"spewed" poems
i wish we'd met under different circumstances,
in a beautiful parallel universe.
where the dull blue skies we dwell under now were light,
and the hatred we respire no longer spewed from our mouths.
i want the air to be cleared and our brains
fogged from the heartless reality we maintain.
i want our imperfect utopia to be untouchable,
a place of perfect imperfection,
where i can love you with all my heart.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
Faking Bad
In anticipation of my
Evaluation to be declared
Non Compos Mentos
I slept under a bridge
For three days
"Getting into character,"
But on the morning of
My intake interview
My hair fell perfectly,
I mean I looked like
A ******* rock star.
College girls on the bus
Were giving me their
Numbers and my skin,
Which I'd purposely sunburnt
And caked in the finest filth,
Glowed like an Australian
Chippendale dancer named Weegie
And even the female Assisstant D.A.
Who had busted me for vagrancy
Waved her ******* from
The third story building
Of the Courthouse.
No matter how much I
Tried to speak gibberish
Poetry and philosophical
Tracts spewed from my mouth.
Shuffling past the park
I beat eight
Grand Masters
At chess on move 1
Inadvertently I solved
The Phi Epsilom Theorem
By kicking stones
Into an algorythym.
When I arrived they didn't
Make me wait at all.
My caseworker giggled like
A schoolgirl while I told her
Each day was like an endless shift
In a Chinese fish- gutting
Sweatshop and every one of my fellow
Employees was motivationalist
Richard Simmons.
She ungirdled her enormous
**** and as they spilled
Like fishguts onto the desk
She began to howl
**** me, **** me, oh ****
Me right here in
Front of the open window
On State Street as everyone
Watches me ******* the strongest,
Healthiest, smartest, most popular,
Well-adjusted man in the world.
The rest of the examination was
Also a success.
But as I left the Mental HealthCenter
feeling marvelous
I accidentally bumped
An old woman with the door:
"Watch out you manic-depressive
Schizoid with Socially Avoidant
Features klutz."
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
You agree
When you want to shout, curse, and swear
The Almighty....answer this weeping willow
Made of concrete air
Of unfeeling movement
You cower behinds browned bodies, montezuma minds, and your license
Power to go as you please, be as you please, please help me to see
The inner child trapped in mordant cornerstones, and sitting on your own weight
To grasp the folly by the throat and twist him into existance
Not so much absolution
In agreement with other fancies
Prayers unanswered
Dwelling on ginger hands and knees
In *********** when his course has never enter into being....real
Or really close
His path to plunge thick into purple passionate trance
His path askew from my own
Though a followed trendy line
A drink
When it makes your journey into trees, and speed, and gluttony
A laugh
When scorned mouth spewed and sput into russet wounds already *****
A smoke
When it clogs your memory into patchwork and quilted thoughts unwoven
Youre unspoken!
You agree?
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
Two ticks click
through my ears
fuego leapt from
steel grasp to burn
destroying as it
flares across the valley
Smoke billowed into
the clutches of
hard, purple plastic
pressing in from all sides
funneled into sacks
of tendrils. They cringe
grey swirls choking
off pipes and
blood lines
Veins bursting with
new chemicals
Spewed out over
the burnt plains
But the valley
is just a small
groove on a
burnt out, tired
brain
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
***
***
~ ♡ ~
A
dark day
has befallen the
Court of Hello Poetry
How it saddens me to see
the good Queens and Kings
to suffer at the hands of jealous
enemies who seek to destroy others
and their Kingdoms. Though she was
exquisitely dressed, she had a humble
heart; many had a good word about her,
though I did not get to meet her, though I
did not see her, I could see the light she
had shine in the hearts of others. She
had a wonderful smile but invaders;
false Kings and Queens spewed
nothing but abuse, and it
made her surrender
her crown
~ ♡ ~
I
could only
watch as she
grabbed the ends of
her silk skirts and run out
of the bustling halls, tears down
her soft face. I could not reach
her but at the dawn, from the
balcony, I saw the ship sail
away, towards the sunset
into the unknown. How
my heart is so
heavy
~ ♡ ~
To
see a
true artist,
a true queen
leave forever. At
seeing her tears, her
crying soul staining the
floral marble floors, and the
invaders feeling satisfied at
her pain and her 'destruction'
Those who dare to denounce
are never Kings or Queens.
To be so jealous, so insecure
and think you led her to
her 'destruction'
~ ♡ ~
I
will say
this - you may
have won the battle
but you will NEVER
win the war. Because the
true Kings and Queens will
band together, we will stand
together to protect our haven for
we see, we know who the true artists
are. I will continue to shed tears of pain
and sorrow for the loss of this artist, but
I will always hope that when the sun rises
she will return to us once more. She will
never leave our minds, she has touched
so many hearts. Her legacy, her reign,
her kingdom will always stand
eternal, will stand immortal
now and always.
~ ♡ ~
***
***
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
An island of ash
signs of a past life
Melted black rock
Scars of the last breath
When this land gave it's all
Red hot passion spewed from its lips
And swept over everything that made this land
A volcano thought dormant
Tried to love again
Poured it's hearts out
Even as the magma scorched all the good
That once called this land home
now marks this dead earth
With this one last eruption
One last confession
This volcano died
And took everything with it
forever in torment
This volcano is now forever dormant
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
Suicidal serial killer bashes the bones hoping to feel nothing
because that would be something
A Swelling self-image pops in the distance
is chewed,
then inflated over and over
this routine never fails to cycle, disappoint, and please
Ethanol injections cuz oral doesn't do ****
give it to me ********
***** I'll munch your muffin just fo nuthin like I'm ****** with y'all
Cuz I surf to fall and smoke to die
In the high where life is inconsequential
to question and I feel less than short
Of supernatural
Who are these new kids?
They dress in tights and pick fights
I can't see your face but I trust the feeling
Damsel's are rescued
blood is spewed
Yet insanity is gushing
The drugs are running out
We might just be super
We might just be heroes
Entropy enters me ripping the glamour and with a stammer I know
This isn't a comic book
Marvel
In awe at these elaborately induced fabrications
and schemes to change the pecking order or chisel
the universe to perfection
The line of schizophrenic and degenerate flees
for the hills
that now have eyes
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
You were a giant garden, growing beauty as I, the small bug, admired all that you were and everything you became. I saw the air you breathed in and the seeds you spewed out; my spots and wings were nothing magical to you. You made life, with help from the sun, and all I did was eat everything you created. I destroyed your flowers, slowly and softly - but it took a bigger toll than I had thought it would. I thrived off the misery I caused you. You lived for life and I lived for destruction; for chaos is the only disorder that keeps us sane.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
*eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey
an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation
temporarily rehabilitated
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder
mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise
near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end
with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
While looking for a costume,
just some fun to be had,
I found it at a thrift store.
High collar,
sophisticated,
the train stretching out a foot long
lace trimming,
still mostly white,
with delicate flowers.
Only one stain,
on the end of the train,
makes a light brown blot.
Perhaps a guest spilled coffee
walking up behind her,
or maybe a drop of tobacco
spewed out of her grandpa’s mouth.
She was just my size.
A perfect fit.
I will take it to the cleaners.
It will look like new.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.
I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
ass-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?
And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of **********
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.
I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
In this, my last hour of rhyme,
with stains uncontainèd by shaking hands
Spreading like red soldiers running wartime
untempered by generals shouting commands
Then laughing like drunkards, drowning in wine
that rich purple spills out from its barrels
Then lying on bartops, eyes shine porcine
and unheard soft voices hiss curses and carols.
O, woe be on me if I speak out of time;
out-tumbling come innards, spewed from a mouth
Which whispered sad prayers in corners of grime:
hints of spring-season on trips to the south;
Watch them out-tumble, watch horri-divine
like the death of the tragic, acted but true
Yet laughing old minstrels declare it quite fine:
and friends ensure royal-men breathe not from the blue.
Hours fly past on wings of the Sun
who turns misted eyes from child-fight below
And lives lives of many, but cares not for none
not least merchant servants, throttled in the snow.
I fade and I fade: a blossom once watered
and love of the stage is clogging my throat
It changes my words: I fight it, I fought it
and hot-wet floods up with drowning and choke.
This minute, these words: I defy death.
And cold, outward slipping: my slow final breath.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
It was nightfall,
I felt very sleepy,
And I dozed-off
To the stud in my
Dreams-Dreams.
Oh how strong he was!
All muscle unlike my body,
Stiffer, stronger & ***** he was!
She gave a bath,
And a massage too,
To the stud in my
Dreams-Dreams.
She caresses it sweetly,
And she kisses it too,
Yes, the stud in my
Dreams-Dreams.
She kissed my stud,
A bit too much and,
The stud spewed its stomach
Out on her face,
In my most wild
Dreams-Dreams.
The girl's eyes were,
Teeming with tears,
To the stud in my
Dreams-Dreams.
As she was happy,
Tears were of joy,
To the stud in my
Dreams-Dreams.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
Pretty (adj):
1. pleasing or attractive to the eye, as by delicacy or gracefulness;
"Pretty" is a word that's been spewed at you since the day you were born,
A social standard set upon you that you had yet to even hear, but it was being used to describe you instantly;
A "pretty little girl", a "pretty face", "pretty eyes", "pretty smile", "pretty outfit",
Did anyone ever stop to wonder if you'd have a pretty soul?
What about the way you could be brought to tears at the thought of shaming homeless people or victims of abuse, how your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest when you heard about someone who was struggling,
They didn't seem to care that you tested highest in compassion, they just wanted to know where you got your dress from.
As you grew older the adjective turned from an innocent compliment to what seemed like a snide remark,
The word "pretty" began to eat you from the inside out every time it was said
like you should measure your worth in how delicate others find you;
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it turned into an adjective that was only associated with girls that were more than average but less than beautiful,
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it became an antonym of strong,
like "pretty" girls were things that would break if you talked too loud, as if loving a "pretty" thing could never be synonymous with loving a durable or sturdy or resilient thing.
D.A. Sharp once said
"You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just "pretty"."
And so when someone kindly placed the word in a sentence referring to you you learned to automatically put it into quotations because they were just trying to be nice,
They didn't know they were reducing you to outer beauty, that "pretty" seemed less like a compliment the more it was said, like people couldn't figure out another way to describe you,
As if God hadn't already intricately woven the threads of your DNA, as if he hadn't perfectly tinted every hair on your head to be its crisp burnt color or hand painted the irises of your eyes,
No, "pretty" could no longer cut it.
Because you had been made for bigger and better things,
Those "pretty" eyes of yours will one day see things that God hadn't originally intended anyone to have to see, and those "pretty" hands of yours will have to pick up the pieces of a heartache that God had never wanted you to know and put them back together, and those "pretty" lips of yours are the same lips that will stand in front of sin and tell it that you have chosen Jesus.
Because "pretty" is fine,
but you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, a masterpiece of the Creator.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
4.2k
If mirrors were made to be looked into
And people deserve to be loved
Why didn't I feel good peering into
The merciless glass?
Why was I told that my body
No matter how wonderful I felt
Was disgusting?
Why did my eyes veer away from the truth
As I stood, body prominently shown
Even when I felt beautiful?
When a society gets to the breaking point
Where a girl can try her absolute best to be healthy
And someone asks "who are you doing this for?"
As if the answer is something other than herself
There is a problem.
Spending most of my life absolutely loathing my reflection was pointless
Those telling me I need to change
Telling me I should be ashamed
Looking me up and down with a disgusting countenance that spewed hatred and the only words they could make out was "how much do you weigh?"
They were wrong.
There's no need to bring the happy down
And baby, I was soaring before you came around
I WILL LOOK TO MY REFLECTION AND ALL BUT FROWN
I WILL EMBRACE MY CURVES AS THE WINDING HILLS THEY ARE
MY BEAUTIFUL STRETCH MARKS MAKES MY BODY MORE INDIVIDUAL THAN ANY IRON-BOARD
I WILL REJOICE FOR RECOGNIZING MYSELF AS THE GODDESS I TRULY AM
STRUCK DOWN FROM HEAVEN ONLY TO RISE AGAIN
MY BODY THE SACRED TEMPLE OF THE GODS
AND WHEN ASKED HOW I BEAT THE ODDS I WILL SAY,
"We have been taught to hate
Those that appear a certain way
By an unqualified teacher.
And one day, alone with my mirror
I peered into it to see my body clearer
And I realized my beauty was there all along
I was just looking through clouded lenses."
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
The devil's speech say they:
Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry.
Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air
Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades
Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam.
That charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
In the coughing desert
Not a thing dares roam
Neither wind nor creature
And neither stick nor stone.
But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek -
The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying
"Tell me, thou innocent,
Why feel you special and best?
For when all is done I take you
And return you to my nest;
Your world is bright and happy
Full of high spirits and song,
Though soon you too shall step aboard
And join my faceless throng."
Hot saliva on the heaving engines:
Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched.
Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting
Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses
Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth!
From that charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
That dark train cries out and all around
A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog-
Bleak and yellow it obscures the land
Seeping out insidious in strange locales all:
The old lonely fisherman
Sleeping on his wharf,
The frustrated hawker's
Windblown barefaced booth,
Silent streets crying for attention,
Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye.
That solemn train cries out and all around
Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog
Calling all to upright attention and fear.
Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window
Slowly closing cold dread claws-
Naked numbness dumb as ice-
Cold dread claws upon thy waist.
And you,
You poor old thing,
Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones,
You never had any chance!
You were only human.
You were only human, you poor old thing.
Barreling on with brimstone slang:
Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub!
Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh
Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw
Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet
That charred old shell so terse,
Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse,
Is all that gives meaning to our every gain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:10 AM UTC
*the ring of fire
burnt my soul
to nothingness
just when
i thought…..
‘death’
a breath
drew me in
and spewed me out
not gone now
but pure essence
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
My heart was found guilty
Of witchcraft by my brain
He dragged her and beat her
Spewed his hatred for her
Tied her to a wooden stake
My brain couldn't comprehend
The magic of my heart
Why she never wavered
How she always loved
He started this persecution
Because he couldn't understand
I always felt her growing
Beautifully and powerfully
With every beat she won me over
All I did was want to protect her
But my brain called it heresy
My punishment was to watch
As he burned her alive
I heard the shrieks of hope die
The smell of her love stung
My nostrils and it haunts me still
I walk around pretending
As if nothing had ever happened
My brain condemned me to live
This life without my heart
Without the love and only
With the memory of that night
Every day I burn like she did
As every day I hate like he did
I was unable to convince him
That she just wanted to love
But my brain was too afraid
Of the powers of my heart
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
If your mouth spewed lies,
They could slit my skin like knives
Sharper than
You could imagine.
They would be
Unstoppable,
Unbreakable,
Unpredictable.
Before that could ever happen,
I surrendered
Taking my own knife,
And hurting myself
Before you ever could
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
There is a consumer product demon
in the trash underneath my sink.
The other day, I tossed in a wrapper
from a Quest 20-protein-gram nutrition bar
and a hand reached up to grab it.
Thinking I was daydreaming
I pulled out the white plastic Rubbermaid trash basket;
no hand, but the ¼ cup of Kraft Fast Mac
tossed in yesterday was moving, undulating.
It made a distinct voice-y sound
like “You’ll like Mac-a-lot, so eat me!”
Thinking this was just my overactive poetic imagination
I turned to the sink.
My JetZScrubber had wrapped around a spoon
dancing in circles around the In-Sink-Erator drain
while the Ajax Easy-Hands Dishwashing Liquid spewed bubbles
in unison.
Now convinced I took too much acid in college
I ran upstairs where my dog Mr. Brown sleeps
on his 44” x 36” leopard-print GoodDogBed.
“Howdy, partner,” Brown chimed.
“Sure is a fine day to go for a walk
using that Halti multi-loop leader and Sprenger prong collar.
Yes, I love ‘em.”
I took Mr. Brown to the dog park.
the one with the Safe-Steel chain link fence
and the pine trees without labels.
He pooped in the sawdust and vocalized
in his hound voice.
I could have sworn he said,
“Glad I didn’t do that on the L.L.Bean Woven Nylon Area Rug,”
but I wasn’t sure.
Nothing moved
except the wind in the trees.
and I wondered what to call it.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
It happened that cool & sunny day.
I met you sitting in the grass
Outside the art building,
Drawing your squares and smiling so nice.
I sat myself down and you
Told me a sad story of
Middle school and an incurable disease.
I sat quiet and listened, right there
In the cool grass,
Right by the art building bushes
As you quietly spewed the truth,
All the while diligently drawing your squares,
Noting their imperfections,
As you told that sad story and I recognized your brilliance.
We sat there for fifteen minutes and then
You realized you were late for class.
So you left me, sitting there,
Thinking about things,
Outside of the art building,
Squareless in the grass.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
You infectious parasite
you diseased my heart
I hope all this guilt
tears you apart
You played me like
a video game
and made me believe
the lies that spewed from your lips
Now my heart
is slowly dying
from the disease
you called your love
If you wanted me dead
you should have made it quick
instead of loving me
and making me sick
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Dozing on a hammock
Strung between two towering palms
With the sky above-
color washed in turquoise blue
and the waters below
reflecting that heavenly hue,
you came to me
sailing in a dream
like the strains of a symphony
causing endless vibrations
in my solitary heart
you showed up
all too sudden
like a rainbow on my vacant sky
after a cloud burst of cloistered grief
to blaze it with iridescent shades
Your smile
embalmed my bruised spirit
with the coolness of a summer drizzle
falling, like manna
over starved Israelites
in their arduous odyssey
through blistering sands
Your passionate breath,
spewed on my face
bore the scent of opening buds
in the mazy tangle of wild creepers
growing dense in nearby woods.
Your amorous whispers
fell in my ears
with the sweetness of the melody
from Krishna’s flute
with Radha near ,love sick
her lips curled in an immaculate smile.
Your soft footsteps
like the jingle of a court dancer
echoed in the silence of my soul
with a hundred evocations
As the jingles
came nearer in synchronizing rhythm
I held out my arms
to clasp you in tight embrace
and reel you in frenzied jig
But you vanished,
vanished,
with the swiftness
of bubbles rising and breaking
in a beer glass,
leaving me to my desolate zone
The sky overhead had changed
into another shade
Still I lay in mid air,
with my eyes sealed tight
to re-live that dream
once again!
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC