The hallowed turf is a six-seasonal
always one step ahead on Earth.
So exceptional a land is out of the box
acutely drawn down the Moon
and sublimely unique is written in stone!

A patch of land every star loves to touch
so much so the Mintaka know they can mirror
the pyramid on the surface of the earth
but not the tucked away zenana here
the planetary gem, the earth's gold dust:
Matches the lead Prophet's birthplace!

Open and globular star clusters
up above the mundane Himalayas peak look
diagonally into Sylhet down the Meghalaya stardust
eying on for a shortcut to Earth's gold dust
that only gushes out elixirs Abe Hayat.

Lovely sought after by the water nymphs
that won't tarry scurrying to the waterfront of paradise
in Ma, the space between, while the waxing moon
takes a waning pause only to roll down and croon
in deep tranquil, thaws the midnight moonlit blue pond
amidst silhouetted bamboos, the sun after a night pause,
there it blooms new again bathing in the morn!

Boarding in such a serendipitous moment, they dream,
carried out just these hidden elixirs in their pitchers
before Queen Fathima The Queen of Heaven.
Perfectly spherical she zeroes in the cosmic loop
and spills in the open sea one more colourless scoop
without a pinch of salt there the sunrise and set troupe
pause and lay in once again the most colourful swoop.

Up above heaven's Saal Saabila River
on the empyrean Moon, she hops on one foot
and down the evergreen Earth's spring dips a toe
without a shadow without a footprint, tone on tone
ties both worlds forever in bloom!

Blow the wrap off, score a preserved geometry
somewhere in Sylhet, even the Hebrew King David here
would offer his thousand and one melodic symposium
and King Solomon princely his whole affluent shebang.
'Cause the prevailing sun from heaven this time
could roll down on a palm simply like a handful of earth!

Oh, what will it land in Sylhet, the pearl of the earthy depth?
Art in light, the spark from the Earth's foundation stone?
Eyes gaze on so firm like the solid sky yet surge like kite
in the air looking here over a truly pristine drop of water
with the ocean is inside until it shows up down the blue sky
though rainbows oft pop out tantalising every looking eye!

The fairy that ascends then is a stealer no hand can touch
seven colours shine on a patch of blue unspoiled untouched
took on a meaning for Sylhet in a handful of earth
matching the soil of Makkah the centre of the Earth
the birthplace of the lead prophet Muhammad (PBUH)!
One who is in the know hops on the foundation stone
and rose to heaven in the Night of Ascension.

How a regular soil mirrors the very pivotal one?
The labyrinth is out of this world, relates to Queen Maab
let alone a native maestro that no genie can describe!
Every atom loves to discover the meaning of that
it knows the constant vibrations of the never-ending dance
keeping it on its toe the choreography comes from outside.
The feet are most polished and motions are butterfly dance,
still the canvas is blank, light one more candlelight!

Light a candle in Sylhet I wonder here the moonlight
spills through even into an atom's black canvas and the sun
lovely drops down on a handful of earth on the flipside!
Meet here the open future shows up at the Earth's hub
the moon's anew rallying to the untouching-sea
the Indian subcontinent's corner to the ancient wind!

Go with the southern breeze on play with the sun
here it colours the wind, gives it its Midas touch
and strikes a deal to part a silhouetted cloud.  
That a beauty spot raises the eyebrows of the day on a high,
on the shining face of the golden Bangla in broad daylight!

Hark the morning birds, follow singing deep in the midst
mellifluous-shrills fill the air unveiling the dream scenes!
Ah, the deep footed earth how mystique,
every morning the sun off the heaven's hill
lays in a new diaphanous gold-light-rug beneath it,
only to loose its colours in a colourless magic
let alone painting its footprint!

Every time is new numerates the bounties of our land
craving to sip in a dew-potion on our blossoming rose
cirrus clouds dancing over the seas here they drop
banish the midday blues singing the deep sea's song!

Nestled amidst the Rivers Surma, Kushiara and Monu
perched on the shades of the trees, each one is a canvas.
Returning melodic birds crescendo by the downstream  
hail from the autumnal breeze on the upstream.
Six seasons rebound alike leap and swing on the trees
unpacking their intricate and mesmeric fluid designs
often make a meal of the obvious and work of art alike!

Stunned angels on their way heaven taking one more sunset
potted in the starry bowl look back here at the wee hours.
They can hear pianissimo on this preserved perennial land
it never falls asleep is awake with a perfectly round
360-degree circle of spiritually impowered dynamos
dead but live on a different level Dervishes
keeping an ear on the hallowed Sylhet's ground.    
A deep-seated truth, rock-solid Shilahatta in Sanskrit
clothed in an enduring vesture minted Sylhet loops in
with the Hebrew Bible's Shalet, a ruler, a shield!  

