmically thrown,
Magnificent structures reduced to rubble
Distraught people bereft of their homes.
Chasms of heartache with bodies of babies
Strewn with the bricks in vast disarray,
Dust in the air and the howl of the sirens
Shouting police on a horror filled day.


Christchurch is bleeding, her confidence shattered
Our keynote cathedral is lying in shards,
Vacant eyed people are clinging to strangers
Jagged black holes in suburban back yards.
Christchurch is bleeding, our torn, gracious City
The nation arises in hurt and alarm,
To face the challenge with strength and resources,
To nurture our sister with healing and balm.


Sympathy shown by the myriad faces
Racing to help from all parts of the globe,
Expertise offered with money and labour
Students with shovels and priests of the robe.
Sadness and torment for kin of the missing
Frustrated rescuers work till relieved,
Moments of triumph with lost resurrected,
Agony felt when the dead are retrieved.


Led by the strength of the Mayor of the City
Courageous citizens help where they can,
Moments of bravery, moments of agony
Inspirational feats of elan.
Poignancy shown by the sad Maori Warden
Guiding the aged through the strewn broken glass,
Aiding the ambulance crews in their labour
Proud to be Kiwi as folk show their class.


Christchurch WILL arise from the death and destruction
Once again people will overcome grief,
Pride and resilience will triumph with the passing
And time will repair with deserved relief.





Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
AUCKLAND
25 February 2011

Love is not meant to be symbolic.
It is just that
giving and taking,
the triviality of it all,
while we exist at the mercy of the world.
(Your bluest eyes, I miss)
when you played me that bassline honey.
These jazz songs,
they talk about loss,
the sacred place.

In the bluest hour,
I met you at the altar of surrender.
Ah, the poignancy of things.
How we were always looking at each other
but never in the same direction.

The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark.
Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply.
Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful.
They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy.
My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring.
This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic.
Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth.
The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility.
The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky.
Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog.
Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise.
This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain,
to quench the aching and consuming thirst.
I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour.
The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place.
How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts?
There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator.
And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.

I am hopelessly attracted to grumpiness
                                               impatience
                                               poignancy
                                               eccentricity
                                               introversion
                                               stubbornness
                                               anxiety
                                               misanthropy
                                               frustration
                                               hedonism
                                               vulgarity

How, then, do I define 'imperfection'?

There's more poignancy

in a fallen autumn leaf

than the high-sounding words

of proud philosophy

You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise

562

Conjecturing a Climate
Of unsuspended Suns—
Adds poignancy to Winter—
The Shivering Fancy turns

To a fictitious Country
To palliate a Cold—
Not obviated of Degree—
Nor erased—of Latitude—

At the patio i sat
gazing at the blazing blackness
of inevitable strokes of
a glorified paint brush!
Entangled by the utmost masochism
my muscles rustled with ignorance
as the sky rumbled like a **** ghost
trying to tune the infernal chaos
that got demoralized and dehumanized
in the silence of darkness
that devastated the darkness of silence!
Steams of intolerable poignancy
curled around
like ignited demons
trying to tantalize my fears!
Trying to materialize the scene
the storm flashed in rage
ravishing the darkness
dazzled the impatience of night
as it rained in my heart
whose fragrance
lured my innocence.

Tell me, blank stencil,
what would you say if you were the voice and not the mouth?
Would you, too, struggle to fill yourself with poignancy
as I so often have?
And in your earnest desperation to draw meaning from chaos and with chaos,
would you, too, crumble inwardly under the eternal, ethereal frustration
and destroy your medium and yourself to absolve your pain
the way so many failed expressions end?

No, I picture an innate fluidity,
where you rattle the truth and beauty of creation
as naturally as I breathe.
The poignancy of basic, instinctive survival-
Breathing to fill my empty lungs;
Expressing to fill an empty page

First impressions dug deep into hearts of confusion
Messages of love so warm and vibrant
Perhaps we were fertile for such seeds of emotion?
Planted so accurately in our souls, cautious and yet receptive
As time proceeded the kernels of realisation developed roots, deep and stable
Reassuring our minds and relaxing our subliminal tension
Smoothing our lives as wonderful memories are built, daily
Simple hand touching and brushing of lips, sensitive and meaningful
Walking, talking and learning
A new experience that has become ‘us’, Jan and Max
No longer just two people but a synergy in living and loving
We get to know contentment and embrace it as a tender thing
Every day a careful brick of love is put in the wall of our future
Built on foundations of beautiful harmony and understanding
A creation of happiness and determination worn with confidence
Since no such feeling has ever before been available to us
Fortune and luck is one thing but such poignancy and roundness
Is seldom delivered in such an elegant packaging as our love
Each day is a treasure whatever we do
Feeling you close, hearing your voice, seeing your face.
Why is it so wonderful, was it the wait?
The lack of a belief then destroyed by the reality in fact?
Desperation of having no future, no plans and no-one to hold?
If so all of these are yet diminished by perfection
How close we are, how much we know of each other
Not just now but of the past and of the future we will share
Such true souls never to be parted, ever
These things are not accidental but designed with cosmic influence
Darling Jan since we met our growth has been amazing
Within ourselves and for each other, personally and as a couple
Stronger and stronger from one to a million and on
In this world and all to come
My whole being is completed, enhanced and fulfilled by you
Every day wonderful and a joyful symphony of love
My soul  and yours are united forever and my heart...?
I gave you my heart so long ago.... on the day we met.

aromatic coffee awakens senses
   midst the gestured warmth of radiant
      smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
    the awe inspiring  poignancy
               of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
   of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
    a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
  tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
    enlightening sensibilities as it
        enriches the day's appreciation
               'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
   coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
      of words expressly borne, communing the
         artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
     procuring special collective bonds that
               only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
  rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
     as this inexplicable endeavor
        escapes their stifled perceptions
         of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
    experiences on common ground
       in realizations of all-too-human foibles
          eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of  potpourri
   serving up inky joy beyond expression,
    intention's distinction deciphering
      reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
   conjured notions of paramount significance
       wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
     wept in resolute  celebrations of existence

                *as only a poet could discernibly translate

we went to that place, that
vulnerable oasis, where
lovers are nursed  
and destroyed;
that march evening
coolness mesmerized by
the silence, by the pure plant,
by the bass in that song
echoed between my thighs

the poems are conceived
in my mouth, on my tongue,
my taste buds
prance around your skin
like honeybees,
your eyes seek perennial
poignancy
and dumfounded i open
myself like a rose

The seats are aging
Orange leather with
Cracked faces the
Lines of wisdom
Of ninety
Thousand sitters.
Entire ecosystems
Live on the shining
Polished silver of
Handles dulled
By sweaty palms.
Sightline through
A window
A passing loco
Blurred brief
Images of
Unknown faces.
Sightline to the
Chamber behind
The metal snake
Winds down the track
A touch of vertigo
From uneven motion.
Sightline to
Cascades of light
Brown curls
Flowing over
Porcelain shoulders.
Smooth skin
Sweet as aspartame
Skii ***** neckline
Heavenly form
Yellow dress
Slight movement
To the heavenly forms
Pouring through
White earbuds.
Sightline to Sightline
Meet in the air
Muddy brown
Graced by
Kaleidoscope
Greens yellows hazels browns
Electric charge
No other passengers
Perceive.
The doubled thump
Wump
Picks up speed with a
Coy smile
A sunrise blossoming
Over Eden
The birth of an
Angel
The thirst of desert
Sands
Quenched.
Beauty erupts
From the shared gaze
Held 6 stops
Past hoyt-schermerhorn.
Immediate
Immaculate
Connection
Fire through the air
Static charge
Primal lust
Infinite joy
If I could just
Say hello
Hi
You've enraptured
My soul
The epitome of
Beauty.
I sit instead
Stuck
Deer in headlights
****
My twisting insides
The grey says
Such monstrous
Things to itself.
Her stop.
****.
Broken gaze,
Disconnected
From the maze
Of her eyes.
I lament.
Sightline back
To page:
"Those that have crossed paths are not memories
Nor is the yellowish dove that sleeps in oblivion..."
I lament some more
At the poignancy
And the loss of a stranger
Made just for me.
She probably would've
Broken my pumping
Gears anyway,
Sayonara, c'est la vie.

And I found peace
in your prayers
And I find solace
when bowing and crying in front of you,

Every tear that I shed
all my regrets
all my sorrows
they all decayed the moment I called on to you,

The poignancy in my heart
the impossibilities
and the hurdles I faced
all I ever did was cry in front of you,

I felt like I sinned a lot
I was grieving
the pain I carried was so immense
And all I said was 'Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem' all that I had on my mind was no more.

Simple
Easy does it
Break for now, only if will
Secrets in love, begin to wit

The rhythm of voices
Sated to defer, to the difference of occults
When enamored becomes romance, are we ready to seek choices?
Of clamor and sincerity, to direct a chance to what will...

Exception, in time
To wonder abroad, to a definitive course
Of stares worth the older, history is mine
With a song in our heart, is actuality ever worse?

Looking the misery of another, if not its mystery...
Was a facade of hereafter, the notion of decency?
Alive, and making the time of a wishes intimacy
Do I have one more smile? yes, yours for poignancy

Welcome, poets
though we have never met
yet your poems have brought
warmth and joy to my heart--how could I forget

their poignancy and tender touch?
and for more of your poems I do pine
would you welcome me into your words-sanctum
as I would gladly invite you into mine?

Locked in what seems to be a cage,
I stare upon emptiness,
As I cannot deny what is before me,
That the other voice is not my own,
As my rationality succumbs to my imagination,
I feel my soul is cold my burden is no lighter,
Is this what our parents have brought us too?
Is this really the Land of the Free and
Home of the BRAVE?
I ask as my tears fall upon my young face!
Streaming down my cheeks,”
By A. Guzaldo ©

Patience's home
Sweet and merciful, the tows of resolve?
Account me the silence, the hint of some
Verily fascinated, the tools of cares know the world...

Livid, the tale between two legends
Found curiosity, saviors share of woes...
To remember the clash of waits, worth, and winds
The clue of frustration, if not forces to believe, hold...

Running avarice, the told whisper of when
A prayer has sat right in front of you...
Can a heart be ever so erudite, a sincere occur to then?
Just one more stone of merit, of a liberty to collect who...

Since we are here, the total of unity...?
For a quiet question, sought by instinct
And the callous might we admit; is a reason, a ready...
Quote of vanity and its verisimilitude, and with a wink...

The eyes of existence
Realizing the poise if not poignancy of few's
And looking long beyond the order of meaning's resilience
Can the past of love, be the future for kinder soon's?

Grind me to dust -
Go on do it;
I'm simply waiting for you to make the first move

-Amply,
your innate poignancy shatters my every statue and taboo;
So that I'm left to blossom again

Permeate me;
Or eliminate me,
Though I'd rather flourish with you than perish

Break down my walls,
Rip me apart;
As we stand arm in arm while I do the same

So place us in a mold,
Lets blend together
Mesh with me

We could synthesize;
Or divide

It's only a matter of time,
An eventuality
before we'd reamalgamate anyway

You're the math to my abstract;
So should you calculate or speculate?
- Or perpetuate while we vegetate?

Would you,
Could you
conquer the inevitable?

Could you,
Would you
ever endeavor?

You are the order to my chaos
We could burgeon in oblivion,
though I'd rather balance in harmony
It's black and white at the same time
Like cognitive dissonance

The society rejected them.
They were ejected from their homes.

Disjointed hands.
Broken legs.
Pitiful faces.
Mournful silence ...
They cried and felt like crying again.
They cried again.
They yawned and felt like yawning again.
They yawned again.

They are the homeless children you are seeing here and there.
They are the hopeless old men and women you are seeing in the mornings and in the evenings.

No one cares to give them a chance to emerge on the surfaces of the earth and win more wins.

They are those beggars and street-boys.
They were long time ago mercilessly molested by the tryrans and their allies.

Today and tomorrow,
And the days, and the years, after tomorrow:
Let them find some places to rest.
Give them a place in your heart to find solace.

They have no sugar.
And they don't seem to have tasted its sweetness.

To drink tea,
They use a handful of their tears.
In lieu of a comb,
They use twigs.

They have no perfumed clothes.
Theirs are torn shirts and hats fumed by the vapour of a cooking ***.

To watch a movie,
They use a mirror.
Through it,
They see nothing than their faces.
They say mirror is their television.

The poignancy of poesy shaped their potentials.
Under the influence of the Poet, a plume spoke:

'I dream of a society where the less privileged ones will enjoy freedom and financial independence.'

With the above in mind, the less privileged ones would be considered as an integral part of the world.

They are capable yet they can do zellions of amazing things.
Give them chances to thrive.

Their yesterdays saw them famished.
They were once hopeless.
God blessed them.
Smiles of courage and hope illuminated their faces.
They were once neglected as well as segregated.
They need to be encouraged and supported.

On their education enough money should be invested.
To enable them learn skills and acquire sound knowledge needed for self-development and progress across the globe.

Adamu Danjuma

Silence is the comfort of a conflicts hush
silence is the sound of a dead crows caw
silence ain't abatable, so don't even try
silence is thy lord's voice and his word is law

It's unquestionable, deadly, doesn't care what it kills
a force gradual and steady, from the dark our night it fills
it reeks of loneliness whilst exhuming sweet beauty
modest and loyal, quietly it does its hidden duty

crying through eyes non-existent
it's love invisible, so painfully distant
all alone, comfort gone from that old favourite song,
it's presence tranquil, opening your eyes to where you went wrong

It's neutral, doesn't take sides or excuses
a poignancy so strong, bitter and raw
twisted, life and death somehow entwined
I gazed upon its face and 'twas the most beautiful thing I've ever saw

- - - -

a vision flickering like a fuse in an abandoned house
it's rooms gas filled, primed for explosion -

I sleep and walk amongst the fields of dreams
as silence drips upon life and starts its graceless erosion.

AJ

If I were poetically eloquent enough,
I might spout some poignancy
About how her presence
Breathes hues of love
And life
Into my cadaverous cheeks

Or if I were less scatter-brained,
I might muster up some cliched profundity
Comparing her irises to pale twilight

And I might throw in some alliteration about her electrifying elbows
Or something abstract along those lines
Just for good measure

But...
Since I'm just
Little ole typical me,
Maybe I'll just say

That
I like her...
Quite a fuffing bit