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WS Warner Sep 2011
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.

The night becomes you -
you wear it well  
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.

The night becomes you
rhyme scheme -  lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.

The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.

©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Karijinbba Jun 2019
Just like Goddess Kali
I am feared when not
understood
my enemies know my loving passion are my kids
those demons slander me
fearing the mother
goddess in me
I gave life and inadvertedly heartbroken waived it
I give life
birthed my children
against all adds
motherhood apeaces me
injustice enrages my dance
I am Goddess Kali Karijin
~~
Precious daughters
Elena Rose Jeanette fear not
I save I protect I write
it's my frenzied dance
surounded by demons ferocious
you and me won many a
gruesome wars
to protect you three your
children alike my light
I have deamed
Remember Mother Kali
I love you miss you
more and more
and for you my life I lay
~~~.
The goddess mother
(excerpt)
~estranged from kids ~
~~~~~~
"The stars are blotted out,
    The clouds are covering clouds,
It is darkness vibrant, sonant.
    In the roaring, whirling wind
Are the souls of a million lunatics
    Just loose from the prison-house,
Wrenching trees by the roots,
    Sweeping all from the path...
The sea has joined the fray,
    And swirls up mountain-waves,
To reach the pitchy sky.
    The flash of lurid light
Reveals on every side
    A thousand,
thousand shades
Of Death begrimed and black."

love & motherhood apeace me.
~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
inspired
by Hindi ink Durga-Kali
Shiva Lord's Wife
revised 06-5-19
~~~~
the poem shows how the whole universe is a stage for the goddess's terrible and frenzied protector dance.
only motherhood
apeaces the mother in me
estranged motherhood ends me.
thats why childless foe slander me
~~
my grown children imagine
their enemy's darkness in me.
~~
Durga is Kali Lord Shivas wife
represent good & bad apeaced
by being Loved cherished
and motherhood instict
RH O negative Mothers like me
may abort on medical evil advice
if no Rhogam vaccine is
affordable by Mother to be.
not that we ****** child to be.
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2013
'A triangle on the mount of mercury
is certainly an auspicious sign'

Thumping percussion of a native beat
in my head, a gyrating hindsight

The evening streams down pouring
streaks of grey and mangled orange

Walking past a bicycle chained to railings
front wheel mangled into a rough square

Squaring a circle, huh? How did that happen?
two thumps and a sonant beat...and again...

I see you sipping latte by Nero.
Mangled, stream out of your eyes
many coloured triangles
rushing, wheeling at me.

Vibrant beat, gyrating bottoms.
The mercury is soaring. Ululations.

The night-witch has charmed the city in her cloak.
Stars, oh, I see mangled triangles out of her hat.
Further attempt at a 'cubist-surrealism' perspective ... ! Of course the cubism is more synthetic than analytic here.
Prabhu Iyer Feb 2013
Thoughts
splash echoing
like pebbles into a well.

Confusion.
Woven like a web all over.

Returning at the same spot,
beaten, broken into
a hundred parts.

Echoing.
Returning.

Plumes of obfuscation.
Rising, spreading everywhere.

Frustration.

This spiraling music in the head.
What is the way forward?

The rickshaw slices the expanse
speeding away from my grasp.

A query rises into the wilderness
of a hundred distractions.

The bell. The bell. Distant, sonant.
Door. Phone. Beep. Beep.

The firmament is camouflaged.

Am looking for a direction;

Confusion. Obfuscation. Frustration.
Another thought-stream. Free-rhythm.

Moments of echoing self-reflection seeking an answer, guidance, amidst distractions....
Hayleigh Jul 2020
"Make love to me" she said.
"Use nothing but your words".

So I slid sentences down her chest
Scratched rhymes down her spine
And spilled soft, syllables into the curves of her neck.

I poured prose beneath her clothes
Left suspense in spaces and
Passion in sonant embraces.
I coloured her in cliches.

I kissed entire novels into her navel.

Her eyes gazed into mine as she began to unravel and unwind
As I slowly, unbuttoned, undressed
Indulged in and caressed
The fantasies in her mind.

Mesmerised, I memorised
Her from cover to cover.

Our bed the paper
Our hands the words
Our lips the verse.
Prabhu Iyer Apr 2015
Four flowers bloomed this morning at the horizon
and the world is drenched wet in tears the skies
wept for joy, maiden of the dawns, I saw you pluck
stars for your basket of prayers before the hours
and now you are gone, past the windswept edges.

I see your presence that has filled the peals of light
peering into my chamber this hour before deed.
Sombre noons when the koel cries for her beloved
I hear your footsteps jingle in the distant wood.
When the lamps of longing are lit at dusk, send

rains that soothe the valleys and the winds that
caress the river weeping  for the sorrow of loss.

Deep in the nights, your silences more sonant
than the footfalls that waken the grazing deer.
I saw your smile behind the untended fires
in the heart of the cavern, but I did not hurry.
And now I hear myself echoing in the quarters.
Prabhu Iyer Mar 2016
Those ripples
spreading hope among the waves
in torrential despair

foreboding

right behind where I toil away
with all her ships and sails
hidden in her receptacle soul

broken them rudders
we're sinking
as I hold out a palm
for some cheer
to gather. Macabre.

The Ocean, she came to me
and sat silent in the jar
not a whisper of a wave.

lives, palimpsest soul
stepwell storms
revenant, re-sonant
Shubham OM Sinha Sep 2017
A street is a sight to behold!
At first glance, you may disagree.
For, it seems so cacophonous and befoul,
One may prefer to flee.
But once you beat ignorance,
Then you begin to see,
That the sight that just seemed awful!
Is now filling you with sheer glee.

The noise starts to fade,
And a certain music ascends,
And all the traffic starts dancing
To the beats of some indiscernible band!
And while you are being awestruck
By this momentous encounter,
If you pause, you’ll again, realize
that the grandeur of this show
Is greater than what you see.
For it is “The grand show of the street”
And every denizen of or visitor to
The city has been a part of it.
Every one of them, including you.

It starts in the morning,
With performances from
Chirpy children, sonant hawkers,
The devotees, the walkers
And the other morning birds.
Then slowly the vehicles enter
Adding their own tunes and rhythm.
The show reaches its first peak, just before noon
Then it steady descends but just does not goes numb.

Then as the evening approaches,
The music again rises,
The dance intensifies.
And the glamour of lights, adds
To the splendor of the show
And then slowly the music descends to null,
And the city takes a bow.

But the show does not end here,
For, it never does.
As the lights go dim
And the night departs,
The street is ready
For the next part.

One can be a critique,
and complain,
That street is a sad place,
Full of pain and disdain.
Or one may become an admirer
Of the everlasting spree
And enjoy this pure bliss,
That being a part of this show is.
see more at www.lifeversery.com
listen --
the sonance of this heart
is the canta of its soul
surd but for its Aum, its
Maker’s mark
for, not every sound comes
from without
nor does every Sound, sound
yet beats as a drum, felt
sonant yet surd
heard yet unheard
created yet uncreated
the paradox
of ticks, of tocks,
of the opening of a box


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
David R Apr 2021
number, tell and scribe
secret of universe vibe
everything ruled by mathematic
from esoteric to pragmatic

vibration of the sonant,
consonant, vowel, 'n sonerant,
the hidden song and current
of existence and occurrent

history guided by Hand
hidden in purpose grand
Thought laid out 'n planned
to play out in sea and land

written in every living cell
from heart tissue to fontanelle
from jubilant birth to distant knell
Face of Divine hides to dwell.
Joss12 Dec 2020
Worn dull, tired of lab grown
language stone carved
The way that can happen
Not just the obvious sonant brutality
acid bare knuckles
Other words, shaped for obscurity
slide
ar o u nd and a ro un d and
a r o u n d and
Skirting certain description
hiding behind
Below
like earth, unlike earth
unverified, unburied, not bare
Alan S Jeeves Jan 2022
Amongst the quiet of our moorland peace,
In the misty still softness, therein found;
There is, over eeriness, heard a sound,  
A feint cantata of sonant release.
No lamb of god draped in her woollen fleece,
No canine whimper of a monster hound;
Nor subterranean creature underground
But a haunting luring, that fails to cease.

A moorland siren so sweetly voicing,
Singing, heavenly ~ outright, loud and clear
Filling daytime waves with a tender song.
Of sweet resonance, wide and rejoicing,
Floating gracefully in the wind out here.
So content, leave me placed where I belong.
my fingernails were always useless

i knew.

epiphora,
yet exclaim
ninety degrees be this way.

foot to floor, and it's gasoline

kahlo.

preserve me
voiced in war's water
film this cool slaughter.

earliest evidence for sonant

Eisenhower & Kennedy

paupers

new clot which my blood must recognize
Tragedy
As I quiet my mind
and press my ear softly to your pillow
my heart recalls
the lovely tune you once made up for me;
While the crickets
trill against my window
I recall ,  
The sonant sound of your voice
and those sweet kisses,
beneath the willow tree  .

— The End —