"umpteen" poems
From brown eyes to green, the date began
I extend my hand to invite a handshake
We both exchange an “It’s nice to meet you”
We are escorted to our table
Chosen at random by our server, but perfectly selected
For the spot offers a phenomenal view of the coniferous trees below
And the majestic mountains of the North Shore
Our eyes meet again
From brown eyes to green
We sit and start conversing
You are stunningly dressed and I cannot take my eyes off you
Your eyes are locked into mine
You must be really into me just as I am into you
Our server interrupts, we place our orders
Your every move makes my heart flutter,
From how you flip the pages of the menu
To how you rest your elbow on the table with your hand on your chin,
Smiling sweetly at me
I’m having an amazing time
You tell me you are too
Dinner goes by in a flash, the sun has fully set
We drive off through the winding road and into the city traffic
I haven’t kissed you yet
But I want to
After umpteen intersections and two cities
We arrive at your apartment
I walk you to your door
I turn to face you
From brown eyes to green
I lean in for the kiss
A quick gentle one
I wish you a good night
But you want more...
From brown eyes to green
You lean in and kiss me with fervor and passion
You ask me if I want to come in, but I’m hesitant to answer
From green eyes to brown
Your intense, desire-filled gaze pushes me to say yes
Another episode to the evening begins..
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
It doesn’t need
Nth number of words
Just to say
Umpteen men
Stoop low
To violate
Invade
Coerce
Enslave
Trample
Oppress
Women
Over and over again
Mindlessly
Estranging
Nature’s fairer ***
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse
You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.
Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.
All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.
And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.
And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
i felt a shock
when my gaze
shifted into
your electric
green eyes
and my gut
dropped
umpteen
stories
as a devilish grin
spread across
your oval face
your words
slithered up
and down my
spine like a
thousand serpents
prepared to strike
at the first
sight of weakness
but i couldn’t keep it—
from stumbling
out into the limelight
it must have been
the highlight—
of your day because
i stuttered and
your words sank in
and dispensed
your venom into
my stream of innocence
and i just haven’t
been the same since
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
is there any room for hope…
no longer is friendly white Jesus
waiting on a cloud with harp playing angles
that image has been replaced
with Catholic officials proclaiming
Alien saviors will soon be at our doorstep…
a doorstep sprinkled with nuclear fallout
and massive carbon and methane emissions
a doorstep in which hate resides
based on skin color,
religious dogma,
classism,
and anything else the media outlets
promote to the mindless ninnies
forever entranced by the glowing box…
a glowing box spilling lies onto children’s ears
forcing sexuality and violence on children’s eyes
promoting genetically modified foods
flavored with prescription drugs
for children’s mouths’
all the while singing about the future
and the world we are leaving behind…
and so many behinds must parish
so many parishes of Pharisees
pleading to the Presbyterians
that the Pleiadian’s
probably will save us all
from our own collective choices
or maybe they are coming to feed…
we feed on the flesh of the endangered
for status
we frolic in the delicate forests
for fun
we fight amongst ourselves
for fear
but I am free from that frivolity
seriously….
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
she grazes
the soul,
tumult in
her coming,
the pang
of proximity,
dew heavy
over exotic petal,
her absence
bullet-riddled
over umpteen
male faces,
a gnawing
melancholy,
restlessly at
high tide,
a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,
crushed torn
powdered
ash dust
in flight
a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Spring dawned after the biting chill,
Beams of sunlight filtered down,
Flakes of snow melted away,
The Earth bathed in brilliant glow
He came,
The dainty Darling of our dreams!
With promises full and hopes in store,
To fill the void,
within our souls.
To burst the silence,
with the clatter of sounds
To dispel the gloom,
that hovered on
He came,
High from Heaven,
like a cherubim sent,
with the glow of umpteen candles lit,
He came,
To gladden our doleful hearts,
To deliver us of our blighted state
He came,
Like the first rain on parched ground,
To drench the arid lands in profuse shower,
To ease the ***** of sweltering heat,
To put out the fire of growing drought
Marveling over the seizure of treasure,
long hidden within the crevices dark,
We stood, so pleasantly taken aback,
over the gift, ere vouched, but long delayed.
Like an eagle in its aerial route,
flew my spirits in ecstatic rounds
Like the Swallow, soaring high above,
my fancy took wings and set to fly.
He lay close to me, the bundle of joy!
His dark little eyes poised on my face,
full with words on silent lips,
and innocence on his glistening visage
I peered into that cute little face,
the face I had long fondled in my dreams,
I whirled in the feel of prime feed,
and swam in the current of maternal bliss!
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Poetry is not frozen.............
Still surged in poetry
A stream stemming from the crux
An energetic reflection
An external of internalized intuitions
The flow of the words
Attuned and harmonized
Umpteen snow, melodic tunes
Visualized dreams mending arts
A bursting imagination
A word behind the beats
A free energy of octaves
Pulses of natural architecture
HP our home of anonymities
Acquainted monikers broadcast
Poetry strum through the universe
The singular tones attached
Poetry a scaffold of true expression
A design encoded to amuse
The beauty silhouette on plinth
Hollowed ice with steaming warmth
Poetry the distributed condenser
Sliding from 126hz to 136hz
The domineering kingship
Posing the echoes in words
Keep going everyone at HP, you are all beautiful!Lets the words dance
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Farmer Jones set out to build a barn
A shelter for his bovine
When the wood started disappearing
A little at a time
The cows were taking it to pasture
On the other side of the dell
Little by little in the middle of night
Hoping Jones wouldn't be able to tell
This plans been festering for ages
At least since some of them were veal
But cows aren't very good at telling time
So how long is really hard to tell
Anyways they know they have a plan
That's what matters when it comes down to it
And what it is they've been planing
Is "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship
This time they're going to the moon
They had a cousin who jumped over it once
But that was so many years ago
And cousin Eddie has long been somebody's lunch
They got the plans out of Science Illustrated
When Carl went in to use the can
The day Farmer Jones stepped out of the house
A little secret the cows are keeping from "The Man"
They know nothing about jet propulsion
So the cows broke down and asked the goat
The smartest of all the farm animals
Another little secret nobody knows
In the process of building they used galvanized nails
The goat said in space regular nails would rust
I never would have thought of that
I guess goats are even smarter than us
When "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship was completed
It was on a Wednesday the count down did fall
The day Farmer Jones noticed his wood was missing
And the authorities were called
As they began to investigate
A bright glow came from over the hill
Still to this day no matter what people say
They don't know what the object was nor ever will
The Rocket Ship is still up there in orbit
With umpteen cows inside
Next time you hear a cow moo, look up cause you too
Could see "Bovine One" as it passes by
Did they ever make it to the moon?
No one around really seems to know
I bet you could get the answer though
If you were to go and ask the goat
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
*It happens with old men
Have seen it times umpteen
I’m a boy again
You too sweet sixteen!
You sit with folded knees
Pulling down your skirt
Lest in naughty breeze
Thereto my eyes dart!
As long as it’s your face
Things are hunky dory
Tales of such retrace
Tell you as teatime story!
But often it happens
As the dreams unfurl
I can’t make its sense
Appears another girl!
She may be the one I know
Or a face I have never seen
Crafted in moon’s glow
Carved from days of teen!
Such dreams they quickly abort
When her I embrace
Make with her a rapport
On her neck comes back your face!
Next morn I feel glum
Hide behind newspaper
Teatime I sit mum
Without a story for her!*
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with slanted eyebrows and stiff, silent upper lips. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we’d never really had to do the holding before and, as far as we knew, this is how men mourn.
We dusted antique left-behinds with delicate, moth-wing hands that fluttered here and there and never stopped trembling -- dead giveaways that within the corridors of our arms our heartbeats went stampeding, arrhythmic. We couldn’t quite bend them into the proper shape for prayer, so instead we ran them, with touch somewhere between float and feel, along every ashtray and age-stained picture album. In that moment I think we each wished that memory read like braille, but no one ever said as much. Because this is how men mourn.
We honored our patriarch with whiskey, hidden away for what must have been twice my age, between the carved out pages of old stacked books.
We drank like secrets. His portrait played witness.
We promised between our teeth with tinged lips tight, keeping words in that might otherwise crumble us like great ancient empires.
We singed and smoldered in a burn that coated our throats, quelling a choke that kept climbing its way up from a chest that never quite stayed sunk. Boys grow up loving the clinking twist of unlocking deadbolts but men peek through keyholes. Because this is how men mourn. Silent and straight with head only slightly slanted.
But when my father betrayed his rigidity with words that clicked clean like unfastening locks, we traded this stale air in for wind laced with the electric taste of thunderstorms. We forgot how men mourn.
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with lightning behind bleared eyes. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we have umpteen days left to dress in bittersweet vestiges and, as far as we know, this is how men live on.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Inspired by Shelley's quote IF WINTER IS AT HAND CAN SPRING BE FAR BEHIND? I ended the poem on a positive note....
Always complaining of life...
I did not have the zeal to strife...
Lies,betrayal and heart breaks killed me from inside...
But still I had put up a smile on the outside..
Tired I was facing the world's mockery...
All I had witnessed was only treachery...
Life was a game which I couldn't play well...
And from the mountains of ecstasy to paroxysm of sobs I fell...
There were umpteen questions in my mind...
The answers to which i never could find...
WHY did every happiness come drenched with sorrow??
When we never had another heart to borrow..
Many times I wished to die...
When the heart inside did cry..
WHY did relationships end....??
And everytime to the FATE we had to surrend.
Shattered were those sweet dreams..
And all I could hear were screams..
The sweet memories of childhood I missed...
When mother's kiss was a moment of bliss...
With the advent of time, things changed...
And everything around seemed to be more strange..
The excruciating pain I just couldn't bear
And always thought that life wasn't fair.
Why did people break the trust?
When the heart of theirs was itself but a carnival of rust..
There is no point in being sad..
When we know that sometimes life can prove to be bad...
The relentless march of Time is inevitable..
And there comes a day when happiness is totally unmatchable...
The stories of the past are inexplicable..
And there are very few who are dependable..
There are very few whom we treasure..
Just because their mere presence brings pleasure..
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~1~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The valiant king rode across
A perilous mountain pass, which
Led to a mystic who could
Dispel the chance of death at war.
He roved along the rough terrain
Through rows of shuddering pine
His journey had no sojourn till
He'd drink the elixir wine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~2~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sage lived in a far flung place
Amidst mountains old as time
In that ancient talismanic cave
He reached his spiritual prime.
No man had ever seen the sage
Yet stories had been told, of those
Who sipped that miracle wine
And rose above their woes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~3~~~~~~~~~~~~
The king kneeled down before the sage
To narrate his woes through prayer
Then said, pour thy mercy, my Lord,
For my nation's in despair.
The gory war's killed umpteen men
My army faces defeat
Bless and save my people, O Lord!
For the enemy won't retreat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~4~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sage looked at the distressed king
Whose heartbeats had sunken low
For only the saint's miracle
Could help him fight the foe.
The sage did cast a magic spell
Pressed the ruler's armour of steel
Then said go back and fight my king
Triumph, and help your nation heal.
Prashant Shaurya ©
All Rights Reserved
17-04-2019
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson’s room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson’s room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy’s annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won’t
he’s out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don’t think he’d mind
you said
pressing her 5’5’’ body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I’m in love with you
you said
she sighed
that’s the umpteen time
you’ve told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob’s bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that’s because it’s
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob’s
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it’s nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we’re not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her ****
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I’ve put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob’s room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy’s lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Success & Epic Failures
A quote I got from Mr Rampton on
His twirling Tweet account.
I thought, impressed, amazed, “A catchy phrase,
I think I’ll write it down and later write it up,
It being just my cup
of tea:
‘Success and Epic Failures’,
You and me:
Sporadically, frequently,
Scarcely ever, almost never –
Take your pick.
Who hasn’t had them both?
Betrothed to neither,
One should rise above the two -
******** ‘round with mind and ego as they do,
Never lasting, alternating
Life throughout.
I think I’ll write a song -to-be:
Avail myself of phrase as symbol:
‘Failure and Success’ et al,
With appeal universal,
With potential to sell millions,
With success and epic failures,
Which of us has never been derailed
And won
Ten-umpteen times
In life?
Success & Epic Failures 7.17.2016
Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Reality; Out Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Success & Epic Failures 7.17.2016
Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Reality; Out Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
*For my 4 A.M musings,
i prefer going back to that night
when you left me
in middle of
my undressed state
and satiated mind.
You said, "Darling! it's business".
Your leaving was dispairing ,
Your umpteen kisses could not fare well,
more than me,my wrinkled bed sheet was going to miss you.
That night, i could not sleep
lying in my bed, bare
i kept staring at the ceiling
the fan was waiving at me
and airing
my undone sentiments.
I dozed off helplessly,
not my fault
the night moved her fingers through my hair
while touching my forehead, gingerly.
I was in trance,
i walked on path dusted with silver ash
and stars hanging from mysterious trees
some alone, some in group
some were floating together
exactly how a constellation would be.
The clouds were nestled in tiny spaces,
they too must have given in to the night
at this hour of spree.
Just before i had woken up
i had seen a silver silhouette at the end of the path
So as soon as my eyes fluttered open
you were just there, like a fake mirage.
lying beside me ,
on your favorite pillow
staring at my books,
which you said were boring
at my pens and diaries
which made you think i am scribbling
poems on you.
And today , at 4 A.M
i am sitting where you left me
hoping this wait would be over soon.
I have opened my diary,
holding my pen like a gun
hoping to slain you,
with my words
again and soon.
Through open window
crept in your favorite bougainvillea
bathed in silver rays and brilliantly beaming,
i looked above at infinite deep blue sky
While the stars were stroking
my cheeks with lights
and singing their favorite lullaby.
But today,i could not sleep.
So i decided to hold on,
and wait for sunrise.
When sky will retain its brilliant lush
when clouds will look dramatically pink
when birds will thrum the morning rituals
when sun-rays will creep on my old fashioned building
when the morning breeze will come running for me
and touch my temples before the creepy bougainvillea.
When the signs will tell
such beauty is not in vain
" You have arrived."*
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
I'd like to begin
by pointing out the color of the walls;
the pink under the plaster,
and the tubes,
red and blue,
that keep my shower water warm.
This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.
Its windows are always open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters are pulled closed
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic.
the fire place is a grand face
of grout and proud brick
cradling the humblest coals
under his black, stuffy nose
clogged with no longer solid logs.
His breath keeps the attic warm,
with the help of the coals,
who ask for no thanks.
I'd invite you in
if it wasn't for the moss on the threshhold.
That emerald green.
Those gems that seem,
with dew, to gleem
a blue and gold sheen
of umpteen citrines.
The sun's careen is seen by these
green finger leaves.
When I turn out the lights
and retreat to the attic,
I hear the moss sigh
like some sort of static.
Her breath reaches the crest
of my gentle home's breast.
The ceiling beam shudder
with a reeling like no other;
A sound that makes me cry,
while my cluttered attic comforts me,
and I speak no word but why.
The moss,
she makes me cry.
I'd like to end
by pointing out the color of the windowpanes,
and the gray of the drywall.
The tubes,
red and blue,
still keep my shower water warm.
This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.
Its windows are rarely open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters flutter open
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic,
and the colors.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
Guns today run the way we walk the street
Creating a quandary amongst The Den
Tragedy strikes and laws ought be condemned
Twenty-six innocent dead off their feet
A pool of tears puddle from the weep.
The hands of a ****** is where it stemmed
Creating anguish amidst our friends
Hearts of the victims appear to be beat.
A dispute out of view for umpteen years
Is now at our doorsteps like entry mats
Guns wearing make-up are costing a price
Beautifying what is really a rat
Quite frankly the picture is not quite clear
Guns without make-up can justly suffice.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Umpteen years of gentle love,
touching of souls, melting hearts.
Burnt lava nd acid too.
Two of us as one, in a random epoch of time.
Is God ordained or a throw of dice?
A matter of deep speculation is.
Look at this humble Plumeria, Sweet Love,
a hardy plant it is,
It's lived through a couple of droughts,
two leaves still shiny,
look forlorn on its gnarled trunk,
for It's tiny buds long burned by heat,
refuse to sprout any further greens.
A hope in its will to live,
and flower once every year.
What better a symbol of our connect than
this mute brute of a shrub.
I give this plant to thee my dear,
take good care of it,
water it and watch it live,
for its life is a symbol of our love..
Do not worry too, if it dies, for its only a glyph..
I'll plant another tree for you,
This time a mango,
which will grow big and olive under your tender hands..
to again ikonize a new phase..
One that gives fruit and shade,
to generations of birds and bees,
us in our old age,
and an abode to our Haunted Undead Souls!
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
When I'd sail upon the moon boat,
I would think of all I have got,
An old dime in my left pocket,
In the right, one gifted locket,
umpteen shades of memory,
from my mind's secret brewery,
my palm drawn upside in space,
upon which once your hand you placed,
twinkling under fair, raining light,
all I have would come to sight,
another pocket, another thing,
a time-old letter that gave me wings,
what else do I do have,
nothing much I could save,
but yes, there's too, this crimson glow
which my heart refuses to show,
it used to unlock in someone's arms,
and I've lost those keys long ago.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Welcome here, to this Earth, O Ganeshji, son of Shiv-parvati, O Vighnaharta ...
Umpteen problems this world is in, grant us peace and prosperity, O Vighnaharta
Your blessings, require we all, weak or strong, big or small; so please come, O Vighnaharta
HAPPY GANESH CHATURTHI.
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Sep 19, 2023
Sep 19, 2023 at 1:03 AM UTC