"revisited" poems
Crawling, slowly, firmly, effortless towards me.
Billowing from sea over hills,
the blue sky is envious of its charm.
What can it offer but a backdrop of blue?
Its ever morphing silhouette captures our gaze and fascinates.
Not to be revisited, once witnessed, suddenly changed.
Forever, only in memory it plays.
Lie back, enjoy it's visions,
for it is past, as quickly as it came.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
It's been long said in ancient Sanskrit texts,
"Yatha twam karasi,
Tatha twam bhogasi."
This roughly translates as 'As you sow, so you reap.'
This is true to the core but it's neither unconditional nor is it surely possible for you or me to be happy tomorrow even if we do good today. You might also have observed that sometimes you don't get exactly what you desired and yearned for when putting all your efforts. I will explain in the text that follows.
I am not Superman or a Godman blessed with super powers. I just believe in humanitarian virtues of course for all my life. And I don't despise the idea of theism. As some other people among the readers and their respective circles even I tame the same ideology about God having created the universe and then let us take charge.
I don't get involved in worshipping the creator, but I do thank that creator for having created us all. But how do I keep myself away from the various types of evils? The answer lies within.
What I identify as evil or deleterious to anyone or anything else, I don't do that and I totally despise all of it. Doing so I am aware that what I have been taking to and what I should get into. Whether it's my career or my love life, it almost totally depends on me and my Karma. The remaining few bits also depend on time and third parties who can affect my life greatly or maybe a little.
I don't know about what they quote other "Spiritual" people about and I feel that each of us can have our own views about time. I don't feel the urge to read about spiritual issues written by some well-publicised so called "Spiritual Gurus or Dharmatmas" who talk about out of the body experience.
The next time you think about some problem posed to you, your relative or a close friend, do try the following:
Just get out of your own mindset, think about the issue from a neutral point of view with your sixth sense (common sense) in right place. You're bound to find out the best way for solving it; let it be life or let it be any matter related to it.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
You were like a natural disaster to our lives.
While we played in a field.
No warning.
You appeared...
You struck and we lay scattered on that field...
In tears.
Confused.
In pain.
Broken inside out.
No longer just children.
Victims to young to understand that we were forever changed.
To young to understand why we felt ***** and guilty.
The threats and fear, made us silent...
Fear and interrogation made me lie.
You left us in that open space forever, no matter where we went.
And our lives were taken...
Our parents were broken, because parents break when thier children are hurt.
And my lie...
My lie forever changed my protectors life.
My fear made me hurt another.
We were so young...
Some not old enough for school.
Our fear allowed the disaster to strike others...
Now as adults we know a new guilt.
But we were so young.
This very unnatural disaster still walks the earth...
Somebody gives this pervert comfort...
But we are forever changed.
Stronger today, yes...
But never again as free as before he stole our innocence.
This disaster turned our world upside down, and revisited us for years taking more of us each time he put his disgusting hands on us.
I'm not to religious, but I believe in God.
I have yet to know the reason for this, except that we are great protective parents...
And as I believe there's a God...
I know there is also a hell.
And while God tells us to forgive...
I have yet to forgive even myself for being so full of fear, because it allowed him to walk free and hurt us again and again, and others through time.
There is no part of us sacred or untouched by that evil...
No matter who knows our story, there's no person not even eachother who understands the depth of our individual torment.
The unfair torture of feeling an isolated, unexplainable, personal taste of evil.
Like a natural disaster, he struck us down...
Children at play made victims of a child molester.
Survivor's!
Of a sick family member's distgusting taste for extremely young children.
We can't say we are ok.
We refuse to say you are anything more then a creature that has not yet met God's wrath.
And dare not say, you to know abuse...
Dare not say you found God...
God and abuse will find you when your six feet under.
I know I sin as I write this...
But to forgive...
As a mother myself...
Well that's it's not in me.
Do unto others...
Do unto others, that's how I live.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
The future is a sparkle
a firework feeling in my hands
that billows out and expands
to flash multicolored wants
while crackling needs
I hope it blows our minds
exploding blissfully
before our eyes
painting the sky with
our names in starry white;
Innocence revisited,
awakened by possibility
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
As Hozier says,
"Take me to church,"
Oh God, please do,
Place me inside that beautiful metal tube,
Gliding through blue skies,
Put me in an airplane,
So I can be renewed,
Please, don't leave me stranded here on the ground,
All I crave it to touch the clouds,
I'll sacrifice my entire being,
If I'm only allowed to fly.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
as an astronaut, I spun on a rotary around the core of your existence like
you were the gravity that held me to the ground but kept me on my toes
if home is where the heart is, i'm coping with this unbearable homesickness
and I know my heart has an anarchy government, living a steel toed rebellion
but these relentless thoughts about you have gotten bad again, i don't sleep
my reckless behavior let loose, like a dog off his chain and collar and i
revisited the places you always talked about, how i dreamed to be there
with you recovering those lost feelings, and rebellion was assisting me
in the mind of my teenage angst, no autobiographies could be more
authentic than the hatred for this unrequited swelling i held in my heart
without a doubt, you're featured in my dreams more than nightmares
you couldn't be more real than the books that I hold in my hands
i'm sleeping in water filled with sharks calling me a tedious terrorist
entering their territory, leaving me with absolutely nothing
just build a bridge, get over it, if you have to, revisit my mind
maybe you'll see everyone is the enemy, not everyone is perfect
-kra
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
We call it “peacock hill”
I love this misty humidity that hangs here
sunlight barely peeking through; lovely mossy ground and wet leaves
turning to mulch under our tramping feet, we hear the peacocks call
in their unique tone - musical, alluring and promising
of a rare treat to the eyes, I’m only six years old, walking by your side,
and I don’t realize that in my excitement to collect peacock feathers-
***i’m missing the peacocks for the feathers
and
I’m missing your company for the peacocks***
and somehow if I could turn back time, i’d like to make that right
pay more attention to you, than to silly feathers or birds, beautiful though they are
just soak in the moment, and be with you completely
so that years later, when we live so far away
i’d look back on this moment with a lot less regret
and be glad, that we father and daughter
had some great times together
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
I don't think about you anymore —
like an over-washed
shirt.
Faded.
Dull.
Stained and
torn.
Worn out.
Tired.
Used through time, and
used from
use.
I've used you too many times.
I’ve revisited your memory too much.
I'll keep you in my closet
like my worn, tired
faded
old shirt,
hidden, until there is
nothing else
to wear.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
Your smile
tastes of mint smoke.
It’s refreshing
against the taste of my tears
and the drink you gave me
to stop them.
Your eyes
trace their way down
my body
seeing
knowing
touching
every little sweet spot
long forgotten.
Your hands
melt into mine;
a connection revisited.
And for a moment
I see in your gaze
that (love lust longing) we shared.
I blink
and it is gone
in the moonlight
and blinking light
from your clock.
So I close my eyes
and let the smell of tobacco
in your hair
and the smile against my lips
bring me
to a dark connection
I know far too well.
We can be together.
Just one more time.
Just for tonight.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 6:13 PM UTC
The pendulum swings at a steady speed
Inevitably life upon me feeds
I dreamt of real in my illusion
Destiny like free-will a mere delusion
Today’s all but gone, am I still intact
To pull love’s knife out of my back
Brilliantly dim this light of mine
I strain to glimpse the bottom line
These nights do linger pain becomes art
The Cut that Never Heals still bleeds my heart
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
A noon-time beat plays in the head
Tea-time brawl revisited now.
Lisping out a song later. 'Really?'
The fridge is empty. The late cuckoo
tugs at the heart; Summer sweat
on evening's brow. Deep down
glow, inner lit springs shadowed
in the woods. Cacophony birds
returning home. Cook, cook, cook.
Filling up sink. 'Ah, am I that bad?'
Insecticide can; Make something up:
the noisy fan; Lady in hood, rising
from the lake. 'Could I have....just
done it another way?' Walking by
the bund as the sky slips away
veiled among the blinking stars.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Intoxicated by your fragrance
Entranced by your radiance
Unique; you are blind to your own brilliance
Lovely, humble, shy
Skin that makes me cry
You are the one I still adore
Remember when you've cast me aside?
Did you know in your oblivion
You've left me poisoned to my core?
So I kept your bulbs locked away.
Tucked away in a jar
Time passes, but yet you still
haunt me when I look at you from afar
Poison faded away, but the stain still remained
Leave me addicted to the scars
And every night I pray,
"Move along."
Love for you kept me in bars.
But my dear, you are not the one to blame
It is me who is ashamed.
for when a heart is a volcano, flowers can't bloom
so I send you silent shouts at the moon
To you, I'm your five months of fall, but did you know
you're my four seasons of Spring?
Revisited. Revived.
March is here, and I still wait for the day you bloom.
As my love for you, still looms.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
How captivating it is
To watch the sun who was told she must love the sky, to fearlessly defy,
To fall to her knees,
Ignoring others pleas and
With all in sight
Kiss the earth goodnight.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
My Dearest Black Dahlia
Stumbling in these neon streets
Waiting to be torn in two
Be my carrion pin up model
Adorned in imprinted diamonds
With porcelain skin icy stale
Murderous glamor
Gleaming and serene
Posing like a minx
Half here and half there
A hauntingly mesmerizing woman
Should I be fearful
Or should I be in love
I suppose this is maddening
But I am smiling all the while
Bright and all Irish
Welcome to Hollywood
My Dearest Black Dahlia
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
i.
impressionist,
where the grey
clouds and the blue
ice of winter
gather their ghosts,
winter, too cold,
too white, the
woodland hollows
dent,
summer love
discarded in
the frost,
the sky oaken,
the moon’s forget-me-knots
silvery dream.
ii.
clouds like wintery steel,
sunken, in a night pool,
the golds of my heart,
the lodestar gathers
moss and rook,
glimmers in a sky
of woven cloth,
her leaves, the trees
of winter,
her leaves, the dark
breath of the storm.
iii.
winter and quiet stars
brooding emperor
sleeping in the twilight
hour,
winter dreams of
strange ice caverns
where ice ghosts
dance with twisting
hair.
iv.
pond of ice,
snow bear,
snow dream,
sleep unwraps
wide avenues of
trees,
sleep, the dark girl,
the falling tide.
v.
twig breaks under foot,
earth’s thrones
settle in the lizardy light
the moon rises in the sky,
soft centuries of sky.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
Arrrh, here we be again
at "Talk like a Pirate day"
we'll spew our gaffs and have some laughs
slappin wenches bums, while we're at play
We'll have some grog
mockin the captain's log
reading lines of sea bound times
and cabin boys, he's flogged
When the eve be ov'r
and drunken we'll awake
it's out to sea, we'll all be
nursing our headache
Our love for wenches stowed
miseries bandon'd in the hold
mainsail's set, we'll not ferget
we be pirates, young and old
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
so it begins when it begins
blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
of the day's toil;
the countryman stilts through
mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******** clad women
and women who are (really ******** clad) ready for bathing work,
collections of red days and even
tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —
the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
kennels and makeshift asylums
there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
that only rises when bellows
of festivities harangue the many streets
bending in them, the curve)
men moving from neck to neck
of bottles — (in the north there
is only four corners of bottle: gin,
pristine brook; in the Visayas is
the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
potency) plucked out of the vermilion
and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
out of this?
carabaos, equines, hens line up
the slaughterhouse behind the
TODA; you know a fine day when
it happens — breaking eggs
against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
archaic sensurround, barrage of
simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
our mothers, faster than repose
of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
to silent radios, leaving windows
open revisited by the eve of cold.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung
And cut a flower beside a ground bird’s nest
Before it stained a single human breast.
The stricken flower bent double and so hung.
And still the bird revisited her young.
A butterfly its fall had dispossessed
A moment sought in air his flower of rest,
Then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung.
On the bare upland pasture there had spread
O’ernight ‘twixt mullein stalks a wheel of thread
And straining cables wet with silver dew.
A sudden passing bullet shook it dry.
The indwelling spider ran to greet the fly,
But finding nothing, sullenly withdrew.
2.4k
1.
Before I knew he had.
His flight trailed off into a Utah
Sunrise. He left behind a little strand
Of thought, and, in a cramped, amber room that saw
Long talks of topics that soon thinned grey,
A set of dog-eared books has been put down.
Books that brought nearer to my thought his own,
While Interstate-5 grated the ground.
2.
He must have, as the plane touched the runway,
Felt the dawn’s shudder fracture his young bones,
His thoughts turning to those dog-eared days;
The seemingly endless months full of groans,
As they should have been, being spent alone;
And that set of books, at least it would seem,
Ignited the wick on which our passions gleam.
3.
These six years past since they took him away
Held minutes like a needle in plied dust.
There’s something in the spring that brings decay:
The outward beauty of the world just
Clouds the mind’s loss within the spinning gust
That all the blooming flowers usher in.
Then the rain comes...
4.
As the 5’s scratch cracks up the drying earth,
I recall Nietzsche, Guevara, Burgess:
Men who’d not anticipated births
Inside my brother and I like cypress
Trees, evergreen and coniferous, we
Drop seeds year-round. The setting Utah sun,
Barely audible, gasps in the copse.
He’s with me now. What’s done is done.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
Where is it ye Scallywag?
Have ye hidden in it ye bag?
Don't ye look at me as brass as bold
Give me back me *** o' gold
I will put a curse on ye, no surprise
Make ye eat spiders and flies
I always make ye feel sick
Ye thieving little Shabby ****
I want it back! It's all mine!
I know ye got it, I saw the sign
So I will grind your bones for me tea
I will make ye live in eternal misery
Don't ye run! Don't ye dare!
I will hunt ye down, track ye everywhere
Bury ye under this earth filled clump
I will snap ye spine when I jump
Well! Blow me down with a wee feather
Look at that! Well I never!
I must have moved me crock only yesterday
So ye canna steal it away
I placed it safe and sound
Buried it there, hidden in the ground
So I now will be on me way
Doth me hat, wish ye a good day
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
I realized something.
Tenderness gets you nowhere in the face of apathy.
Apathy is ruling us.
It is ruling me in my heart and in its grotesque reflections.
I cower at it and forget myself and whimper and say all the wrong things.
Hateful things, as my heart is on fire.
There is an anger in me, a blood red rage and then there is calm, cool, unaffected apathy.
It does not rear its head like the bull of my anger, but sinks like a stone.
Makes cool my bones.
I would rather spit fire, I’d rather let it wreck my lungs.
I wish I could scream it out or fight it out or **** it out or maybe just forget it exists.
But it remains frozen ice throughout me that weighs me to the ground.
The magnet that pulls me down down down.
Maybe this is the doomed, inevitable thing I’m feeling, the fear that my apathy will never melt away.
That I’ll never see the brighter days.
The stars in me keep choosing the wrong things and i’m lost in a galaxy of apathy.
Tenderness would melt me.
A case for apathy-- maybe I would get some sleep.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 3:19 PM UTC
Preparations are gearing up for the iD Dunedin Fashion Show, which this year opens with a tribute to Australasian style on Anzac weekend.
The 120m-long platform of Dunedin's railway station is again the venue for shows on April 24 and 25, which are preceded by the iD International Emerging Designer Awards on Thursday night at the Town Hall.
Saturday night is sold out and about 100 tickets are still available to Friday's show, organisers say.
Labels Carlson, Mild-Red and NOM*d, brands synonymous with Dunedin fashion, were in the original show in a local bar in 2000 and they're still show stalwarts.
Company of Strangers, Charmaine Reveley, DADA Vintage, Storm, Perriam, Deval, GG (from Shanghai), Liann Bellis, BEATS clothing, Jason Lingard and Jane Sutherland are also strutting their stuff this year.
The shows open with a section titled Together Alone, Revisited, put together by Doris De Pont, featuring garments by four New Zealand and three Australian designers shown at an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2009.
International guest judge Doris Raymond, the star of documentary series LA Frockstars, is also bringing some garments with her for the show.
The owner of vintage emporium The Way We Wore has a fabulous collection of outfits and she will talk about them at an event in the city on Friday.
Six fashion graduate designers from the Otago Polytechnic School of Design will also show their collections in the shows on Friday and Saturday night.
Garments made by the winner of the emerging designer awards are also in the show.
The finalists were selected from nearly 100 entries from seven countries and 14 fashion schools.
There's a strong showing from Australian schools, especially from Sydney, says judge Tanya Carlson.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Revisited Merak harbor one late evening
a shape of sea fairy and colorful torches
were seen from afar , chattering calls in 4 languages. 4 squalls in once was a plage
their dancing flames asked me to come closer
I hurried along the sleepy shipyards
passing massive warehouses fenced by rusty wooden doors
giant padlocks accenting (reminded me of a fancy cocotte loaded with blingbling)
stacks of oversized containers solidly sat speechless. Sleepless.
The light of each torch lifted into the sky. Seen by another eye
1883 eruption of the Krakatau crater. 130 years later the odor of its curators
I ran closer. I fell. I laid there a while , got up and ran again.
I lost my head and missed my right foot along the way. I did not care.
When I arrived the torches were there in front of me
reincarnated into thousands inhabitants who had lost their lives
bodies covered with revolting cesspit oil
For a second they transformed into torches again. One blazing in my hands.
Regretfully, I had lost my head so I did not understand.
The fairy stared . I wasn't scared.
: come, come, …come purifying Sunda strait
dissatisfying the idiots thought it could all be fixed with tax rate
I moved toward embracing fairy arms
(Possibly, this close hugging love was only for beach-sea friends)
So, I united with the torches
A bit of a breach pushed us towards the petroleum . Demolished it all. Cannonball.
Black fog shrieking that same words : Keep up the struggle . Stay strong !
The alien residents might think I was making choices
but the fairy was leading me around
the torches reshaping the ghost-town
Chattering calls in 4 voices. 4 languages.
Yet, for the officials ears , all were still voiceless. Pointless.
(Pulo Merak - Cilegon - Indonesia )
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
you are the headache
and the heart attack
the one I wrote about long ago
back then
I didn't really think
all I felt
it flooded every document
every letter a feeling
now
the hurricane is over
the pain doused
and I'm left wondering
how were all those things
the good memories
left out about you?
I didn't think I'd need
or crave, even
another pain in my brain
and shock to my heart
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
My parents left our homeland for me
More than five thousand, five hundred miles
To travel to a land ripe with opportunity
But at times the ripest fruit tended to spoil
However, they always counted God's blessings and moved on
My parents have endlessly toiled
With their younger son on the way
And four years of American experience
They strived at greater lengths each and every day
It is difficult to set aside one's own will
To tend to a family
To pay an immigration agency's bills
Yet they have done it, tried and true
Citizenship, I pray
Is coming soon
One day, I will properly honor them
Meanwhile,
This country will learn to accept others, but only with Him as its precious gem
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC