"sonority" poems
The country road like poet’s fancies unravels
Through the giant hanky- sized paddy fields
And the dream sized ponds
Dotting the landscape
in perfect squires and riots of skewed and regular shapes
The green spread and the muddy beds, spell the village beauty.
Parrot green fields
And stark blue skies look at each other
In perfect silence, like mother and babe
And a great , grey house exposing its ragged bricks,
Bared like the buck tooth of the old
Provokes a village memory
Past picking itself slowy and ambling into the future
Its wooden columns
stand like mute exclamation marks!
or so it may look to me.
Flies the skidding scaly tarred snake
Fast and spreading like the traveler travelling on it.
Patchy it looks, now;
And full like the misery of the scorned lover
Eager like the maiden speech of a parlimentarian
The country road, runs fluid like a stream after the rains.
As the rustle of the engine trips and falls
into the divine air.
A roaming peacock calling adds charm to the great whole fare
A winged beauty, struts across
Nudged by the sputtering , speeding me.
The exotic avian attains the hedges galore
With its metal blue feathery strangeness blurred in my glancing eye
A species rare, found only in ornithologists diary.
A clamour in the air
And the school boys emerge in buddy pairs
Beneath the village banyan
That let loose its tresses to dry like a country maid.
I see, a promising glint in their eyes
The will make themselves of king and ministers of the modern days
The sonority of ringing bell
clubs the cacophony of school boys in into two dead parts.
They return to their classes, sanctified by the silence,
And open their minds to the feminine vocie.
A Glorious moment ,
As the morn of wisdom is born
Rich are the sightings of poor country side
And many are the mappings on the way,
My sensibilities recouped,
I drove back
not spent
But profound.
sound.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
The sun, so lover-like, ran her fingers
Through the glistening leaves,
Movements soft, so full of intention
Their waxy dew, shuttered in response,
A low moan played in the breeze,
The light of sonority contrasts the electric
Disharmonies in the stormy afternoon.
Though I could feel a forest now eased
The river that runs through
Carried the blood of a plural heart
Beating with a passion akin in power, though enemy in fashion,
As its waves beat the banks
Eroding them into, eating up the aridness
As though slaking were its due, muddying the sky’s blue
From its surface, piercing the eyes from its reflection
Discouraging, this turbid froth, from worth of further inspection.
It rages and rages over rocks so violently
Picking at its slimming walls, making and claiming
Detritus along the path so that all the beauty a river is
Crashes, collides, and disfigures—a chaos growing
Bigger and bigger—the speed of its wrath
Bespeaks of its wake, blasting the earth (Watch it dissipate!)
Out of my sight it runs its due course south
Spitting the detritus that arrives
At the mouth.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Sometimes we goof; sometimes we’re aloof
yet all of truth is under one roof
All the same really; not always so clearly
Reduce not to merely the entire theory
The arts carried magic before mass production
But still can be found, the numinous induction
Minority knows; majority knew
Sonority is truth….can you hear it too?
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Listen to windmills,
Breathe, become breath
Coarse hair is stroked across strings
A the faint sonority travels on winds
Bold changes in the sky, it is cleaned
Violin!, imerse me now in your squandered dreams
Listen to windmills
Learn to breathe, become breathing man
The bones hammer, tuning in on precession
Lower the drums, turn a slow recession
Imagine circling down metal tubes and dripping out
fluidly over the sounds of the Englar Alheimsins
a journey to the underworld, home?
Englar Alheimsins; listen to windmills breathe
Write in spite.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 3:28 AM UTC
Venus flashes in the horizon
a distant torchlight,
invisible constellations
seep the sky's sonority,
the mysterious
assumes a drab
uniformity,
construction inches closer,
stale reptilian cringe...
tired gaiety of headlights
groping home,
that carefree shepherd
within, long lost
and forgotten...
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Your name.
Your sweet name.
Even when I hear it from someone else
it has a particular sonority
that affects my soul, weakens it,
and surrenders to you.
And it haunts me. And it follows me.
Wherever I go someone calls your name.
Oh, your name.
Each letter hurts me, digging in my heart
like seven tiny daggers,
bleeding out.
It hurts to know.
Reaffirm day after day the fact that you are not mine,
and that you never will.
Far away.
I want you far away, but not distant.
The pain of your absence is greater than the pain of your presence.
Violent convulsion that my heart suffers every time I lay my eyes upon you.
You.
Visual representation of a name.
A name that kills me and gives me life.
A name that moves me and paralizes me.
A name.
Your name.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
There is no proper syntax to express how I feel
No portrait with all its ambience or lore can display the imagery of my heart
No sonority, melodies, or arrangement of harmonies can generate sounds to convey my disposition
The prolongation of moments with you bare weight
with in my mind I held the fabrication that I possessed the strength
The strength of Samson
But reality never strays to far from dreams
I have faltered
My back has given out
My legs no longer stand strong
The hair i once wore which was the pinnacle of my strength
has been removed from my scalp
But I last even though my strength has departed
I will remain beneath this weight until I regain the strength
To hoist the weight again.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
The absence of sound may be barren and voiceless,
but this peace that seems so calm and solemn
is as loud and consuming as our ears can stand.
A house devoid of noise and energy
is a windless winter’s night,
is a mind with a chance to finally speak
without interruption.
All the louder and more resonant,
all the more demanding than any fireworking,
freight train, foghorn…
In this case, the sonority of nothing is convincing.
In my case, this illusion of peace and quiet
reveals itself as less than a butterfly’s whisper,
yet more constant,
more prominent.
It insists upon itself as if it were real.
Is it?
It never lasts.
The presences of all noise-
from the leaf’s dance
to the cracks of thunder-
can cut through it like a blade.
Any spare word can dissipate this thick lapse
like locusts slicing the air,
coloring what cries between silences.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
It's like there's music playing in my ear, but the music is impossible,
Impossible to hear.
It makes a movement quietly,
And something moves inside of me,
And I'm free to see the sonority
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Today I looked down at the dark side of my hand, saw a freckle and I thought of you.
I never knew you lack the back of my hand
Always a foreign country
I knew you like your like your sleeves rolled up and your chest pushed out when you teach
I knew you like golden forearms working and your smirk as you looked up at me
I knew you like your copious black lashes and pink lips etched onto my fingertips
I knew you like knowing just what to say to make you want to hit me
And just what to say to make you want to kiss me
I knew you like this (like you)
But its been awhile since I’ve forgotten it
It didn’t hurt like I expected
Now I wait for someone to know me like:
I eat every three hours or else I am going to be grumpy
Or baby why don’t you put on some socks for me
Like my affection is judged by the sonority of my kiss on your cheek
And somehow still love me
When I look down at the side of my hand that can’t ever know how skinlust feels
I think of you and think of how you knew me like the winner of a spelling bee
After long hours of study
And maybe someone (out there) knows me like flower for a honey bee
Instinctively
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
This place so soreen,
My mind so clean,
Away from the screen that hides the forever unseen,
The minds of society that just want us to go quietly,
Live with out variety,
Die in anxiety,
According to them we need to respect authority,
Avoid our priorities,
Follow the majority and accept our inferiority but what if the minority fight superiority and sing for equality, let them hear the sonority of the lower population and we'll give you a demonstration of a hierarchy rotation as we take our lives back,
Your reign is under attack because if we all club together we'll have power and wether or not we use it is up to us,
And the government will be left superfluous
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
Here is where the oncoming figure knows you.
We have no realization of time. Of how long
it will take for us to both decompose. This is
already a peccadillo. Mirrors brand conclusions.
The body lets go of its weight like anchorage.
How I measure warmth is a device that does not
concern you. Light inches and asks me how soon.
Already a blunder, an inner life revealed –
Between this carefully studied distance where sometimes
lines are crossed, a remorse is hoarded, exclusive
enigmas of hope. Contort this body if you will.
Between the barely-living and the already gone
is where I windhover. Sealed shut in hermetic space.
My desperation becomes a syntax of waiting
and there will be all beautiful horses, and faces in transit
everytime you pass is an announcement to where
I cast myself into a miscalculated sonority,
hauled out of, loosely identified.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
Do you remember those days
When we ran upon
Verdant fertile soils
Our nimble feet
Sinking deep into the soft mud
With windswept hair
Brushing against
Our damp skin
Glistening with beads of sweat
The scent of an everlasting summer
Permeated the air
As we played hide and seek
Under a canopy of singing birds
And the sunlight scattered over us
In shimmering golden circles
The sound of our laughter
Pulsating with boundless vigor
Rippled through the radiant skies
Of the most beautiful sunsets
While the dark of the night
Couldn't touch us
We were busy
Swaying and spinning
Under the starlight
Did the sun changed its course
Or did we grew up too fast
That loamy earth is crumbling
It's vitality long gone
Barren and abandoned
It yearns to hear
The melody of beating hearts
The air is heavy
With the deathly weight
Of a silence never felt before
But once a while
The fading echoes of our voice
Can be heard
Barely breaking
The stillness that abounds here
That invigorating sonority
Of the whistling birds
Has been drowned in
A harsh cacophony
Desperately revolting
To breathe life back
In a land
That was painted with
The colors of kaleidoscopic souls
Long ago
This decaying land
Won't call for a second glance
But if you haven't forgotten your roots
Someday you will look back
retrace your steps
And stare wide eyed
At the Graveyard
Of our childhood
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC