"tapas" poems
Indian Legends.
The Legend of Triambakeshwar
The supreme Lords, Brahma and Vishnu
On that auspicious day were fighting for the highest milestone
For honour
Claiming Wisdom
Voicing out their mighty combat impale
At that very moment, a resplendant pillar
Emerged, took form before them
Standing tall into the skies and stooping low spearing the Earth.
Brahma and Vishnu saw the pillar
As an examiner of infinite Wisdom
They both decided to find either end of the pillar
to prove their supreme position.
Brahma took form of a swan
to find the topmost portion of the pillar
Vishnu turns into a Boar, being the land's wild driller
to discover the bottom part of this pillar.
Brahma returns and lies to Vishnu
"I Have Found My Goal, 'O Vishnu"
Lord Vishnu surrenders with a humble heart
A fruitless effortless failure.
This pillar is no ordinary pillar
The Legend holds it as the sacred Linga
The Lord of Lords, the destroyer of Evil
The three-eyed one, the blue-throated one
Neelakanta,Shiva,Mrida,Rudra
Dayakara,Hara,Maheshwara
The Lord with 1008 titles of honour
Ageless, timeless, formless,
Limitless.
Shiva cursed Brahma that day dusk
**"Your foul deceit smells above this land, Brahmadev
Punishment is a part of crime.
You shall never be worshipped under the stone-carved.
Temples shan't have place for you"**
Brahma, enraged, growled upon the Lord
**"Your greatness shall be pushed into this Earth
Into the same pillar, the Linga!
At the foot of Sahyradri, your abode lies
from now,
till forever comes."**
Dear Fearless Devotee, know this that you must
On the dark midnight of this hand-chosen day
Maha Shivratri
The Holy Linga takes form as the Lingodbhav Moorti
At the blessed land of Triambakeshwara.
From underneath the Earth,
Like a descendant from the skies
The ruler of the seven worlds
Bhu, Bhuvas, Svar, Mahas, Janas, Tapas, Satya
The invincible source of destruction
Of the Seven Hells, Paatala
*Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Rasaataala, Talatala, Mahaatala,
The Patala.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
The state of being with no suffering is Shakti
The state of awakening beyond sleep is Shakti
When love matures and sweetens that is Shakti
The fullness and fulfillment of masculine is Shakti
When the sweetness matures that is Shakti
The divine which resides in the thoughts is Shakti
Whatever work comes before us is Shakti
The state of mukti, the end, is Shakti
The braveness which destroys laziness is Shakti
The flame which is instilled in these words is Shakti
When the best of fruits are eaten that taste is Shakti
When thoughts of divine arise that is Shakti
Shankara who lives on top of the huge mountains, his lovely flame is Shakti
The lap where life flourishes is Shakti
The strength which guards the earth is Shakti
The flame which stops one from falling is Shakti (denotes inner strength that averts fall/defeat)
The tapas that eliminates confusion is Shakti
The finger which stops downfall is Shakti
The one who spans the whole expanse of sky is Shakti
Her highness who eliminates karma is Shakti
The inner flame which shines from within the heart is Shakti
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
the setting sun glows crimson over distant hills
people enjoy the balmy temperatures
sip their mojitos and manhattans
anticipating finger food and tapas
chatting with friends and neighbors
not everybody notices
the folding blossoms of the garden flowers
or the sweet evening songs of birds
the daring hedgehog venturing forth
to look for food
the smell of honeysuckle gaining force
under the rising moon
the beauty of our nature
often gets talked away in conversations
reduced to just a pleasant ambiance
that loosens our tongues
in our obsession to communicate
we tend to overlook the soft magnificence
the world presents to us in dusky evening hours
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
We used to play billiards
and fight all the fire.
We'd drink tea
from cheap mugs,
read The Economist
or newspaper,
chat about boyfriends,
girlfriends,
what was and wasn't a rumour?
The printer munched on paper,
lounge about on scratchy chairs.
50% revision, 50% laughter.
Psychology was me
with a group of girls.
How many people, where, when,
and what was it Freud said again?
Spanish was the same,
me, L, C and E.
Picasso's view of war, a bull and a flower,
grammar overload in the afternoon.
And then there was English.
Can you hear me Fitzgerald?
On a row of females (not just one),
roses, four stories and a single trumpet.
On the garish bus
to see the Manor or the specialists,
to walk up and down aisles in Asda,
talking music with baguettes and meatballs.
Two years came, two years went.
Exams, goodbyes, brown envelopes arrived.
After tapas and a holiday
came sly September.
Here I was with fresh men,
different faces from different places.
So I walked up the steps
into the next avenue.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
To be adventurous is the key:
Don’t let them know you’ve never seen this menu.
Stumbling syllables of Spanish
So young, so naïve:
A stranger to tapas.
Who wants to be the main dish?
Convention, what society dictates.
We are a product of the capitalist system
Built on property and inheritance,
Trapped in monogamy.
But I know power when I see it
And I have none. You have all.
Or so I think.
Or so you think.
Willingly used.
Or so I convinced myself.
Feminist? Ha.
Another line.
“You can see the stars here.”
And yet like a cat to cream
I lap it up.
I know what’s good for me
And I don’t like it.
Doomed to choose you.
A masochistic mindset
With no bearing in reality.
Bambi slipping on ice towards you.
My downfall. My Achilles heel.
My beautiful Machiavellian fox.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Las Ramblas takes me into the olfactory and gustatory folds of a multicolored bocadillo, which led me to the breathtaking and fearful tunnels of El Chorro.
I have identified those at Sants who maintained deviant motives and gazed upon the beauty of those tree-lined streets of fountainous resignation.
Nevertheless, the combination of manchego and chorizo leads me to those meandering roads of Andalucia where the Sierra Nevada can be witnessed from festivals in Pastelero and Villa Nueva in a midnight breeze.
The best sopa de acho is to be found in Antequerra.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
*no wonder i watch *********** it's a moral struggle these days downing a whiskey trying to down america 1930s. al capone would have laughed with me i'm sure, and shouted: cuba! cuba! fiddle castrato! well, there was the violin to mind in tao when the castratos masturbated;. oh look... the pope! where’s my bishop purple and cardinal red? down the toilet, with the goldfish i’m assured: bobs the necktie password concerning the onomatopoeia the bubbles made when appearing: bubbles are called bob... ok?*
it was only an old man attired
in the usual monochrome of gray,
so i walked,
scratched a stone wall,
and by the 2nd gesture similis i
pulled my hand scratching toward my chest
to resemble a stone heart:
equivalent chinese? small is european stone:
writing this i missed six knuckles and felt the rest.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
the
castillo alhambra a
watchful brown *****
on the hill
smiling crenellated un
der grey-silk skirts of cloud &
in wicker chairs mouths
—open (talkin’ bout last night’s walk home from vogue)
—close (swallow morsels of tapas: paella)
& lips shut ‘round cigarettes.
…
… past inactive fountain where children play their various jeugos next to the riverwall and distrustful, rail-thin cats peer from brickwall dens to watch flitting finches bounce on vines & budding branches. it is very warm; the air is heavy as is the ground. man is stuck between like a roach ‘twixt two ***** mattresses // three girls looking at me writing smoking drinking beer eating that paella don’t know what to think.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
Alignment before leaving the house
blessing words with intention
honor the sun
Thank the axis
as we spiral
and find our constant amidst change
death takes place
and we go through stages and states
denial, acceptance,
and everything in between
connection with all that is
and crystal relationship with today
honor the sun
palms pressed to pray
at heart center
whoever does this looks so holy
serene, blissed out, so **** lovely
sashay with anger
then tango with tears
adjust to the idea
of releasing fear
honor the sun
for true life rises
and echoes rays of eons
from this glorious star
the source of fire and desire
warming our bodies
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Red, she was dressed in red
Skirts swirling with her hips
Click, click her fingers snap
Her pearly whites grip
The stalk of a freshly cut rose
Red as blood, as stark as fire.
Olives, green, pure and oily
Clench like teeth to a wire
With spicy sausage and clams
Orange and pink in a pan
Tapas, little bits of this,
gorgeous bits of that.
Spanish lullaby from a talented hand
plays romantic flamenco in a band
held tight in his grip, the skin so lovely
the eyes so brown, the look of love so now.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
She was smoked
salmon so spread
Like his creme of
the crop
Smoking hot circles
0-0 0______No-No
The points... Dots
And shoe size petite___-
The whole website
To love and honor
Whats in her moves
The private Dancer
May I never be dropped
To be overly loved
I am not asking for more
The score more or less
can be
The greatest dancer
O yes, so many pretenders?
More spread like_______
Mr ((Mayonaise__meeting
Handsomely Hellman
Falling into your
embrace Tango-Tie
I- Apple creme pie
to phone U
May I tango 4-U
Sweet lips of mango
Don't shed one tear
Listen to what is said?
How her dance step
to be read
next year to be wed
Like your hot rods
and hubcaps near
your bed choices
To sweep me off my
feet well said
The tango soprano voices
The Hub
Rubbing my
dancer's feet his treat
Wildflower Salsa beat
Emotional dance
The Tango
Graphically
Cool______ design
Contacts to sign
To his excitement
Steps are well
worth
the dividends
Drinking tapas
The fine tip of gratis
Sign sealed and
dance delivered
In an instant
dancing contract
Two bodies dance
as one__________*
Flaming intertwined
Brazilian Silky- hair
Mr. May-0 tango pair
Mr. Hellman
merci beaucoup
His desires came with the loop
The mixture mango scoop
May-0, not the May Day
No clouds passing
in grays
So festive never passive
Well made beaded
Peacock Miss Marrietta
The Birds of the feather
Expression of sensual faces
To impress the right man
Distinctly dressed
Explanation point
May I interject my
point______________
Tropical sandals high-point
Tango dancers have a
the certain way
The lovely maiden
Names day and age
Eyes engage contest page
He to her side fancy
May- 0 in her Prime
(Hello)
Another Day-Oh!
Don't move her dancer
days to sail away
Sea breeze perfect per day
Her fancy dancer
shoes not on
layaway
* * * * *
In the now a dancer
nowadays taking flight
Every day always
the dancer's way
You Amaze so blessed
Like your possessed
* * * *
Titans in a blaze
How it may arise
He was dancing to her
movement ****** salsa
To her toes up to her
Tango lips amazing dips
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
she returns to her dream city
where she blossomed
and we trail behind her
her family
it's all talk of remember
and where are they now
our little one given license to stay up all night
why do they eat so late dad?
what are they saying?
tapas at midnight
beer all the time
water's essential
and so is the wine
there's talk of old lovers
there's talk of change
talk of the the politics
and the city rearranged
it's hot ****** hot
almost too hot to bear
the fountains run all day
there's solace in there
but up on the roof
lies the breeze
with it's welcoming arms
I play guitar for the stars
open tuning in G
I gather them here
all that matters to me
my beautiful children
my beautiful wife
I sing to the stars
in thanks for this life
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
her kunne jeg
skrive
om vores kærligheds
dage
da vi delte en
tapas-tallerken og en flaske
af den bedste vin
på en fortovscafé
og tog bad i de århusianske
solstråler
og her kunne jeg skrive
om dig og mig og det vi to
(aldrig) havde men jeg gør
det ikke for der er ikke
mere tapas og der er ikke mere
vin
og heller ikke flere solstråler, men værst
af alt er der ikke mere dig og mig
og så er der faktisk (ikke) mere tilbage
at skrive om
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Woven into every thought
a golden thread in deep blue sea
the waft on which her poems are caught
will form a living tapestry
and into every single day,
this loom upon which wafts are wound,
in green she'll choose to make her way
on shuttles wrapped with seaweed found
the ordinary man, an ocean
barge which follows shipping lane
passing through without a notion
brilliant orange and not mundane
streams of light, not white nor yellow
radiant warmth throughout the room
through every season, this old fellow
present, steady, lights the loom.
Beauty makes a sudden turn
for what's to come, could never guess
when trouble takes the finest yarn
and twists it into tangled mess
with barren shuttle, words are lean
"and hardly can I say!", she'll moan
with eyes upon the battle scene
"this tapestry is not my own!"
and into blackness of the night
a the sunlit moon with silvery shroud
will ease across the sky tonight
illuminating every cloud
and even as the stars like lint
reveal their light in darkened hours
the quiet moments also glint
a single word, enormous powers.
as shuttles glide, a poem evolves
and words begin to take their place
in colors as the earth revolves
this tapestry is bathed in grace.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
*Hablas cuando duermes.
Bebes te sin azúcar.
Te gustan los huevos revueltos.
Dejas los libros a la mitad de la sala.
No tapas la pasta de dientes.
Todo eso me desespera
Todo eso me encanta*
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Woven into every thought
a golden thread in deep blue sea
the waft on which her poems are caught
will form a living tapestry
and into every single day,
this loom upon which wafts are wound,
in green she'll choose to make her way
on shuttles wrapped with seaweed found
like specks of color on an ocean
barges pass in shipping lane
and this is where I get the notion
contrast thrives in worlds mundane
streams of light, not white nor yellow
radiant warmth throughout the room
through every season, this old fellow
present, steady, lights the loom.
Beauty makes a sudden turn
for what's to come, could never guess
when trouble takes the finest yarn
and twists it into tangled mess
with barren shuttle, words are lean
"and hardly can I say!", she'll moan
with eyes upon the battle scene
"this tapestry is not my own!"
and into blackness of the night
a the sunlit moon with silvery shroud
will ease across the sky tonight
illuminating every cloud
and even as the stars like lint
reveal their light in darkened hours
the quiet moments also glint
a single word, enormous powers.
as shuttles glide, a poem evolves
and words begin to take their place
in colors as the earth revolves
this tapestry is bathed in grace.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
i waited on you for weeks
calling and cooing
frumpy fighting
i need you to know
that heros hug
champions challenge
i waited to get wet
slippery and soapy
licking lickless
wounds
you
kick up your knee
gracefully and gently
hairy horror
firsted
hey
let me lead you
up siz-zag undulations of angles
gracefully grazing
carpet
us two
darling
let me lightly place you
upon the undone bed
shovel self in
down.pillows
dreaming
of each other
sweaty
and this is where im going to break the poetic form
youve told me. and i you. you know where and how
to find me when we are writhing and flipping around
and ill pick you up off the top of that news stand again
JUST JUMP i yell and you most certainly oblige once more
and that hug
that one that i was talking about earlier
the enclosure all encompassing
will be the act that save me from the last week
the goose pimple that perk all about
will make every single shift from thigh to knee relevant
propelling ourselves skyward and floating now
come with me
i know this one place
terrific tapas
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
We talked before eating
About place
Direction
Then went straight
To tapas
One lasagne to share &
Two patatas
Bravas
We talked so much about timing that
To fill up our mouths
We ate with a relish we'd
Seldom shown
Each other
And took too much
Wine
You
Went to cut up the pasta
Sharing, as ever
But 2 bay leaves
Lying, deep inside
Resisted the knife
Leaving a ragged edge
Between us
We stopped - smiled
Not
Really sure
Why
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Let’s go, you and I.
And sweat beneath the African sky
Watch the lions lazing
And the wild dogs playing.
We can sip Amarula
And listen to the hyenas laugh and cry
As the mythical sunset
Silhouettes giraffes and Acacia trees.
Let’s go, you and I
And walk the streets of old town Barcelona.
Find old timey cafe and luxuriate
In sangria and itty bitty tapas
Stroll by Sagrada and gawp
At Gaudi’s home.
Maybe we’ll stop for some ice cream
Maybe we’ll just go back to the hotel
Let’s go, you and I
And swim the blue blue seas of the Bahamas
Nervously Play with the nurse sharks
Hoping they’re not the other sharks
Take those long walks on those beaches
That everyone likes.
We’ll sit on Jankanoo and drink sky juice
Until we can truly reach the heavens
Let’s go, you and I
And ski the Slopes of the Swiss alps
We can stop at small cabins and drink
heartwarming schnapps
Take trains that slink around mountains
And sprint through white capped forests
We can put snow down the backs
Of each others jackets and
Squeal in furious delight.
Let’s go, you and I.
And squish our way through the streets of New York
Relieved when we can pop into a shop
To escape the crowds.
Necks sore from looking up
Small town people in the Big Apple City
Central Park for pretzels and Snapple
Times Square later, neon addiction sated.
And a boat ride to see lady liberty
Let’s go, you and I
And bare our feet in Balinese temples
Speak to the monks in broken English
And then retire to our curtained gazebo
To indulge in the sins they can’t
We’ll get massages and champagne
Then ride our bikes along pothole
Ridden dirt roads.
Let’s go, you and I
And get Nuevo Chic in London’s west end
We can catch a show in tux and evening gown
Then head to the pub and catch a pint
We can walk the trail, hunt Jack the Ripper
And visit The Tower.
Cross the Thames and maybe
No definitely
Another pint in some quaint little place.
Let’s go, you and I
And lie in bed late on lazy Sunday mornings
I’ll poach the eggs and make the hollandaise
You can put some upbeat daytime jazz on
Then we can go sit in the garden
Under the oak tree and read
Each other poetry
Until it’s much much later
...
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Just touched down from Darwin,
2 hour layover in Sydney & I’m starvin’,
met a girl at the airport,
and invited her to dinner,
they say there’s no such thing as a free lunch,
but I’ve got a credit card that let’s me dine,
at almost any restaurant in any country,
on any continent in any dateline,
so I often invite,
beautiful girls and other fellow travelers,
to dine with me as my guest for free,
where we share stories over appetizers,
more peace stories than war stories,
more love than hate,
because when you really get to know someone,
you find you differ in less ways than you relate,
anyways,
there we were,
both on rest stops till our next stop,
two world travelers,
I’d noticed an engagement ring,
more than a modest sized rock,
but I noticed the finger on which it sat,
made the look a bit odd,
see she wore the ring,
on her middle finger instead of her ring finger,
so it was more of a fck you instead of a love you,
I asked her if there was a reason for this position,
she said it was because,
it simply didn’t fit on her ring finger,
that it was a simple mix up that was it but,
I suspected there was a reason that was deeper,
so I questioned her intentions,
why was she with this man but still acting like a free woman,
why was she speaking of “exploding like a volcano!”,
when she sees a man and feels an attraction,
about how she had a fantasy,
of meeting a beautiful Australian man,
on a beach and he’d teach her to surf,
and she’d ride his surfboard from the wave to the sand,
this was when I decided to speak up,
to tell her I didn’t think this engagement would work out,
that maybe tying the knot with a man was already a dad,
was not the best idea for a woman with no kids that liked to go out,
that maybe I was in a way,
an Angel of Divine Intervention,
and how every moment of our lives,
had led us up to that instant,
I told her no man owned her,
that her body was hers alone to control,
that life is too short to compromise,
that there is no moment other than now,
I told her that that was the reason,
that I didn’t have a wife,
because there are many women I love,
and to love only one wouldn’t be right,
how can I tell one of my lovers,
that she’s better than all the rest,
how can I tell any of the others,
that they’re not as good as the one that I’m with,
I can’t,
because love is not confined into the body of one,
love is free to love and do what love does,
and with that we finished our tapas,
and finished our rendezvous with cappuccinos and hugs,
back into the world,
back into the embrace of another lover,
back into the future,
to make more memories with more women at more dinners…
∆ LaLux ∆
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
The marble stairway
Winding like a snake
From my room on the second floor
To the lobby in the hotel
Which carried on out into the street
Where I would follow for city blocks.
Waiting there with the tapas and beer
Was a drunk poet,
Ready with the words to fill any empty space
With a lifetime of thought.
The verse, not unlike the architecture
Screamed aloud
Cried out to me
For it had been waiting decades
For someone to view it
To lick its breast
Penetrate the long abstinence
Of mind and body
Finally one with the forgotten thought patterns
That died with the others.
Once again to be kissed
And lay there with gently stroking fingertips
A lover
Longing to be held
Remembered
Tasted lips.
The deliverance of hope
Through the eyes of the wanted
Those often written about
Painted on sturdy canvas
In immortal bliss.
Soaked in olive oil
Each tattered step
Beloved in wisdom
Breath
A beep chance of being.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
There's still a hint of menace in the air from the
tapas bars that seem to spring up everywhere and
on
Electric Avenue,
there's few would argue 'bout that.
The night not flat but straight line curved, and keep your eyes peeled,hyenas prowl,stiletto heeled,
Coldharbour harbours much.
A touch of music and my eyes slant,
might catch a glimpse of Eddy Grant,
Once,
the new messiah with tunes to set the world on fire.
Mo's the man to go and see
(what you mean the guy with the Masters degree?)
that's the dude,
can chew up words and swallow them and yet the humblest of the humble men,
find him down
the Brixton Soup Kitchen
no whining,bitchin' ,
just getting on with it,in the thick of it
serving to his brothers,sons and fathers,mothers, sustenance,initiative indeed to live and give and love and feed.
You may think you've seen it all
but
you ain't seen nothing yet
not until
you get down Brixton way
see what the guys there do and say.
pure gold.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
The more wine the less time
We have until you fly.
I hope you don't forget why
You loved me.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
The Cardinal goes by,
not yet a Monarch,
still a
butterfly,
I watch in wonder and I wonder why,
I'm not as graceful as
the butterfly.
The,
elephant does not forget.
and may remember me, but I
think I'd rather be
an albatross that wanders 'cross
the open oceans, swooping deftly
down to fish upon the glassy sea.
Either way,
today I have to be a man
two legs,two arms
a brain
no plan
just who I am.
I'd rather be a butterfly.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC