"premises" poems
For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods
Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments
Lets help you out by offering some buzzwords
For your important assignments even though they've
been floated around forever,
But we understand you need some help catching up
So memorize these basic premises
And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time
by raking your little brains to create poems with them
Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES
is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in
LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that
much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a
popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART-
Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS
That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and
again so trigger them as you like.
How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that
famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES,
Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also
remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what
I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and
what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off
or SUBMISSIVE another popular one.
Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL
those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG
that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL,
beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that
never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for
drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget
RED, what to do without that pinking away.
So please Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department
keep with the programme and work on these pointers
crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants
Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key.
Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things
Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
the dutch colony ascended on our shores
replacing traditional african education on culture
with teaching slaves how to pray
we saw the deterioration of black schools
and state-mandated segregated curricula
whites being taught better than blacks
who was only destined for subservient jobs
policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education
and later forced us to learn languages
which was not our native tongue
the youth could no longer be silenced
soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause
we have protested throughout the decades
silenced by the apartheid government
simply ignored
with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy
and a single education system, we were finally equal
however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar
which has still not healed
our parents not able to give us the education they were denied
now students are holding the government accountable
who promised free education for a vote
the movement trending as #feesmustfall
anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting
i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting?
why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
I may hate you more tomorrow , but i'll never love you less
for you're the one person i can always count on , you're simply the best
and everyone who knows us predicted we won't last a sec
it's like we're the opposite end
of a spectrum, yet a single entity
violating the norms of this hypocritical society
simple,yet so **intriguing **
And girl , we go on so well together
like bread and butter
like milkshake and cookies
YOU'RE THE MELODY..TO MY LYRICS
and God only knows,
the inspiration behind how many songs!
the ones i've lost
and also the ones i carry in my heart
And without Nancy(my bestie) , where would Aditi(me) be?
without you ...well that just can't be
you're always sure of somethings,
like the sun will always rise, that's the way you make me feel
you're probably the only thing ..that drags me to the boring premises of dav{my school} (also the fact that 75%attendance is required but you get the idea)
and looking at you , and looking at me ..
and looking at the ****
and crazy stuffs we do and we did
i wonder how effortless it is
how the kind of girl i'm ..everything looks scary to me
but you just make it better somehow ,without even doing a thing
and sometimes, i get this blurry pic of you and I
we're close to being 75
silver hair , wrinkled cheeks
sitting on a park bench,eating(that's her aka my bestie's favorite thing..eating)
talking about the same old senseless thing
and looking at each other with contempt
and say
"hey ,we made it to the end♥ "
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
Dragons spewing fire
Incarcerating the burning soul
Hatred seeded within
Raging across the premises
Engulfing everything
Turning to ashes
Blown away by the winds
Remnants of soot
Scathed with dark stains
Fire burns one and all
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
Tomorrow I vote,
Not because I can, but because I must.
Not for a politician I trust,
Or a person I know,
Not for a friend or against a foe,
Not to support a candidate,
Or to change a nation's fate.
Tomorrow I vote,
Not for a party or fee,
Not for the economy.
Tomorrow I stain my fingers,
And make a choice, between promises, and premises,
What was and what may be.
Because people died to give that right to me.
To let me decide,
Majority or minority,
The destiny of one man,
And find if absolute power corrupts absolutely,
Or men can rule, for the people humbly.
A government for and by the people.
And one vote for little ol' me.
So tomorrow,
Tomorrow I will vote because I am free.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
in the river of good company
***I dedicate this poem to
Mr. Harlon Rivers,
one of the best poets (here)
and from his good company,
i could drink all day and
never be quenched***
~
Preface
sometime, the heart wants it wants,
denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised
sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you
awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes
the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and
mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing
uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed!
do believe this condition can be found in the medical books
under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation
my heart wants to write a poem,
cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet
from the heavenly crime scene,
and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place,
when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^
~~~
in the river of good company
simple sentiment but good god
all I ever wanted and so oft lacked
such was my fate, one I made,
had plenty good words for boon companions,
the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves
cross my face, a love lapping slapping
of concentric pebble rings,
till like most good things
gone good goes bad,
it just happens to evaporate and
you think someday, maybe,
you will walk again in good company
the brain says quit right here
but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition,
for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under
palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so,
memories,
of when
you walked in good company
men women no different - it is that heated aura
tween bodies that confirms that you are once again
a human being, just a being, temporarily
enhanced, elevated, by good company
so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says -
one more for the road can't hurt ya,
write that poem -
and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman,
will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot,
do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured,
drinking from the river of good company,
mouthing not even dare whispering,
satisfied satiated, loving and loved
~
all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated!
4/2/17 9:24am
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
July 4, 2015
Grandson Tony and Grandpa went to Mickey D's for breakfast. Grandpa was ready to vacate the premises when Tony barred the door. "Just a little while longer Grandpa." So Grandpa sat back down.
Soon a cake and five of the Mickey D people appeared and sang happy birthday. Tony was apparently being a little secretive and alerted the establishment when we clocked in. Grandpa cut four pieces of cake. Two to take home for Lucy and Grandma. Two for Tony and Grandpa.
Tony then ask if he could give his piece of cake to someone. "Sure you can." grandpa replied. There were two tables with grandparent types and parents sitting 10 feet away. Tony picked up his piece a cake and a fork and squeezed in between the two tables and placed the cake in front of the young fella who eagerly began eating it. Grandpa then noted the boy had Downs Syndrome. The people at the table were pleasantly surprised at what had just happened. A grandmother came over where Grandpa was sitting and express that it was a very thoughtful thing Tony did. The whole thing rather blew Grandpa away. But that's the way Tony is. Full of surprises.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Ghost Relics
Downtown,
where Main intersects Main
you'll see the last living tissue
of a breathing bazaar.
They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders.
It's a wonder she breathes at all.
-
Wander too far in any direction
and you're sure to see the husks
of once proud and bustling businesses.
Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty.
Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind.
Dusty and silent since the cradle.
-
The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts
who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee.
Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours
to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start.
Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol.
Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering.
-
Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught.
They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo
advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation.
It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted.
They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to
the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between.
-
Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet
we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled.
So many stray cats in the civilian savanna,
aimlessly seeking names and second chances.
"This premises is under police video surveillance" -
hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles.
-
Guarding the gates
of a dwindling dominion,
as the armies of Union and Grand
wait in their camps
for the rust to take hold
of her iron veins.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
It seems only yesterday ...
he came by
and spoke to a crowd of curious children....
who have come from all over the country
to see and hear their mentor...
among the thousands assembled there was I
with a book and a pen ...
ready to imbibe ideas and vision from my mentor..
our dear president...
my nation's MISSILE MAN...
the same hero who
stepped out of the premises of the Rashtrapati Bhavan
and stepped into our MINDS....
IGNITING THEM ....
with DREAMS.....
BIG ENOUGH TO CHANGE OUR WORLD....
He taught us that HAVING A SMALL DREAM IS A CRIME...
HE SPOKE OF THE LIMITLESSNESS OF THE MIND....
The possibilities of YOUTH ....
How to transform
a developing nation like ours
into A DEVELOPED NATION......
How to wipe out the stigma of corruption
and EMERGE OUT OF SWAMP.....
AND LEAD INDIA
IN ITS PROGRESSION TO GREATNESS.....
All i can say now
at this point when the whole nation
is mourning the loss of our beloved teacher......
is a promise
to take the torch of IGNITED MINDS....
and light every single mind ,
ever single family,
every single street,
every single village,
every single town
and bring out the true potentials
in the BILLION PEOPLE WE HAVE IN OUR COUNTRY.....
AND MAKE YOUR VISION 2020 A REALITY.....
Let me pledge that
my actions will be a part
of making that vision come true.....
Teacher, dear president, dear sir,dear captain adieu....
#RIP@DrAPJ
Return If Possible
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
I ask what your favourite word is.
You say you don’t have one, and
I don’t understand.
See. I’m a poet.
I tried hard not to be,
Rejected it with every
Fibre of who I am but
Words form in ways I can’t
Negate.
See,
You speak and I notice
There’s more in what you say than
You know.
Your voice is delicate,
Not in the way you sound words
But the way you phrase sentences,
Like the subject is something to be
hidden behind premises.
Some people grab chance by the throat,
****** you right into the center,
Until you’re drowning in meaning
And unable to listen to anything but the
Beat,
B-,
Beat,
Of your heart but
Not you.
I can respect that.
You’re all tact and logic and
It’s not about feeling
It’s about thought process and
I still don’t understand.
See, my tongue is clumsy,
It stutters and stumbles and smashes its way through life,
But it finds meaning where there isn’t any,
Notes how you say “Spoke”, not “talked”,
How you dance through every word in the English language because
Deciding on the right one
Has to be perfect.
I think that,
You are perfect.
My favourite word is puddle.
I don’t know why, but
When I say it, my tongue kicks
my teeth and
It reminds me of the way my
Consonants get heavier with
******* in my brain.
It makes language ridiculous,
Because the end of its vowel is so sudden
It should cut
But it’s so ******* round.
Puddle.
I can’t explain, not in words,
But I smile when you say it and
I promise you that sometimes
language is less about logic
And more about that feeling
in your gut
When you look
at me and verbs flow out of your mouth
And for once you’re not thinking
And, -
"I love you."
If you thought, it wouldn’t be true and -
"I love you."
Cogs whir to a halt and,
"I love you."
I don’t trust you for a second because
My mind is now skipping stones across oceans
Waiting for depth to show, yet
There’s nothing below,
but still,
Sail away with me.
Let’s leave language behind and use touch to define
The borders between where I start
And you stop.
We’ll find they’re less obvious than we’d thought,
Because I love you.
Not in the way that I say it but
In the way that your presence makes my stomach churn out musical notes
And I was broken, but I don’t want to seem desperate and
I guess that when you say you that don’t have a favourite
I realise,
Puddle’s a scapegoat.
My favourite word is whatever name you’d give for the
Goosebumps on your skin when I touch you.
My favourite word is the colour of your eyes.
My favourite word is the way your voice goes real high when you’re excited.
My favourite word is how I can feel where you touched my flesh, for days after we last met.
My favourite word
Is you
But I’m too shy to say it.
So here, take puddle,
And run away with it.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.
None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.
I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.
Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Broken marriages have broken lives
******* up premises and high wire ties
Failed attempts to clear the air
Bring murky clouds in distant eyes of lies
I see you there clinging too hard
You see me here shedding the weight
Of your desperate grasp on my arm at the door
Lots of lives lead separate days
Clear up your eyes and let me go through
cc070311
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
Looking through a keyhole
World becomes smaller
A constricted view of the world
Lost the key somewhere
All the keys are redundant now
Within the four walls
Life revolves around the mundane
Only window to the world
Now hazy with perceptions
Now there is only one way
To look at the world
Holed up within the premises
But only to look though a keyhole
Locked inside aspirations
Never will the key be found
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Slumbering on and off
I must have dozed into a side street
My memory on a go slow
Having vacated the premises
Beads rolled and filled the gaps
Settling into the spaces in my head
Overflowing into folds of the pillow
Their circular bodies probing my cheeks
Pulling faces at me in disturbance
The light switch to my brain remained off
The beads multiplied, the pillow
Like a giant bead bean bag
Impacted its air bag mode
Wham....I was awake
Not knowing for a moment quite what day it was
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 6:06 AM UTC
all i see now are the silent ruin
of words teeming with wisdom
in every trail. you are gleaming
in the moony boondocks,
Ibabá remembers you as you were -
timeless and ruminative,
pursuing the source of rivers.
our sublime versifier,
the crucifixes now tremble without
the fullness of your flesh.
each page is turned without
the hover of your voice yet
stills its resonant message in my mind's premises like redolent graffiti.
striding river-pace,
once in moonlit Orfeo
graced by your sibilant being,
leaving only the strongest of impression
on the surly couch, a toppled glass
of Shiraz remembering your attendance
leaving the clamor of the audiences
real to touch, elusive in thought.
before the war was the ever-present word, and after the fray was
the armistice of the Sun where in
humdrum Sampiro, your fire's genealogy
is in the hands of the muse!
idly go the hours, wading everlong past
Calle Herrán - the bells of Paco Church
tell in this imperfect hour
the roads where you once traversed,
travailed and perhaps beer-maddened,
putting a face in the metaphysical!
in your banquet i partake
the wisdom of your wine
and the reason of your flesh -
the gods delight in you,
o, Manila of all Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
A cider and a minder
Passing time as a reminder
Pink glow and songs flow
A waxy time erodes the mow
Renegades and perspiration responds
Swimming in winded seas of Jordan
Heated in space, evicted in their pace
Libido fails as the liquor dilutes in taste
Catch an esse as the moonlight smite
Hold another to fake a romantic right
Filter to the cards of ace as the one winks
Emotive intruders farm in fields of pastures
Imbued with alcoholic waterfalls
Molehills of termites condense lose soil
A lack of connection a taunt that apes
Future anthems triumph in hungered strums
Amused by the music erupting volcanoes
A morrow blows as the candle slows
To tow the tall grassed disused straw
A spring to summer that promises sun rays
A resolve to moderation to preserve modesty
A kiss stored forever peeping the awing stars
To guard a heart and hatch uniformity
Trembles justly forgotten in termed premises
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
Hero or Villain
Resident of
Heaven or Hell?
I could be the crooked cop
Or the innocent prisoner in jail
Which one?...Can you tell?
Batman-Superman
Lex Luther-The Joker
Pinky and the Brain
The whole world I’m taking over
An antagonizing protagonist
A mesmerizing foe
A friend of the enemy
So you better keep me close
I can save you
Or am I the reason
You need to be saved?
Are you comfortable with me?
Or do you sense
Your about to be betrayed?
Master or slave?
Forced to behave
Choose to disobey
Get laid to your grave
Arch-nemesis
There is no winning this
When the battle being fought
Is on my premises
I’m a fallen angel
Who has finally found his grace
How can you not believe
Such an honest face?
Hero or villain
Do I really have to choose?
I can be either/or
At the flip of a coin
What do I have to lose?
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Blood, now boils quick, it's intense, he is in fire,
on her every touch, there is a special anesthetic
a poisonous binge, causes tidal waves go berserk
in his stream of blood,tangible effects of arousal results,
body now is a vast field, goosebumps sprout like spotted
magic mushrooms after a night long rain and thunderclaps,
the salacious intent of the scent of woman,wafts,
singing pheromones perfectly rhyme with *** center
of the brain, "Ï am addicted to tarantula's love"
his whisper sounds ominous, tarantula casts her net
Serpentine vines tangle on wild trees,in natural history
museum premises,trees fall down and rise, create leaf beds
dark enclosures where lovers escape the detection of radars,
explore,the unbridled ascent of carnal wishes,as if a permit
is ingrained in the scent of exotic orchids wafting in the wind,
allowing the wild run of instincts, a dam burst, here cobras prowl,
tarantulas, at a quick look are exposed ******* with dark *******
on eight legs the desire stands,waiting for the next ***** lover,
She was watching an insatiable pair of tarantulas in elaborate
mating rituals,they move inside, cracks and burrows,concealed
by the cover of darkness,they come out,to eat the night flowers,
exhaling ****** hunger; their dark, devious fingers, touching, caressing
finding each other's intimate parts has a dark frenzy...
he saw the blue glimmer of a concealed weapon,smeared on by amour,
as they tumble in bed,she flashes her most venomous smile,
like the quick move of the sharp end of a bodkin,
Tarantula's love affair,when it all are over, her lover's end comes near.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
1163
God made no act without a cause,
Nor heart without an aim,
Our inference is premature,
Our premises to blame.
2.1k
We all perhaps know how Wendy waved at the night sky,
bid a goodbye as good as a farewell,
at the illusion of a pixie dust-flickered cloudscape
of a voyage setting sail
to dreams and fantasies stretching beyond time and infinitum.
And she was showered with so much
faith, trust and pixie dust,
quaint tiny love-stained lips
promises a kiss and sealed acorn, tight around her neck.
And the sparkle in the glances of her
lovely pair of blue crystal teals
manifest in the whereabouts of a star second to the right.
But the Big Ben struck half past childhood
and play pretend and silky nightgowns are long time over.
Innocence is robbed by a shadow
lurking in the premises of what could have been
for once the clicking of the keys
to the lock and latch of the gates of the yesteryears,
it could not be undone.
The hook of a deceiving treachery
robbed all the glow of a child’s pearl laced smile
and the mere belief of the existence of fairies and the magical mystical boy
who never grew up.
She once laced her hands with his,
past ephemeral and London night,
and straight on till morning.
The desires of her heart got lost in the sea of nowhere,
as it raced against the foolish time;
we all perhaps know how Wendy is never never return
to never Neverland.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Born with a better life
Formed with a rugged line
Caught in a muddy mind
Inner war in full force
Empty shores
Grains are coarse
Brain is worn from the thought
Of the cause
And the flaws
In the bottled up troubled times...
Keep that light in sight though
Eyes open wide,
So you can brave the flow so
You can find all the times
To unwind
Organise
And refine
How you fight Home Made choke holds
Feels like I'm courting
A black hole I'm forming
Distorting rewarding
Thoughts formed flip to morbid
'It's just a bad day not a bad life'
Ever had a day that lasts a life time?
Guess I'll be right in the mourning
What sort of a mess is this
Formed full of emptiness
Scorn for my premises
Thinner walls
Creaking floors
Feeling worn
Sleeping more
Brain is worn from the thought
Of the cause
And the flaws
I have bottled in hesitance
Keep that light in sight though
Eyes open wide,
So you can brave the flow so
You can find all the times
To unwind
Organise
And refine
How you fight Home Made choke holds
Start with absorbing
The wellness from talking
Succoring the morbid
Thoughts formed flip to glory
'This is a good day not a bad life'
Ever want a day to last a life time?
Might just be right in the morning
Oct 29, 2022
Oct 29, 2022 at 8:19 AM UTC
The words that paint
Gorgeous images
A genuine reflection
Of the soul’s imagination
Poet knows the details
The authenticity of poetry
Remains solely with
Within the poet’s premises
Invisible boundaries
Cannot be breached
A world which can be appreciated
And not deprived of originality
True poets revere
Every word written by another poet
Clan of artists is magnanimous
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
just a poem it was
A poem of love at most!
in the form of
a flower,
a rainbow,
a bird ,
a tune,
a word ,
a picture
*
Some came in written
in technological terms
Some quantized
as futuristic incense
*
You have sensed it all
the untold
Even long before my say
*
Not ‘the all’ go though
through
You know … once you can close yourself,
set a fence…
*
but in that latter case
although you may have done your best
to shut these gates
It seems they have reached premises against
without my knowing
aethēr so lucid does trespass
once built an absolute bridge through souls of equivalent selves.
*
Each n every time is mine a hopeless cry to make you furious ?
A touch at the physical and meta-physical to eventually develop anti-sense?
*
Naturally so easy
As you reside at an exact opposite side of me
*
Angered n equally frustrated
in rage of a momentous burst
You sell my identity
<Intimately-shared-digital>
to a dreadfully operating net-entity
and target me as if to spears
oh how that really hurts
maybe you wished so
but no not really
*
a boomerang brings in a rhyme
of a thoughtless action
returns it to the center of a rotating spiral
where you stand
the exact opposite end
*
I won’t allow though
You to frown
this way you learned to simmer n cool down
became a clown of your own ghost town
as we’re entangled beings
already since sometime
*
so let me just also have fun
Instead of you- bring me down
On the competing wheel game of up n down
Oh no there we sit not anymore!
*
Realize to have targeted a wrong one
Once it is so much alike an opposing side or a town or a crown
Of you and both eventually you!
So wonder in sane what did I do
And put a SPAM mask on
To warn me through
and clearly do as if you were one of them:
an Intellect-Deficient-Agent scam.
*
So let me just P.S. a burp here now
Haven’t learned to develop gallstones of anger to compete thyn
but joy at most with a parasympathetic smile
Take it as a blessing if you like or a teasing
that she has you loved so without your willing
and equally convert it to a bile.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
As I sit here in my kitchen
I watch my lover work
(Trying to fix the boiler!)
It is
Possible/Probable
That
He will very shortly
Go
Totally
Berserk!
Hoses
Drills
Cables
Adorn the kitchen floor
But …
I have mischief on my mind
That will soon
Come to the fore
I sassy over slowly
Ask is he wants some tea?
We often play this silly game
Pretending …
That he has never before met
ME!
He is just a workman
He is purely trade
I am just a housewife
Desperate to get laid
I set his tea beside him
Run my fingers through his hair
Caress his manly muscles
I really do not care!
I do not care for etiquette
I do not care for rules
I only care to **** him
Here
Amongst his ***** tools
I know the game is on
When
Resolve walk out the door
I now possess the power
To drink from his liquid store
He is but a willing victim
So I start to make a show
Soon
It’s hell for leather
My gifts on him
I do bestow
I love this man with all my heart
I loved this man right from the start
My love for him is off the chart
I love my man
**My
Work of Art**
When the job is over
When the tools are all packed up
When the job is over
He stops
Drinking from the cup
That’s the time he invoices
A bill needs to be rendered
I always pay up willingly
For my soul has long surrendered
I thank my ***** workman
This man
That sets my heart ablaze
Then
My ***** workman thanks me
For my wanton ways
I escort him of the premises
My love for him adorning
He smiles at me lovingly
**That’s why
I’m easy
I’m easy like Sunday morning**
... ~ ...
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 4:16 AM UTC