A little drop makes the mighty ocean
likewise with one single word on the lips,
the maestros' great epics begin to be told.
Just with a mundane handful of earth
pristine Sylhet's masterpiece begins to unfold.

With the whole ball of wax keeping us onboard
lo, before the face of the Earth, it unveils the mirror!
With the whole nine yards on her least hold
believe it or not, Sylhet is cherry-picked chosen by God!

Let me tell you the story of our serendipitous meeting, when we had been working not too far from each other for months but only just met.  Let me tell you about how I was slacking off because I was bored of work, and tired of life in general.  Let me tell you about how meeting you literally saved my life, for I had already made the plans and set the groundwork-my decision made long before and solidified more every day.  Let me tell you about how you walked up oh so casually as I was talking to a mutual friend.  And baby, let me tell you how I thought you were pretty freaking cute, and how I was so nervous and excited when you joined in our conversation.  But let me tell you also how I showed myself to you from that very first meeting and you accepted all of me wholeheartedly.  Because, let me tell you, I was at my very worst in those moments.  And let me tell you how I walked away from that meeting with a genuine smile on my face, the first in years.

Logic, never etch'd within love
broken galaxies bent with regrets
star clusters came unglued under pressure
reasoning bit the dust'd path

comet tails exceed the limit
delusional constellations play with fate
staring up becomes looking down
on night path footprints’ maze  

heart's exploded into fragment'd cinders
hanging onto darkly serendipitous uncertainties
waiting for crystal azure skies to sheen upon
twists of destiny's dismal glitz again

still fractur’d moonbeams
broke rank in obsolete formations
collecting emotion’d confessions
draped by black velvet sighs

wishing upon radiant eventide
whilst dancin' amidst twilight's glimmers
waves crashing sympathies last grasp
that dusky nightfall brings us sunrises

once eclips’d by passion’s shade
looking directly upon its hidden glow
wind’d breaths of amber blushing
sing sweet lullabies to morning’s harmony

Logic, never etch'd within love
broken galaxies bent with regrets
star clusters came unglued under pressure
reasoning bit the dust'd path

comet tails exceed the limit
delusional constellations play with fate
staring up becomes looking down
on night path footprints’ maze  

heart's exploded into fragment'd cinders
hanging onto darkly serendipitous uncertainties
waiting for crystal azure skies to sheen upon
twists of destiny's dismal glitz again

still fractur’d moonbeams
broke rank in obsolete formations
collecting emotion’d confessions
draped by black velvet sighs

wishing upon radiant eventide
whilst dancin' amidst twilight's glimmers
waves crashing sympathies last grasp
that dusky nightfall brings us sunrises

once eclips’d by passion’s shade
looking directly upon its hidden glow
wind’d breaths of amber blushing
sing sweet lullabies to morning’s harmony

I speak in praise of the *******, yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******* is that it's the female's key
to being multiply *******, and frankly, I'm in awe of this.

You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.  
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the *******.

Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****,
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.

Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their *******
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.  
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.

You see? Really, I’m envious of the *******
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between ******* and the *******.

So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the *******.
Truly. A gift for all of us.

The brambles in the emo forest
grow sharper with the passing days.
Three months deeper into the oatmeal
on the heels of the turtle goddess
and i am compelled to ignore the trees.
i have never been crazy about shrubbery,
being that the majority of my experience
has ended badly for the plant.

**** it.
It would appear that my green thumb *****.

My pillow is a poor substitute
for the warmth of sweatpants
or the comfort of your arms,
but i am locked into the devices
of another two year paper binge.
i would greatly prefer to be
static in my global positioning
as long as i can lose myself
swimming into the recesses of
your vibrant blue Oceania.
i want to hand you my eyes
so you can see my fixation on
the perspectives of action
and identify with my analysis
on the frailty of beauty,
intangible though it may be.

When i was weaker,
i appraised the value of
a man to be intrinsically
linked to the relation
between time and pride.
Driving a parallel path
to the stars, there is
only one thought:
Reality is like a dissected
frog: i poke and ****
and pull and poke and
probe and stare and ****
and pull but i still
can't figure out what all
those little tissues do
when they are turned on.

What if i want to taste the fruits of serendipitous fortune
or walk the garden path of chivalric sunshine?

If i could liquefy my soul,
i would pour you honey-laced
shots of my longing so that
when the darkness of the mid-week
slanders me you can touch
the sea spray of a wave
i have sent to wash away
the fears of circular evolution.

i want to build the hearth
where we can light the fire
of roundabout destiny and cook
the flesh from the slaughter
of our angry cows and bulls
so that we can incorporate
our weaknesses into our strengths.

i want to shape a necklace
out of my scar tissue
and wear it loudly so
that you can see the pain
that enables me to feel yours.

i want to finish my marathon
with my bag of bricks
because it is impossible to
truly win without the
burdens of justice and morality.

i've collected the screams
of my travels in a glass jar.
One day when the sun
struggles over the distant
cold horizon, i
plan to exact revenge
on the container and
make a concerted effort
to buy American.

In the hills above the
languishing sticks
i appear to have
dislodged a rock slide.
In my estimation,
the carnage will be
exquisite and swift.
If i survive the
judgement of guilt,
i can visit the friends
already lost to the
perpetual fires of the
sanctioning underbelly.

Why can't i take the
burgeoning petals of the
dark rose and elevate myself
above the sickness i have
seen in the eyes of my
accusers and those who would
trample the silly notions that
are all i have ever owned?

i feel that in the life i have witnessed
there are innate weaknesses in the
system i have supported.

In the instance given,
i have allowed myself
to be collared and
pent up by unspoken
deeds and words.
When my candles flicker
and reform, at least
i will be able to stand up
and clarify the point with
the authority inherently
granted to an elder whom
most ignore or ridicule in
the comfort of a happy living room.

i have seen hints of the futility of
nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs,
prepositions, and conjunctions
because they cannot begin to
express the vertigo i am cursed with
or the gravity that will not allow me to
escape unscathed.

i'm afraid that one day
my ink well will run dry
and my fingers will fuse
together and conspire to
undermine my sanity.

i fear the ticking of
my watch when i can
feel its echo deep inside
the canyons between
my synapses.

i cower and whimper
under the auspices of jest
when my soul is overrun
with desires that cannot
be slaked with water.

i want to detach my
aorta so that i will not
be bothered by the
binding of my skin
to the dry earth.

i need to hum the
melodies of aquatic repose
and bathe my wounded
feet in the streams that
flow to the cliff's edge.

When the time comes
for my foray
into the sublime,
i can fade away into
the arbor mist and
not feel the piercing gaze
i have become accustomed
to during this.

And for so long,
i have fed the horses
and watered the hedges
for everyone,
only to find that
all my livestock
dies within the
fences i have built
to protect the few
things left after
my tornado.

Approaching six full, and
i'm camped outside the
city gates and starving.

i puked when the moon
cycle shifted this time.

i thought that if i
sacrificed fuchsia to the
demon he would mistake
it for acquiescence, but
when the clock struck twelve
my pumpkin only rotted.

Why did you want to see the water?

i'm not going to buy
the dumb tourist act.
You knew the sand
was poisoned.

Nevertheless,
i am 3/5 of a man
when engulfed in
purple madness for
your affection.

the bells have fallen silent,
and i have seen your persuasion,
like an old silent movie.

What of your petty elucidations?
Can you teach me about destiny?
Do you have any watermelons?
If not, why not, or, even better,
who cares?

i don't think you have
seen my rose garden,
the thicket i entered
once to reenter time
and again, lonely and
bleeding, twisting and
turning, with no
right-hand-rule
to guide...

but this isn't your story anymore.

my date with thc,
serendipitous and sublime,
like the first time
curious george killed
the black persian *****...

got me sky-hiking
in a cloud of delusion
and creativity,
climbing ladders of abstraction
for nine mystic rungs

from mundane muse,
regrettable
like drunk ***
with an octogenarian

to lucid peaks of eccentricity,
a vaunted house built by
jimi and john,
long gone,
but resurrected
this date

we split a dime
into 3 nickels
and rolled every penny
into a top-5 billboard joint

we sprayed the submarine
purple
with haze
then made the wind cry
mary
as we gazed at two
giraffes making babies
on the serengeti,
laughing hysterically
like schoolgirls watching
riding miss daisy

then the cbd kicked in
and I toodle-ooed
my two
ungratefully dead hippy
stoneheads

and crashed from
the ninth rung of
the last ladder
onto grandma's bed,

clutching the first lines of
my date with thc,
serendipitous
and
sublime...

~ P (#Pablo#hcgktbpp)

(8/12/2013)

A serendipitous sadness...
Is there really such a thing?
The casting of doubts, the return of engagement rings.
Our hearts are broken,
Our plans undone.
Hold me tonight, just for fun.

By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.

I was not looking for you, but I am so glad that I have found you.
I thought I was lost, and then I realized that cuddled on a mattress on the floor in your bedroom, with your hands on my waist and your lips on my neck and breathing to the sound of your heart beating through your chest,
is exactly where I am meant to be.

How intriguing the thought
of serendipitous chance
A fortunate omen of sudden romance

Through glass and fog of distance and time
A like-minded, almost kindred affinity
brings a new effervescence to the presumed absurdity

If time was a place, located by thought
The distance that breeds connection
Is simply the means to the desired perfection

How gracious and bold that time must be
To create such a lasting attraction
Where an end seems a pity, a waste, an infraction

The balance of forces that compels the unseen
Opens closed minds to new perspectives
And clouds the indignant, old and tired objectives

Misplaced emotions and volatile benevolence
Lead to perpetual indecision, and wasted dreams
Where the goal is unattainable and sacrificed for schemes

Pondering the options that are created as such
Lead to open possibilities of endless means
Where whimsical notions are an effortless tease

How long the path winds and curves to sight
The ingenious and recondite plot of the teller's tale
Unbeknownst to those who may leave it for fail
Thickens more as it turns and toils
Breeding excitement, adventure and a life all its own
To be nurtured, or kept, or ever grown.

Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement

Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous  albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous  haematic  hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence

Laced with ribbons of moonlight
Bangladesh a touched dream at first light.
Land of my father, my mother
sweeter than nectar.
Purer than the driven snow
brighter than raw gold.
Gazing stars’ bumped up bottom
down the untouched moon.

Men and the six seasons
living in one loving fold
our one fertile sweet home!
O Allah rank our martyrs our heroes
up high in paradise in bloom
brought Bangladesh freedom abloom!

Punters cumulus clouds fly
eyes on the sky blue  
on a spur hanging low tune into wild coo.
Picture independent Bangladesh
step in on the morning rug
rolls out outside the sun
walk through, the moon is inside!
Bask in, take your time
when the twilight adds a shadow
the beauty spot on your broad daylight
escape to more serendipitous discovery.
Eye on the stars or tuberoses on the ground
our free land is inspiring, beautiful even in the dark.

Laughs free from a tulip glass  
across the land, air and the water
upon the reed flute stirred river
flowing downstream to the hilt
from a deep-delved foundation out of reach
her raised high flag flies
over the pivotal banyan trees.

Every flap of our ‘the sun in the green’ shaped flag,
the light of heaven on the evergreen earth!
Ah, sways in the chalice of every flower
on the land cheers beyond the warm South
whispers to our hearts and makes us feel proud.

I didn't go searching for them, I fell into your lovely lips
I want to drink up your beauty, in ten thousand tiny sips
I need to taste the thrilled confusion of a fleet of sinking ships
I do what I must to steal what I can of it, your beauty's not for sale.
I double over with the pleasure of it. This neverending bliss cannot fail.
I never had a chance after that first serendipitous kiss, you blessed me with.
You always make magnets of my eyes, and graceful dancers of my fingertips.
You are all I need to survive, I could thrive in any climate, nothing else matters, except
You there, beside me, your beauty always with me,
sparing sweet sips from your serendipitous lips.
This is the only thing that can quench my thirst.
Loveliness like yours, only comes along once in a long while.
To me you are the closest thing, to perfection I know.
Then again...what do I know?



A Burns, 2012

together we are a velvet dress
comfortable, warm, high-quality material
knee-length, not too fancy
rich, earthy-green in colour
one strap, a bit quirky?
accentuates the thin waist
smoothly caresses the full hip
effortlessly ****, soft and flirtatious
not a casual piece, although it is adaptable
the dress hangs heavily on your shoulders and is strapped to your soul
never collecting dust
sometimes worn around the house on a free evening, just for you
wear me here, wear me there
wear me everywhere, the velvet dress cries
but of course this cannot be done
opt for the denim today, the workwear tomorrow
life says it must be so
let's save ourselves for the serendipitous occasion
knowing that this is the greatest part of our beauty and charm

serendipitous memories
and wistful sighs
cherry blossom petals
twirling amidst the skies
efflorescent flowers
ephemeral hours
ethereal sunsets
and starry constellations

anguished thoughts
and secret frustrations
incandescent candles burn
as if awaiting your return
anguish and lingering despair
heartbreak and hollow emptiness
caused by unforsaken pettiness

merely the potential difference
between requited love
and bittersweet limerence

Is it a coincidence?
I think not.
It's not just one of those serendipitous happenings where both times we meet are budding from me ******* up.

I may be staring intently at something that isn't there
but I believe it's a sign just as much as the one you always ignored at the intersection.

Me ******* up equals me seeing you.

It's not a perfect formula but I'm still working out the kinks
God, you know how I love math
I'm probably just grasping at something and anything that means I can be with you for just one more instant

I know you see what I'm doing here
And I thank you for playing along
Do whatever you will
Just don't correct me when I'm wrong

I'm trying to **** up

God so loved the world that She....
Gave Her only son; duh
She also turned our feeble existence into a barren, destitute and flood soaked wasteland
But then came the Rainbow
Her Rainbow
Her plea to humanity for forgiveness
Love spelt out in ROYGBIV
The sky glimmered with the foreshadowing of the ultimate form of sacrificial love
Let my heart be ensnared by Her Rainbow
Her grace came at great cost so mine wouldn't have to

Serendipitous
Sirens
******
Seasick
Sailors to
Satiate
Sickly
Sensual
Seconds
Stalked full of
Sexually
Stimulating
Sentences
Second only to
*** itself;
Sad for
Seasick
Scurvy
Sailors
Syphilis will
Soon
Succeed
Sanity.

For Aleš, who reads pacifist novels during wartime

I

For the Millennials:
Victims of opportunity,
Saviors of humanity.

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

We, the Confounded Chiliads,
are the electrified pulsating
offspring of the digital age:
Serendipitous,
enigmatic
vagabonds of the modern world.

Standing juxtaposed between
two centuries,
two generations:
Redeemers of the new millennium.

We’ve read the writings on the wall,
for they have been by our own hand.
Blood dripping down the fluorescent page,
the endless scroll that consumes our gaze.

Gaping holes in our hands and feet,
screaming telephone poles pin us to the magnetic current.

We are trapped but we are not alone.

With every word we bleed,
with every eye to our flesh,
our cries are drowned in the digital void.

We have been washed away by alluded idiosyncrasies,
never unanimous nor harmonious;
feeling our fingers tie into knots,
mangled, finagled, wringing, hovering like a
Ouija board over menacing letters.

We close our eyes and feel them
burning within our skull.

So many voices, so many bodies,
pouring into our thoughts;
endless rainfall
drowning the long coveted silence.

So desperate for the parting
of ***** storm clouds,

for a sign from heaven
to pierce through the ceaseless night,

to cast its lovely gaze upon us
like a father’s warm and gentle hand,
lifting up downcast faces.

We toil in our anguish,
suffering information overload;
a whole race of individuals
accumulating into a massive “I told you so.”

Every wish, every genius mind,
every glance into the future,
every crystal ball rubbed,
Electric Eye awakened

as the dream sighs into existence;
the blending of fact and fiction
in the prophesies of Fathers Orwell and Huxley:
maddened forlorn oracles of modernity.

As we cross the rivers of Babylon
to find ourselves swimming in
the Fountain of Youth
we escape dripping, exhausted;
aching bodies shivering.
They drape expensive towels around us,
breathing warmly on our exasperated shells
of humanity.

Our mortal vessels no longer capable of
carrying our fragile identities,
we leap out of their torpid mouths
exposing the gelatinous crustacean.

Amorphous brain matter
sponge-like, soaking up
the sweat of our plunder and plight—
Clinging desperately as our liberators

pry us off the wet earth
like barnacles off a ship’s keel,
wringing us out
over the supper bowl:
the thin soup of mortal consciousness.

Feeling our voices and vices,
virtues and virulence,
mingling together;
meshing into one.

The hive mind descends upon us,
protruding a gaping straw
from its abdominous being;
sticking it into the electric ocean,
proceeds to **** life up into its
wrinkly, sickly tightened mouth.

Past the gleeful tongue,
down the throat;
tumbling over each other aimlessly
in the darkness—
limitless potentialities.

Directionless;
ambiguous
voices in the dark:
cavernous, mindless cacophony.

Echoes bouncing off
the windows of my soul,
I tumbled into the darkness
lost, and afraid.

“The world is yours!”

I never feel my feet stop moving.

Our nightmarish episode of consumption concludes,
leaving us moaning, naked, confused in the depths:
Haunting spirits wandering these novel dwellings
built on the backs of the olden brutes
and the barbarous archetypic minds of the Marxist prophets.

In this world of post-civilization,
we are post-human(e) in our efforts;
unable to gain a foothold in the foundation—
more quicksand than earth and stone.

Our seeds were thrown to the weeds and the crows.

II

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

I glance at the others: gangly gangrenous guiles!
Feasting on each other, never growing any stronger;
clawing out each other’s eyes, spitting in their mouths,
screaming utterances most foul in their ears.
Climbing over each other in the obscurity, unseen.  

I want them to take my eyes.
I want them to take my ears.
I want them to take my voice.
I want them to squelch the flame
that burns within my cadaverous chest.

Surrendering any chance of agency;
if there were hands to bite,
I couldn’t see.
I hear the voices shouting,
but I can’t cut through the discord.

What if I hold my breath?
But I know that won’t last.
Feeling my lips turn purple,
the kick drum in my chest:

furious relentless crescendo
pace quickening mind’s racing
all the sins in the world
rotting in my soul inescapable
pounding at the door
clock ticking through the floor
lungs shrivel can’t take anymore—

Exhale.

Panting, hands on my knees,
ears perk up to the sound of malicious snickering.
I lift my gaze up to an eclipse of the moon,
so ghastly in fresh blemishes plaguing its majesty.

Squinting,
I see smiling faces,
eyes full of mocking laughter,
belonging to snide children
anxiously peering into the crowded fishbowl.

They watch us squirm without water,
dancing in aching bodies,
craving the touch of something cool,
and refreshing.

They dangle hope and promise like
lifeless puppets encircling
an infant’s crib.

I watch them tie onto simple strings:
wealth, and
power, and
love, and
belonging.

Reaching higher, and higher,
straining formless muscles,
feeling weakness overcome
creeping up like a tired conscience
climbing over the golden crest
atop the transparent foothills
encased in the nicotine screen skyline.

It hangs its head low
on its hands and knees,
lifting up a weary voice
so familiar and ignored.

A final sigh ringing in the ears of a generation:
A cough, and then a final weak sputter:
“I Told You So.”

III

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

Anchored to the next big thing
sitting below deceptive still waters
murky mysterious
loathesome beast
peeking an eye out to catch us peering
over the edge of the docks
a glimpse at the promised eternity
immortality
delusion of grandeur
our eyes to the shore
nostalgia preserved
in the retellings of folklore
childhoods never forgotten
for fear of being lost in the present
and the forthcoming future
always a step away
how can we move on
when we’re busy cutting off our legs
to be eye level with our inner child
more like an exoskeleton
more exposed than our need
to grow
we sit huddled in our bemired despair
grinning sheepishly exposing our sin
crying out to the gargantuan
overlord of childlike fantasy
wielding our innocence
like a button-eyed ragdoll gluttonous treasure keeper
playing with fire in the alchemist’s den
so close to our material wealth
with the flames roaring lapping at our heels
feeling the dock begin to break from dry land
from the weight of our inflated consciences/consciousness
following the fangs of the snake to our parents
on the shore
with one hand sweating on the television remote
strangling in its grasp
they have no choice
but to squeeze the pump
harder and faster
legs of flesh and bone
break and give way
we begin to drift from the shore
pulling closer to the murky behemoth
that lurks under the perpetual offing
in the empty horizon we cry our broken hearts
into its cosmic bowels
feeling ourselves being sifted through
the hungry machinery of death
eyes luminous we shield our faces
from its rapturous gaze
fearful of the pillar of salt
that will stand in our place
but we look back
we take our hand off the plow
with ***** and Gomorrah at our backs
we peer through the electric eye
the sands of time
pouring through the hourglass
that spits us into the depths
of eternal strife.

IV

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!
Twentynothing!
Twentynothing!
Twentynothing!

Tw­entynothing in the classrooms!
Twentynothing in the workforce!
Twentynothing in the bathrooms!
Twentynothing in our parents' wars!

Twentynothing in the golden streets!
Twentynothing in the broken homes!
Twentynothing in the dusty libraries!
Twentynothing in the TV's drone!

Twentynothing in the Promised Land!
Twentynothing in the songs we sing!
Twentynothing in the secret plans!
Twentynothing in freedom ring!

Twentynothing in hands over hearts!
Twentynothing in our love in bed!
Twentynothing in the obscure route’s start!
Twentynothing in the lies we've read!

Twentynothing in the lives we fear!
Twentynothing in the scholar’s debt!
Twentynothing in our guns held dear!
Twentynothing in the tables set!

Twentynothing in the colors of skin!
Twentynothing in the reality show!
Twentynothing in the losses and win!
Twentynothing in the nightmares below!

Twentynothing in the kisses we hide!
Twentynothing in the I O U’s!
Twentynothing in the chanting of pride!
Twentynothing in the love you too’s!

Twentynothing in the hope we give!
Twentynothing in the dread they moan!
Twentynothing in the time we live!
Twentynothing in the chance we own!

Muse-less, useless, Twentynothing!

In the post-modern world aimless!

We, the Confounded Chiliads:
We are dangerous,
We are longing,
We are hopeful,
We are broken,
We are serendipitous—
We are eternal.

We Are Twentynothing.

…and that’s **** well something.

Her syllogisms repose trust in her adept beleaguering of unworthy opponents.
Constantly in a state of lassitude for this desultory, inure world of the insouciant youth which dwells upon it's cathartic terrain, she engages not in lachrymose nor is she crestfallen for the hope of romance and it's everlasting ineffability.
She is a fugacious moment of frisson embodied in a human form; a juxtaposition of the serendipitous moments that ever constantly come one after the other in a fickle wheel of steep highs and deep lows. All her life, this girl will lilt through the crossroads of her obstacles and show the world the efflorescence of her beauty. Hush don't speak lest you miss hearing the mellifluous music of her voice of fail to hear the lagniappe that is her name.
She is the cynosure of human attention, the goddess and we are but her humble servants. She is innocence most rare, love most coveted. She is infinite. She is peace.

I'm writing you a poem,
not to boast of my eloquence
but because your very existence has given me a lifetime of inspiration.

You are not a mere muse,
but you are every word spoken softly,
gently.
In my ear.
But if spoken loud enough everyone would hear.

So I will speak for you.
I will say it in a room that echos
so it can be heard again and again
until the words return to their original form,
a whisper.

You beautiful creature.
You beautiful boy.
I saw the honesty in your eyes.
**Like I heard your whispers.

brittle leaves swing with windchime thrills
scattering minature fairy hats northwards
bristle tops of seeded whimsy
light strokes branches of resilience
revealing notches and furrows filled with courage
warmed and hazelnut tones of sap and towering elegance
in the end flourishing into taffeta skirts of green
plumes, plums and sour-apple caterpillars

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.

The moon is staring me in the face
Shaded in grey, slowly fading away
Barely paving the way
               to the edge of the fray.
Whispers of intrigue control the iris
Repeated patterns within blue beauty
Triangles that sparkle like a diamond
               around a dense, black circle
That leads to the cortex of insight.
It looks like that of a galaxy
Filled with mystical images of life;
Where night is day and day is night.
Meteor showers litter the sky,
tears of joy fall to a puddle of pride
As earth collides with a great divide.
Right through the center;
               from the lithosphere to the core
Pain on the outside is ramified on the inside
And I’d be ****** if I said it isn’t a beautifully
               tragic picture
because life isn’t balanced if a good deed
               doesn’t contain a malice intent.
Temptation to touch the treasure without consent
is no where near the worth of self-control.
The dare to take a risk is self-imposed,
but the move to play it safe is the lightest of loads.
Would you rather re-paint the rainbow
               or find the *** of gold?
Walk a path through the park to feed the pigeons
and a serendipitous encounter with livid pigeons
               leaves your empathetic heart frigid.
While a deaf person speaks for the mute
               as the mute listen to laughter,
The blind guide those who are struggling
               to a gleaming green pasteur.
A mass murderer to the morality of humanity
Commonly senseless people skew
               the meaning of integrity,
The soul of the soulless has been released
to be met by the life of persistence.
Positivity’s existence is amplified by tragedy;
Sadly it takes sadness to appreciate
              what makes you happy.

We are all oblivious in our own attentive way.
A babylon of fanaticisms call, in a dark song you must pay.
We are all content in our own entangled day.

A bravado of neologisms appall, in a stark verity you have kept.
I'm removed from society, in insouciant splendor, I wept.
A creation of serendipitous intent, in a dream impending you have crept.

i miss your lips
the way they'd smoothly dance
like a genie in a lamp
as you'd sing
and speak

how sweet your memory tastes
though the reality has long since faded

i cling to my effervescent exaggerations of our tangled past
replaying time to time
on the dream-screen of my mind
as i snack lightly on the salty remarks of my youth
and i laugh

it hurts
but it feels so healthy

you fade through the moon-mist
and dismiss your own existence
once again proclaiming that you are nothing
but an extension of it all
a fingerprint of the wilky-way
just a strand of DNA
swimming through the wake of infinite expansion

i miss it

the beer-breath incantions you'd softly slur after dark
the kisses you'd plant along my edges
like the vines that trace the hedges
in the front lawn of that dusty place we'd fake our love

nostalgia always begins so inviting
untill you're finally feeling sea-sick
from the over-ingestion of false sweets
and pure imagination

now we're so far gone
living in a different reality entirely
i don't think i'd even know your face if i saw it
i know you only by the way your shape fits in the frame
another handsome man
trapped forever in the reels of film of my mind

but i'll remember you
you're woven into the wood works
    
     drunkenly dancing through a serendipitous sea of names
     stands the lamen's term for your current shape
your birth-given name
credited with a handfull of scars
left behind by a man who forced me to grow

I once saw threw the stars pools of serendipitous thoughts.
Melding feelings over-constructively by manifesting stains.
It's too wet,
Leaking unimportance. They aren't colored enough; silly to forget the dyes.
Standing too long, there's a need to stretch.
Stretch back lights, free twinkling corosions away.
I was looking too hard.

To ask you questions would be a sacred honor bestowed by the almighty King
In your presence my spirit rises like rainfall to be reunited with heavenly splendor
On this earthly plane, should our eyes ever again meet, gazes gliding into beloved depths,
pools of blue jungle oasis...lighting curiosity aflame with a way of cool delicacy,
a generous smile and grace

Oh, smite me now so that never again may I know another feeling than serendipitous bliss
Smite me again so that I may be twice smitten, and again and again -
Till every rule is broken and only we remain,
climbing every sensual step upward on the path into ecstatic delight,
Living as if born naked into a cold wind dancing...

This thing we are, creatures of tomorrow..
always hoping to seize the moment plainly emerging before us...as if in a dream...
awakened by the startling realization that reality is created by creators -
those brave souls willing to bleed to sing their song, to share a moment,
making the listener hear and understand -
those lovers of the trial coming through the fire with their hearts exploding,
confirming their existence as more than echoes in the night
The rest only watch as wishful children on a stream side bank,
following leaves swept away by the currents,
so too are our destinies like hidden springs
pushed forward by the force of our wills,
watched by these eyes of Man.

For you, whole egoic worlds shall crumble - come crashing,
magnetized by the Muse's universal command to Love and Be Loved
and in the debris of the old world shall come soaring a roaring pyre to light the velvet corridor to which a tired soul may recline,
easing into the wild nature of passion
with a carnal zest for climatic enlightenment.

Imagine a world ruled by passionate love
The focused heat injected into the heart,
striking the core of being with a burning coal,
defying the seemingly possible constraints of material nature, transforming into the world's most super symmetrical diamond, refracting God's pure light,
shining spectrum bending color into the mortal world,
an unanswerable riddle, the asking itself being the pleasure,
outrunning the crystallization of routine,
for ever-setting suns painting distant horizons,
as the sky welcomes our daily wonder.

While I glance across the road
You're there looking bored
It's me your walking toward,
Tell me something you've adored,
And I'll tell you something that I hate,
All these feelings that are poured,
All those chances too late,
When they are laid to rest,
You hope for the best,
But you expect the worst
Because you think you should &,
You feel that you must
When there's no one you trust,
Except your mother & aunts,
And your pen pal in France,
Because she's not lost in lust,
She's just too scared to love
& you feel the same,
Like life is just this game,
That goes on & on,
Your head weighs a tonne,
Because you're still not done,
Deciding where to run,
When you run away,
when you don't want to play,
This game anymore,
It's really such a bore,
It sends slivers to your core,
It quivers down your spine,
You have your worries,
And I have mine,
But I still would not mind,
Spending some time,
With you,
I'll be true,
Through & through,
Never stumble,
I'll never fall,
I will just call,
Out for you,
All that I drink,
Is water from your sink,
Along with the pill,
That stops me from being ill,
That sails down my throat,
Like a barge or a boat,
I swallow it down,
Along with my pride,
I've everything to say,
I've nothing to hide,
And I would have lied
If I were to say
'You did not take all of my
Breath away'
When you smile that way
From across the street,
Where our eyes meet,
I become undone,
I will run
Over to you,
My darling one.

-Jamie F. Nugent

There is something
in your presence
that makes me feel
like I am returning home,
as though I've
traced the outline of that sparkling smile,  
                anticipated your kiss,
                        and recognized the whisper of your voice,
long before now.

Instances,
in which we have known each other
                        in some other
                                                 existence.
Ti­mes,
when I am acutely aware
         and can sense
             your disposition, cravings and            
                                        aversions
simply by looking into your eyes, hearing your voice,  
or contemplating your touch.

Our paths in this life,
        of course,
    have simply not allowed this to be          
                                    imaginable.

 But its in those moments,             
serendipitous moments,
           when I feel like
                       I am rediscovering you,
instead of becoming acquainted with the essence of you.

And it makes me wonder.