"pollens" poems
for leather accrues
The miracle of the streets
The scents & smogs &
pollens of existence
Shiny blackness
so totally naked she was
Totally un-hung-up
We looked around
lights now on
Top see our fellow travellers
~~~
I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain
~~~
She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
just out of reach
A candle stranded on
a beach
While the sun sinks low
an H-bomb in reverse
~~~
Everything human
is leaving
her face
Soon she will disappear
into the calm
vegetable
morass
Stay!
My Wild Love!
~~~
I get my best ideas when the
telephone rings & rings. It’s no fun
To feel like a fool-when your
baby’s gone. A new ax to my head:
Possession. I create my own sword
of Damascus. I’ve done nothing w/time.
A little tot prancing the boards playing
w/Revolution. When out there the
World awaits & abounds w/heavy gangs
of murderers & real madmen. Hanging
from windows as if to say: I’m bold-
do you love me? Just for tonight.
A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines
at the glass sliding door (why can’t I
be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine
revs & races against the grain- dry
rasping carbon protest. I put the book
down- & begin my own book.
Love for the fat girl.
When will SHE get here?
~~~
In the gloom
In the shady living room
where we lived & died
& laughed & cried
& the pride of our relationship
took hold that summer
What a trip
To hold your hand
& tell the cops
you’re not 16
no runaway
The wino left a little in
the old blue desert
bottle
Cattle skulls
the cliche of rats
who skim the trees
in search of fat
Hip children invade the grounds
& sleep in the wet grass
’til the dogs rush out
I’m going South!
40.3k
Spring upon the rose and live on the flow—
delve into the fragrance that goes full tilt
on petals that never drift with the wind.
Let it be—without form,
without a visual show.
Let’s not forget the truth:
even in pitch-dark invisible moments,
the Moon puts up a show.
Believe it or not—around that sweet spot,
the artistic paragon, Paradise, may be the next stop.
The butterfly paradise slips out to fly,
wafting into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo—on its picturesque wings it holds every eye;
where it reaches, no one knows.
It’s on the other side of the pool—
only Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!
Any pause is deadly, heavy-handed on that route.
Death is no more; it’s unknown now.
And time—ripe for beauteous sight—is on for good!
If only one can hold their gaze,
walking the secret alleyways of God!
Oh, they flower in the fire,
dip into the sea in a single drop of water,
and pan out to another world within this world.
This time, Moses resists not—
his eyes peep beyond the burnt Mount Sinai,
gazing through burnt kohl,
across the shaded pollens
of the Ultimate Burning Beauty!
When it’s live in the true terra incognita,
it could be beyond the paradise rainbow—
the one show the true seekers sought the most.
Before long, all the rest may fade into the kohl.
Godsent, the most beautiful feminine paragon—Fathima—
lifts the black screen off at once, casting her gaze
from every never-blurred, myriad fractal pixel.
All in all, even the never-known pi digits in toto
soak into the one true description of reality's show!
Be en route—
it’s only the chosen eyes’ wonder-show,
where the handsome swans of Paradise stand on their toes.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 11:17 AM UTC
Lily pollens glow
rain of tears drops though it rained
petals glow
lily gleam and glow through it reverses time
night crickets chitter in joy
clock hand reverse twelve
midnight bell rings
willow leaves raddle like reindeer bells
pasture sound chitters and shallow
river flow down the stream fast
the wind made tree leaves raddle
so quick time stopped beneath my feet.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
Busy bee eyeing the flowers
Seduced by the bright colors
Probing with the proboscis
Hairy body covered with pollens
Visiting the clovers and hollyhocks
Also in love with Dahlias and roses
Returning with the days fill
Honey sac full of nectar
Returning to the honeycomb
They are ‘Bee-ing’ happy
With all the sweetness
Just Bee Happy
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
The day on a high
reaches the peak
over the pyramid.
Shrouded in twilight
now tucked in light
pushes the envelope.
The whole panache of stars
came out in the pitch dark.
The North Star is on the way
oh do me a favour
I will tell you why.
Veil the angle of dawn
in the black shades of the night.
There are dark caves
even inside the pyramid
scientists, trained eyes
yet to tread on that way.
Put on it only an instance of your kohl
the daylight is already a burnt mole.
Light in the wrap in the night
your muslin veiled silken moonlight
is enough to find the tuberose’s earth.
If the tucked away sun crops up
once again over the morning’s rose petals.
Again it will dive deep into the angle
after an angle in the black hole of the night.
A far cry from the glowing firefly
eyeing blindfolded behind the moon
perfectly beyond every looking star.
Until the master arts in silk black finds the true pencil
not in visualising but catching the views of the sunrise
through the lens of the rose pollens’ kohl-eyes.
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 1:48 AM UTC
I have seen the night
I have seen the day
I have seen butterflies over flowers
for nectars and for pollens
I have seen fireflies over moon
for heaven and for solace
But I have never seen this
what I see today
Candles and Sunflowers
I am in a field of green
over a top of hill, lovely
under the black with twinkles,
now and then.
and there are candles all around
and there are sunflowers
dancing and swaying with mountain breezes
and I am here, not astonished at all
I smile at everything
because the candle burns all my existence
and my memories sway slowly
memories of time when I have been sunflower
and i forgot sun would come back
but my desperation told me candles can do better
and I was not wrong
No sun can replace the candle
That have ignited and waxed my love
I do not desire sun any more
When you are here
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
say
where should i keep all those foot-prints
having no lineage
from whose paraffin-in-the-palms
has taken birth
so much monsoon rain-falls
why the seagulls of this earth
have not learnt
in a better way
the meaning of open windows
wearing the same costume
they can fly only
from the north-east thames
to the non-aryan autumn
in the woods of yellow moon-light
the feathers fall down
from the body of the villagers
they levitate as letter
like the leaves of coconut
before the windows of a hospital
it may happen then
in the fire of the cigarette
in-between the fingers
there is no more in waiting
any absent-mindedness
rather
after composing their letters properly
the mermaids in the deep-fridge
are waiting for their next print
by putting the fire of the dry straws
in the air the indifferent neighbour
saves the intellect of the red-sandalwood
thus if it is possible to catch there
the betrothal
in the oily pollens of the spring
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
pollens are drifting on the air
they've tormented my delicate nose
I spend my days
with tissues in hand
dabbing the wetness that flows
at intervals
I
achoo
achoo
achoo
floating pollen
is something
that I really
do rue
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
It was a Sunday afternoon when I
went for an impromptu drive,
keeping my foot on the gas and snaking
among the one-ways and the
downtown traffic as I
made my way to the river.
I put the heat on
ever so slightly just so
I'd be warm enough to roll
the windows down and feel that
fresh spring air on my face.
I wore my retro hat backwards,
and my Raybans covered my eyes,
my cool demeanor and slouchy posture
in sync with the steady rhythm of the
90s hip hop booming through my
speakers.
I watched the sun as it made love to
the river's chop, and
I snuck a glance at the stolen kisses
the green grass shared with the
tall trees on the shoreline.
Beautiful yellow and purple buds
splattered the bushes like
Impressionism,
thick dabs of color that all blended
into a beautifully disorganized
vision of the season of
rebirth.
I sprouted wings and flew outside
my body as I inhaled
pollens and flower nectar,
as my skin reddened under the
bright sunlight,
my self got lost in the time and space
continuum that swallowed me
like ground swallowed up the last
traces of snow, replacing my ground
with the warmth and
rebirth that spring always brings
after a long winter.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
The honeybee attempting to overwinter by the window sill ,
the same one that sparked the growth and fruition
of our Summer Squash hills ....
Filled our trellis with delicious cucurbits and Roma tomatoes ,
brought life giving pollens to our Pattypans , Crooknecks
Butternuts and Acorns ..
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
I see the birds
Flying high and low
In this beautiful morning sun
I'm sure they'll be singing
And chirping away
Waking at this time of day
I see the river nearby
Shining brilliantly of silver whites
Splashes in the glorious sun
Im sure the humming
sounds so marvellous
With some bubbles perhaps?
I see two dogs playing on the grass
Their teeth showing
Rolling on their backs, getting dirt
I'm sure they'll be barking playfully
Sounds of happiness
While I watch them play
The leaves by my side
Moves endlessly
The colourful flowers opens up wide
I'm sure there'll be sounds of rustling
While the winds rushes
Picking the pollens as they go
I see all the beautiful surroundings
But I hear no sounds
Making my day so quiet
I see with my eyes
And use my eyes to hear
Making the most of it
My ears are no use to me
For I am deaf as a post
My eyes are my ears
What I see are beautiful
And the silence don't stop that
I let the imagination go wild
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
Noirs de loupes, grêlés, les yeux cerclés de bagues
Vertes, leurs doigts boulus crispés à leurs fémurs,
Le sinciput plaqué de hargnosités vagues
Comme les floraisons lépreuses des vieux murs ;
Ils ont greffé dans des amours épileptiques
Leur fantasque ossature aux grands squelettes noirs
De leurs chaises ; leurs pieds aux barreaux rachitiques
S'entrelacent pour les matins et pour les soirs !
Ces vieillards ont toujours fait tresse avec leurs sièges,
Sentant les soleils vifs percaliser leur peau,
Ou, les yeux à la vitre où se fanent les neiges,
Tremblant du tremblement douloureux du crapaud.
Et les Sièges leur ont des bontés : culottée
De brun, la paille cède aux angles de leurs reins ;
L'âme des vieux soleils s'allume, emmaillotée
Dans ces tresses d'épis où fermentaient les grains.
Et les Assis, genoux aux dents, verts pianistes,
Les dix doigts sous leur siège aux rumeurs de tambour,
S'écoutent clapoter des barcarolles tristes,
Et leurs caboches vont dans des roulis d'amour.
- Oh ! ne les faites pas lever ! C'est le naufrage...
Ils surgissent, grondant comme des chats giflés,
Ouvrant lentement leurs omoplates, ô rage !
Tout leur pantalon bouffe à leurs reins boursouflés.
Et vous les écoutez, cognant leurs têtes chauves,
Aux murs sombres, plaquant et plaquant leurs pieds tors,
Et leurs boutons d'habit sont des prunelles fauves
Qui vous accrochent l'oeil du fond des corridors !
Puis ils ont une main invisible qui tue :
Au retour, leur regard filtre ce venin noir
Qui charge l'oeil souffrant de la chienne battue,
Et vous suez, pris dans un atroce entonnoir.
Rassis, les poings noyés dans des manchettes sales,
Ils songent à ceux-là qui les ont fait lever
Et, de l'aurore au soir, des grappes d'amygdales
Sous leurs mentons chétifs s'agitent à crever.
Quand l'austère sommeil a baissé leurs visières,
Ils rêvent sur leur bras de sièges fécondés,
De vrais petits amours de chaises en lisière
Par lesquelles de fiers bureaux seront bordés ;
Des fleurs d'encre crachant des pollens en virgule
Les bercent, le long des calices accroupis
Tels qu'au fil des glaïeuls le vol des libellules
- Et leur membre s'agace à des barbes d'épis.
1.4k
*Inside the warmth of an afternoon café
Her romantic eyes
Clicked pictures of the fallen sun,
And how its golden pollens
Rolling down from
Her lover's caffeinated cheek.
Empty chairs around them
Empty dishes and cups,
Unsaid emotions of people already left
Stirred the silence inside her.
Behind the window glass
She felt another world revolving,
Devoid of quiet laziness.
Festival of various faces with
Running colours in hands
Flying words in hearts
Were re-cycling the myth of time
Or maybe moulding some lives out of it.
Her amazed self collected
Those moments or movements,
Like a child snatches from the wind
Pebbles of rainbow after rain.
And when he asked her
If she wanted to take anything,
Without opening her lips
She answered,
"I have just taken in everything."*
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
The sun lays herself upon memory
Laying ground for unspoken imagery
And in this place of privacy
I rest my head.
Light from sky
And warmth from day
Protrude my eyes with the scent and haze
Of pollens strong
Inconspicuous way
And in comfort that time will start again,
And industry will take away
These moments of lustful and lazy play.
Until that moment,
when new forms
Of peace and want display
dusk becomes the romance and the pleasure
summer are the wealthiest of my leisure
And we will meet behind the dusty throw of light
orange red will be our candle
Till night looms
This – the aspect of our life
Our destiny and daydream this day
Forever
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 1:49 AM UTC
She lived in a prison trapped by her own demons
Far away on a land in the vacant city of Past
(This must be a new renaissance)
With its thousand over capacity of memories populating the country
They hiss and snarl and growl and tear at her clothes
Trying to get her to utter something
An apology or a plea, a command or a query
Say a prayer! Say a prayer! little girl in the prairie
Yet she will not break her silence
A stone wall set high above the cement floors of the four walls that were caging her in
She would not give up the strength she found
In the sliver of light that sneakily crept under the tight fit of her window sill
Every afternoon at 3pm when the sun was at its highest
So were her fears and doubts at their lowest
She had the name of Paula given by her ancestors
Who collected flowers of which pollens were distributed by bees
To their own specific ministries that thrived off of generosity and pure need to give
Yet at night the monsters came back to prey on her decaying bones that
Gave a home to the fatigued
Sensitive to every piece of sound she could collect in her ears
Looking around constantly wondering who’s there hiding behind every whisper of the wind
Psychotic laughter ate at her resolve, feeding from the tears they didn’t know will someday
**** them; she killed them with every desperate cry to her King
They knew not of a Prince of peace with glory and power and grandeur and majesty
Her hands grew weake but His remaidn strong throughout the years
They pushed back the walls that were falling
Based on the wrong foundations they couldn’t hold on to the weight on their shoulders
Pressing at every corner, every shoulder blade was a blade on its own, turning on itself
Like a jealous lover, they all fell away pointing their fingers indignantly
With an air of impudence with which they could not see or hear or think or imagine
Surely, they must have known of a God who could do wonders like use a stone as a destructive weapon against a Philistine?
All that was left of the cell where she was so untimely detained was smoke and ashes
Scent of old and Past – a receding memory from a warrior’s victory
It no longer held captive the prisoner it once held
So closely
So dearly
In its arms
Safe and sound she goes back to her Father's arms
Trapped in the embrace where freedom lived
And salvation, and grace, and mercy
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
You can find me in the fields,
catching water bugs,
and small red beetles.
You will find me in the grass,
sifting through all of the things I have left.
sifting through dollops of honey
and gin
sifting through well-rusted lockets and tins
o’er high hills comes sweet-smelling winds
carrying over pollens from yore,
drifting from to city to city once more...
twenty years later i sit in my yard
with my cats and my children in the heart of new york,
new york
a faint, yet audible buzzing awakes me from my nap,
and as i wake i see a flow‘r on my lap.
how could this be?
how could this happen?
i’m surrounded by non-ornamental hedge plants!
i look to the sky and see a faint glisten,
for i've seen it now as i’ve seen it before
i breathe in the sweet smell of my youth from yore,
drifting from city to city once more.
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 4:40 PM UTC
THE SUN GOES UP
AND THE FLOWERS
FACES THE SKY
WHILE THE BEES
SWARM WITH THE BREEZE
BRINGING NECTAR
IN THEIR LIPS
COLLECTING POLLENS
IN THEIR WINGS
BRINGING SPRING
IN THE HIVE'S FEAST.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 8:08 AM UTC
There is a heaven in the low gardens—
A brighter way among those who will toil,
And deepest music wafts above and below,
The songs in bird are like the colours in flower,
In green alms of tendril arms so aimed to disarm,
Are petals of flag, wings wanding, reign of pollens,
Flowers loud, entreating as birds calm— release us
And always, beams of sun shower those with light,
Many who come are want to linger— everlasting,
The heart is there— on wing with soul learning.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
*Catkins of a Willow & Birch, whipped
By winds that whistle while in search
Of clouds and thistle to be outstripped
By shouts & bellows to a billow of Earth
Drooping stems, to spread their pollens Amongst their kin by winds that whistle, Whipping them & thistle in the dozens-
Catkins of a Willow & Birch, search Earth*
For their distant cousins.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
.
There is a heaven in the low gardens—
A brighter way among those who will toil,
And deepest music wafts above and below,
The songs in bird are like the colours in flower,
In green alms of tendril arms so aimed to disarm,
Are petals of flag, wings wanding, reign of pollens,
Flowers loud, entreating as birds calm— release us
And always, beams of sun shower those with light,
Many who come are want to linger— everlasting,
The heart is there— on wing with soul learning.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
*Time forgets progression
Every time you move and dress,
And cover yourself with silk, satin, lace,
With hooks and garters,
With garments and clothing
Starting from small, tight and light
To large and loose,
And soft and cottony,
That I can almost feel everything
In my mouth, my tongue, yet
You are all too smooth to me,
Elegant, sophisticated, a walking flame,
That there's almost nothing there to touch
All red, white, all pink, all bloom,
No flower nor petal,
All root, all stem, all fruit,
All pollens and butterflies, and juice,
All juice, all round, all curved,
All bare, all time.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Some fairytales don't have 'Once Upon A Times',
They regain the plot twists
Neverland, tall towers, apples and roses,
Or how a poor frog need a kiss
Twelve feet burden
We drown in a confetti mess
Beautiful trauma in each sunset
Releasing pollens out of our chests
Faint piano keys lingers in our ears
It is hard to roll a dice in the dark
Dumbfounded from the heartless cheer,
Some people took the signs too far
Upon the weak willow trees
Fallen leaves attracts our souls
Eraser heads deleting memories
No harmonic state could cause a brawl
History is gold,
Experiences are bold,
Hidden secrets were told,
Frankly spoken by Calypso-
No foreign token shall behold,
Nonetheless, she was a major fiasco
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
The lonely flower
among the grasses,
I found you a beauty
among the masses.
Your ebony eyes
took my soul a hostage,
becoming less than a human
more like a servant of cupid.
I am in peace
hearing your heartbeat,
your voice, like a siren
slowly sinking me deep.
Oh, it's scary
how hard I dance
in your grasp; in your tune
I am a puppet of love.
Seems like I inhaled
your pollens—toxic
I have fallen, even though
your red petals blazes.
Sep 27, 2024
Sep 27, 2024 at 2:34 AM UTC
Tiny words of sacred hearts
Quietly migrate from cells to cells
Blood to blood, inside mine and yours.
Monarch butterflies of July
Dip wings in roadside violet buds
With legs yellowed by wasted pollens.
Two journeys of love and life
Continue till one faces ending line
Spirits keep resonating with lost truth.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
Banters here and there
Sweeping pollens off your hair
By now you must know dear
All those pretexts to draw you near!
Long years together couldn’t wipe out
My happiness at just hanging around you
There never was a shade of doubt
The older you got you got to be more new!
Playing clowns and childish pranks
Hiding away your much loved piggy banks
Deliberate acts to bring a blush on your face
You must know dear constitutes my happiness!
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC