Pushing forward for another me,
Pushing through the pain,
Towards the goal i see,
Refuse to remain the same.

Enough of the cutting,
Enough of the hurt,
Enough rebuffing,
Its time to be alert.

I decided to change,
I'm sure that i can,
Sick of feeling strange,
I have a new plan.

Mind over matter,
Push to the edge,
Don't be a slacker,
Just breathe and stretch.

the time that is moving round me now - 1
some are going ahead
some are going back

having my fingers wielded
on an old type-writer
i’m thinking what should i do

a pretty long time passed away
since the village alphabet
had bade me farewell

in my recent thinking
there is a severe harikiri

the song
that i have sung in a deep forest
in front of the wild flowers

now when i am sitting  
under the ceiling-fan
of the heaven

i can see that both
the lyric and the tune of the song
have vanished


the time that is moving round me now -2
this morning
i’ve woke up little earlier
to observe the dawn

the flags of my behaviour
are posted in the grass-land
around me

no one should take them
as the handkerchiefs of
a demon

a group of people is harvesting
the paddy of the spring-season

i too join them to remember
the water-game of the ducks

i’m speaking less
or keeping mum

but there remains so many topics
to be discussed

the battle of the ballots…
the global recession…
the climate-change…
the terrorism…
the joint-force…


the time that is moving round me now -3
i’ve made a thorough discussion
with myself

so many arguments which lead to
even so much fighting

i see that there has been not
much lamentation or brooding  
not much grief or sorrow
not much tension or anxiety
of my own

all the time
surrounding me only is a grey
non-attachment
and a joy sans any emotion

then i think
if the rose can forget its sorrow and distress
why should I remember them
with so much pain and pancreatic problems

the time that is moving round me now - 4
there is no ending of words

is there anything that may be called
the end-word

let the words make questions
let the words give replies
let the words shout
let them battle among themselves

i can’t understand
why is there so much endeavour
to take me into that chaos

a plant of small white flower
is enough to make a garden itself

even-then
an assembly of
the rose the jasmine the tuberose is made
to increase the rule of the garden

after picking flowers from those plants
my wife puts them to the feet of the god
to worship him

she has a drinking-glass a plate
a hand-fan a throne
for her god

all are like tiny-toys

among them
the throne
is very important

till today
in many of our houses
there is a throne

but it is neither for accession of men
nor for making themselves king

i’ve already said
the throne is for our god

that means for our lying on
there may or may not  be
even a broken cot

but for our family-god
to provide a throne
is a must

the time that is moving round me now -5
on that day
when once i had gone into the
myself-man

i saw
that the government and the opposition
both sides were gheraoing  one another

in the same pace
they were reciprocally
quarrelling threatening rebuffing abusing

thus there was running
a fine piece of democracy there

it gave me enough pleasure

then i again came out
of that myself-man

in the outer-world
i saw

bypassing the stones and the hard
the roots of the trees
going deep down in the dark
in search of soft soil

and their branches are taking bent
towards the sun-light

the time that is moving round me now -6
of late
my intelligence seems somehow
to become slippery

there is so much pollution
in the myself-ism

it seems
even in collision with my shadow
some dragon-flies are killed every day

why do my eyes see so little
why do my tongue speaks so harsh words

to whose custody has gone
those rain-drops

those lemon-blossoms

there is the glittering of dew-drops
on the cob-web

the evening-worship
is sinking into the barking of dogs

as if the wings of the parrots
become van-rickshaw

as if the moon-light were
gradually retreating
in the enlightened city-life

walking into smoke shop,
hoping to find a girl named
Expectations. hoping she'll
have legs, eyes, all the usual
contrived sights. careful, con-
trolled tiny burns. no one's
blowing up the bridges.
no one is trying for attention.
hoping to catch it strutting like
a Bird of Paradise. strutting
isolated, too lazed to clear the
grounds. too lazed to give too
much of a **** for attraction.
lips broken by the winter wind,
lonesome travelling with
Expectations aside. she's waiting.
hoping. to rise, to strive, to arrive
at finality. and then onward. and
then **** Expectations after.
gripping hands, mine alone,
forcing friction to dry qualm'd
sweats. to remove embarrassment
of inaction in inexperienced persons.
citing her, citing everything
foreseen and predict'd. all in
hopes at removing consequence,
but Expectations' voice threw tog-
ether a string of words unbecoming
of her vocabulary. they were unbe-
coming for a girl in that place of society.

walking out, rebuffing time and ad-
vances. fighting this mortal fight for
invincibility. to be of highland descent.
amending to Expectations on the side.
amending for waste of sacred days. lights
cast where darkness was. and these thoughts
enlightened by Son of Vonnegut on his
northward journey for Nirvana.
spitting blood, searching for immortality.
******* Expectations. *******
up life in the blood-lust. throwing a second
pair of shoes in the trash. waiting to ask
questions of persons un-wanting when questions
unwanted ask'd by persons of a cloud'd past.
and the infection is in the heart, is in the soul,
is in the lungs. with each words' passing from
putrid mouth, with each word infect'd in entirety.
pushing into the world meaningless
****. these un-embodied words are only a
passing lip-service, and have never relfect'd -
never realized - on the recant'd lives they've
run thru. nor the current running. recanting,
redacting, refracting - a disease of distraction.
Expectations lurking by ruined road.
that chance to rise, to strive, never
let her more than some inch of give.

holding prejudices, clinging with
desperation. held by throat.
sacrificial lamb found through
re-imaged scapegoat. watching
hours fleet, awaiting death
of muscles strength. awaiting
ravenous claws at pit's bottom.
Expectations peeking through
slit'd fingers, avoiding direct
contact of vision. learn-
ing to forget promises.
her eyes shine hazel.
learning of life, roots grind the ground
as scapegoat - throat released - gnarls hair
in fingers. feet force avalanche of scree
falling in eyes of ones attached ravenous claws.

silent with-holdings. Expectations
with hand over heart. spitting blood,
and whoa. something's not right.
Expectations *******, partial nakedness
and truth of truth. tears of mud caked
mountains. weighing down, and stare
never longer leaves the ground. and
blood turn'd stone, spitting worlds
with creationist vigor. making some-
thing for sake of nothing and feet
fall to repetitive rhythms. Expectations
falling, Expectations *******,
Expectations' hazel-stained eyes.

Upon the nightly news
the images of war
implant impressions
of an innocent generation
brought into this
by the tragedies of death

i raised my right hand
to defend this land.
from enemies,
both foreign and domestic
now i hold an M16
and breathe so shallow

this is what i choose
its taken me this far
rebuffing their transgressions
to protect the next generation
so they may find bliss
this is my final breath

i will take in the sand
from the horrors i've seen firsthand
by our enemies
both foreign and domestic
nothing i could've foreseen
and i feel so hallow

on the inside
but this is war
this is my job
i've chosen to do
to be the silent guardian
standing watch

when will Washington decide
this has gone to far
and we've been robbed
and peace is long-overdue
but we are the silent guardians
forever standing watch

we will fight the wars
and defend this nation
forever and always
but without war
were would be
the American soldier

Scream And Yell, Shouting All About
She Demands Everything, Yet Gives Nothing
What She Wants, She Must Get, Or Else
Fly Low, Stay Away, Keep On Rebuffing.

Why does
Public transport
Cause contemplation
Is it the sense
Of moving
Without moving
Of being still
Whilst hurtling
And breaking
In an ever-forward
******
Is it
Being a spec
On one scale
Of the snake
Of traffic
That slides
Across London
A writhing pit that
From a plane
Looks more like veins
Filled with luminous
Material
For an MRI maybe
Some nuclear medical
Liquid used
To highlight a hidden issue
But what is the
Sickness of this city
We seek to find?
The same queasy feeling
That rises in me?
Knowledge
A visceral lump
That doesn’t dislodge
With the stop-start
Rumble of the 38
Memories
That shouldn’t
Have been mine
Of skin
I shouldn’t have
Been touching
A neck my nails
Shouldn’t have been
Brushing
Whispered nothings
I shouldn’t have been
Rebuffing
You have a girlfriend
You have a girlfriend
A screech
Red bus tyres seem to make
Red
Red gullet
Red cheeks
Red lights as the bus breaks
And I alight
Still sticky
With the fever
Of a city of cheaters
And snakes

Matches stacked in neat rows
building blocks for the more complex
constructions begging God’s blind eye
while hoping Satan will play along

temptation spun to make a life
disregarding the consequence
as castle towers reach to the sky
built with desire in moment’s time

the long bodies have no danger
be they wood or paper made
same as a pencil or a spoon
myopic vision is the lure

given that the head still waits
explosion tucked in dormant sleep
always waiting for its time
to realize its aim in life

utility is the highest goal
ignoring tips that carry fire
when excitement seeks its own
rebuffing peril of future doom

when a spark becomes the end
bringing down the tallest dreams
ignition ceasing what came before
phosphorus burning before the rest.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170929.

Sometimes watch the sky as things come by
As the clouds move and pass and life goes by
Counting what you have as the rains fall
Embracing every moment as the night queens grow

Before trees reach heights other leaves fall
The stems may be strong but stronger winds blow
Just stare as they fall don’t cry “hell no”
For seeds that germinate to the ground they belong

Don’t fight too much this March
Watch things fall into place without mismatch
Feel the sparkle of the room around you
As you inhale the fresh air that surround you

Listen to the hands of time as the clock tick
As night insects field crickets from ground level sing
Hidden in a burrow, beneath a stone
Chirping, against a scraper rubbing a file on one wing

A calling song attracting females from a distance
Softer courtship song woos her from a close range
A rivalry song rebuffing competing males with stunts
Don’t fight, embrace life as things change

Page 1:

While losing a striking point, you have become the mentioned & rumored politician!
The stained thoughts, their limited vision, and understanding are minute seams emerging to be perceived assumptions by the eyes of the public!
The impacting value of harshness that one is unspared of is the same element erected in different platforms and used as an opponent for a decaying political stature.
Would you care to ask these questions to yourself?
The ladder to heightened leadership shined brightly on your head.
Goodness is a choice; if that is the base of your outcome, then it would not contain even the slightest molecule of the mentioned dirt.
Have a look.
How my, not a sugar fluff- wants to convey it.
I hope this has its imprint to be a perfect barring to your ears to stop the flow of your spiteful ideas!
The unaware and divided attention remains maligned in its efforts to capture the state of your estranged heart to quell your dreamy hunger.
Your powered pirate is no lesser than excited storage that prefills its spirit of boasting with smugness.
The tables on which you work have heard about your intended voices to achieve gain over the death of issuance principles.
The sick idea of enjoying the misfortune of others and your decaying thoughts are soaked in gloated agreements and trying to achieve their motive with the helping hands of your mouth!
You see the workings of your regular and malevolent plane!
Your outer appearance exhibits your pretense of averting.
I am sure the dressing of your intellect is constantly rebuffing the distaste of your unaccomplishment.
©️shivpoetesspriya

Gynecology is no laughing matter! Back to the **** heap...A wrong turn might drop you into the lap of The Full Moon School of Gynecological Enthusiasts...**

Gamma gauze tape pads stitches, sutures & staples & blocks yeast,
while nourishing the gloom of Austrian weather enjoyed to my east
where-from nobody is availed to rent land that is better let unleased
to slanderers foundered in the romance of 2 smooth bowels creased
obstructively for a slattern nun & Bible-rebuffing, monsignor priest
whose thongs bunch doing jumping jacks as *** hems are released
that can't be knitted, established, corporated, sewn or puzzle-pieced