"unanimous" poems
Eve of Holi
A spring eve that’s all different from others
Zephyrs blowing away the leaves
Orange sky adding the flavours
Blooming flowers nodding in a rhythm
So Ironical is nature of this evening
That all these beauties act as ornaments of Kali
On a normal evening man would work
They would work appraising weather
They know it will not last long, they enjoy
Today they as if ignore it, of morning celebrations
Morning is gayest morning of the year
Every reason to see every man
Mankind being unanimous
Evening on contrary balancing it to a usual day
An unexplainable soundlessness, vacuum of thoughts
A day depicting environment without men on work
Streets still hold colours on their chest
But this colour no more is a sign of happiness
People meet each other, everyone has a smile
But that doesn’t match with nature suit
There smiles have scope within its sight
Body of people walking on street enjoy zephyr
Their mind stay startled of unusual quietness
Standing on my entrance, I observe
A swinging litchi tree, missing sound of saw mill
Smiling flowers, orange cloudy sky
Empty streets, parked wagons, and utterly silence
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
|**“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”**|
you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work
plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure
not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined
turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
and
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear
mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion
happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable
breathe poems constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud
taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising
all nonsense you plead,
indeed,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from
*******
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says it’s the tone in your voice
sound of waves crashing against shore
he asks what tone are you referring to what are you hearing
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says i’m an artist too you don’t have to tell me
sound of waves crashing against shore
he explains i was simply affirming my vocation in order to elucidate why i perceive another way
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says you don’t need to pose or differentiate for me you are so ******* self-absorbed
sound of waves crashing against shore
he answers self-conscious possibly not self-absorbed i think it is intelligent to question everything to suspect all we see think we know maybe a greater mystery than any of us realize exists beyond all our beliefs
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says i think it’s time for us to stop talking
sound of waves crashing against shore
he says why can’t you make it easy why must everything be a fight
sound of waves crashing against shore
her ****** becomes a deep dark narrowing tunnel he is trapped in thinning air smells like ocean
sound of waves crashing against shore
her voice detached distant disaffected says fine
sound of waves crashing against shore
he questions fine? find? line? sign? can you hear me? anyone hear me?
sound of waves crashing against shore
she purposely ignores his panting gasping shrieking
sound of waves crashing against shore
later she tells the surgeon who performs the extraction then the police detectives who conduct the investigation she had no idea he was lost in there
sound of waves crashing against shore
unanimous jury finds her guilty she screams out at courtroom he was a self-absorbed dreamer this is all wrong
sound of waves crashing against shore
the judge declares mistrial dismisses case based on prosecution’s inability to refute so-called artist’s willingness to enter of his own volition
sound of waves crashing against shore
late at night she feels his voice whisper circulating through her body haunting her
sound of waves crashing against shore
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
It is hard to say
Quite where my excitement begins
Seemingly deep inside,
The adrenaline pumps
Straight from my heart.
Intrinsic as it is,
This energy builds from the drums
And the power of the cadence
As it rolls off the rims
And pounds it's dissonant melody
Deep in to my core
The roar of a thousand bodies
United under a unanimous thought
A single goal
I nearly cannot contain
The passion building inside me
The crowd swaying me
To wish for exactly what they want
I am soon swept far away
Lost deep in the energy
Propelled by endless streams of
Enthusiasm
And loud cheers of affirmation
I cannot and will not turn back
I love being lost here
Inside this beautiful cacophony
Echoing cries of pure joy
And music raised to the stars
Underneath these Friday night lights
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
The onion, now that's something else
its innards don't exist
nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist
oniony on the inside
onionesque it appears
it follows its own daimonion
without our human tears
our skin is just a coverup
for the land where none dare to go
an internal inferno
the anathema of anatomy
in an onion there's only onion
from its top to it's toe
onionymous monomania
unanimous omninudity
at peace, at peace
internally at rest
inside it, there's a smaller one
of undiminished worth
the second holds a third one
the third contains a fourth
a centripetal fugue
polypony compressed
nature's rotundest tummy
its greatest success story
the onion drapes itself in it's
own aureoles of glory
we hold veins, nerves, and fat
secretions' secret sections
not for us such idiotic
onionoid perfections
Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Long before she was born
The balance, the societal scale,
The ground upon which her wobbly feet
Will learn to stand upright and walk steady
Had been socially disintegrated.
Arms with which her clay mind
Is to be molded and framed
Had been morally fractured.
The ‘responsible majority'
Saddled with the making of serious decisions
Had decided against her-
The minor, with fewer rights
And a body like hers-
Double jeopardy, I will say.
The verdict always the same,
Unanimous more often than not
Guilty!! Is the girl child;
If she grows too fast
Or he touches her inappropriately.
So she learns from her early days
The skill of helplessness
All through the pain and the shame
For it is always her fault
Always has been
Long before she arrived
©Belema .S. Ekine
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
I should have been a boxer....the way I stick and move when I write. The only person I know that can make the sun shine at night.
I should have been a boxer....the way i fight with words to paint a picture. I'm using the jab to set you up for the knockout blow. I'm looking for your tendencies and when i spot it......down you will go.
I should have been a boxer....float like a butterfly sting like a bee. A sign of honor to a fellow poet.....and inspiration to me.....Muhammad Ali. I should be a boxer the way i study my craft and observe the legends of the game. It's all all about the passion.....I could care less about fame.
I should have been a boxer.....you can't be good unless you train. I have my book ....my pen .....ideas in my brain. I have so many thoughts I may need another brain. I'm on the speed bag so my brain is quick with the flow....switching styles like a southpaw.....which way is it coming? I guess you will never know.
I should have been a boxer....because i really like to fight. Instead of gloves I utilize my pen to pulverize the paper and annihilate those foes and lost loves....father's who left their children at start. They couldn't finish the fight .....was he a coward or a scarecrow.....born without a heart.
I should've been a boxer.....because my defense is always up. I hide my poems inside a book .....it's highly guarded so don't try to look. The thoughts inside are g14 classified....so I'm hiring security guards.....if you want to gain entrance.....you must present an identification card.
I should've been a boxer....because I'm always fighting. My thoughts are knocked to the paper and bleeds black or red. I write about life .....because I know nothing about being dead. Although, I been knocked around .....and have had to take a standing eight.....I leaned on the ropes and learned to wait. Still working the jab......which are the words i write.
I should've been a boxer.....one hitter quitter and then it's time to say "Goodnight!"
Ladies and Gentlemen......we have a unanimous decision. The new poetic champion of the worldddddd!!! ......I should've been a boxer.....Yeah right.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I knocked on society’s door,
Hollow footsteps through the crevice of civility,
A ***** welcome mat with a broken doorbell;
No visitors wanted who were not invited,
And understanding was buried under the porch.
In Law’s front yard,
picketed with ire and arrayed with disorder,
Olive branches strewn across dry grass,
lay an empty briefcase marked in leather.
Gavel and irony betrayed her whimsically.
Garden beds in front of Understanding;
Plundered of roses and wanton petals.
Bland stems wilted amongst the weeds.
Relinquished of entitlement; water led
Towards apathy and entropy instead.
A house of Perhaps: vacant,
Open front door to empty rooms.
Leased to opportunity but vacated in days,
Renovations procrastinated; mocked by
The neighbor of dismay and wry.
Ignorance paved a new driveway,
The unanimous watch of Lively Cul-de-sac;
Gated community with hopes of manicured
Lawns and pools. Procreated in the minds
Of not wild men, but surveyors.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
I can't recall the last time I felt excited
There should be moments there
Instead it's
Phantom pain
The greatness of elation
escapes chase of pumping veins
Instead it's
Only pain
I wish it would rain
Blue light seeps in while water pounds
Where I've cut the power where
Nothing lives
Except strange
Patterns endlessly dreamed up
warming mortal meat in vain
Instead their
presence makes
what hope remains just
drain
Might dreams be reprieve from apathy or worse?
Maybe so but never for me
I know it sounds morose but think
The singer of songs finds unanimous love and is warm to the core
by what the crowd brings
When the monitors die and the singer outside gets shot through the teeth
the dream is a lie and we all nod like
"Well it had to happen sooner or later"
Every time life parts hiding eyes
I wake into nightmare
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
unanimous
perfect
agreement
hands down
no argument
Countermelody
without the selfish back talk
point reinforcement
the Visionary
failing
falling
lost to
Deaf ears
not for
lack of
Volume
but out
of generic
disinterest
the Artist
flailing
calling
blind to
Deafinition
not for
lack of
Hunger
contrary
starving for
consummation
Hand in hand
The multitude
A sacred harp
The gemeni
One point by perspective
Souls Synchronized
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
When she saunters
in a two piece bikini,
without making
any pug marks
even on soft sand,
"Which one color
adds more firepower
to her allure
enhanced figure?"
is a question
never heard aloud,
all the same,there
hovers in the thick air,
quite tangibly.
Even with all the intimate
knowledge on her at hand,
it is still too difficult
to suggest, as she moves
with the deadly confidence
of a sleek armored car,
every one that appears on
the line of fire along
the 180 degree curve
sure would go down,
that's a daily occurrence.
But if on a bikini in white
she would be seen on the beach
absolutely mysterious she looks
the decision on this is unanimous!
how does one know this?
-a stunned silence every time
happens is the clinching proof.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
I am no source
of poetry or art;
Music or prose.
I am not your one true love or
Your spring of inspiration.
Sensible,
"Down to earth",
Trustworthy-
Normal.
My passions and
Ambitions are unanimous
to the average class.
Anything I am that's
Good
Is reflected in the surrounding
Mud.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
we have our own worlds;
we are completely unanimous
we'll never leave,
now that you've drawn us by your magnetism
you are essential
coexistingly contradistinct;
has no one enlightened you?
you, I, all of us
are celestial bodies
in the vast space
and we orbit around you
pirouette and waltz on our own particular rhythms
we are on different belts, but even then,
don't you see?
parallel lines don't meet
don't ever forget,
for every time you crumble,
a new star is born;
your rebirth
embrace this because
Sun, you are a star
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
I am currently standing horizontally
Waiting for an anomally
When my mind, soul and body would reach to a
Unanimous decision to stand vertically
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
abstinence and cruel practice
old dancers have no feet
living our beliefs
in this house of rabies
a house of lies
lies that tell the truth
taught through the agony of disillusionment
the planets move
we do their dance
fire points
angles in motion
when they square
we are constrained
when opposed
swords cross
when trine
we are graced
always the dance of the other
the world whorls
strikes like lightning
breaking the nose of every beautiful thing
forcing their delusions
twisting metaphors of history
they smear the world
you are its hands, heart, spine
darkness tears and sighs
whispering feet on dark floors
send you their dreams
and construct inner mythology
to bend your will
always on its own side
redundantly unanimous in that
a real villain
an odyssey through your heart
thats how it gets inside you
while your hands remain folded
and your genitals sleep on a plate
dance school arcade pinballs planets
twisting wraith flies flying in circles, circling
in black mother
like hands on a clock
conveyance of ardor
born in the
palace of tears
=
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
The continuous pondering of life after death has recently plagued our existence
This might be a hindrance for our previously unfailing pious persistence
Thoughts arise that cause an imbalance in the tumultuous mind
Free you, they might, of the pacts into which you yourself do bind
Magnanimous flatulence shall reign unbridled upon the fields of plenty
But the door to unanimous qunatipulation shall come unhinged on the count of twenty
Promiscuity leads to a mind frame disgusted by a joyous initiation
Humongous amounts of gelatinous goo shall be written off as depreciation
Pig tails and concubines disperse with molecular ease
While the dead paperweights converse heatedly in Cantonese
May these words sit upon you, heavy as the dark interstellar skies
May your brain be confounded, let no infallible logic suffice
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
Forget laws.
They are but social expedients.
Take, for example,
PLESSY v. FERGUSON,
the 1896 landmark decision
of the Supreme Court
that made "separate but equal"
the law of land and ushered
in the patently ugly and unjust
JIM CROW laws in the Deep South.
It took until 1954--58 years--to right
this egregious ruling with the unanimous
decision of BROWN v. BOARD OF EDUCATION.
Forget laws.
Always go to your heart
to find the moral--the correct--decision
of all disputed matters. Laws can be flagitious,
but in your heart, you will always find truth.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
May 16, 2023
May 16, 2023 at 10:56 AM UTC
I always held deep reverence
For people in three occupations
Farming, medicine, and defense
For the reasons appealing
*Farmers feeding
Doctors healing
Defense shielding*
Seasonable occasion
To sing about defense
Today these lion hearts
Will be my subject to pen
We may critique our nation
For it slithering move
But one team deserves
Applaud for being resolute
Team defense
For formidable reasons
They fight for us selflessly
Irrespective of seasons
I reminisce my visit
To Wagha border once
It's elating to see
Armed forces lacing
Our pride in balance
Forgetting all bitter
Citizens fervently cry
Jai Hind
Unanimous voice in reflex
Don’t know why
Joining defense is a willful step
A malice can never serve
Day in day out these brave men
Hold our pride in suave
Salute to these people
Who for us
Sacrifice their lives everyday
These true resolutes
Uphold our independence
In every possible way
Second by second
Minute by minute
Month by month
Year by year
And will in
Years to come
For this
Bharti’s
Salute to them!
Bharti
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
Tragedy is spectator sport.
No extra fee is needed.
The equipment never changes.
And there always seems to be matches to linger around.
Screams and taunts can be heard from the sidelines.
Almost always is the advice.
Wrong.
Yet no move is made to rid them.
Blood stains the bout in rhythmic circles.
Etched in over time.
For the paces rarely alter.
Blows are exchanged recklessly.
And the crowds lust for suffering elevates.
Slowly as the two cease in a stalemate of self loathing.
The mob moves on to the next victims to sate the everlasting hunger.
A hopeless unanimous decions.
Humanity.
Zero.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
the night we watched two candles burn,
it was moonless and starless and
that accentuated the fires.
i remember you said,
with the breeze combing your hair,
that our love was just like two candles.
i agreed, as it seemed then
the flames of our passion and desire
were similar to the candles - restlessly burning.
we kept silent after, admiring the symbols of our love
both their wax bodies melting in rhythm.
you said, we will be beside each other forever.
and a poetic couple we were, i noted how
the melted wax conjoined the two candles
and you said our love brought light to others.
the flames extinguished simultaneously, shortly after,
and in a unanimous duet, as if pre-planned, we whispered:
'till death do us part'.
last night, it was me with two candles
though, with a gleaming moon and a dozen stars
that stole the attention and outshone the two.
and while the flames still faded simultaneously,
it was extinguished only by the saltiness
of tears belonging to a broken lover
and the mercilessness of your absence.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
no man has seen him, but
when here, when making his grand appearance
the world prepares for him.
the trees are first to bow down,
bending their trunks and shedding their leaves
and swaying about their roots to royalty
the half-damp clothes on hanging bamboos prepare
with its fabric flapping to play a fanfare,
then sound off with a fluttering finale as he whistles by and leaves.
the angled windows then, as if by unanimous consent,
slam themselves painfully into perfectly parallel
posture – like soldiers in a straight file.
and in mirthful defiance, a wandering page of the news leapt
and caught the wind like a kite, riding the city
on its crests and troughs
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:05 AM UTC
Distance
Given to birth loneliness
Space
Lies fill gaping mistrusts
Between
Barriers pierced
Walls of flesh sing
R h y t h m i c
Beating
B
l
e
e
d
i
n
g
Soul to soul
Alas, not heartfelt
Sinister lurks behind
Veils of deceit
One bond
Two chances
Three minds
For what?
The end
Unanimous
Defeat
Love is
Wither
Love is
Perish
Beautiful poison
Lust is
Three
Lust is
Lust
is
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
So here you find me on the roof of my building.
Looking up to find me a star,
so I can name it.
I keep the name a secret.
Mystery keeps the world turning.
I put the name in my artificial pocket
and next month I’ll find it.
I'll pull it out and recall its place above me.
Its purpose, for you, still a mystery
but to me, a religion.
Forged by the great father of engineering,
I stand *****
I am perfect by design,
but flawed for being made.
No pulse, but my mind is always beating.
Calculating stability, analyzing data,
crunching number after number
and finding a unanimous rhythm.
Time for me is nothing,
and thus I will be everlasting.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
And speaking to the western wind,
In the sped and turning time of the revolving sky
As a top unwinding like a dropped fable;
He dreams of taking leave, unraveling the coil
Upending his foil
Of listless sights as daylight creeps one more tread
And sweet belief breaks down once again:
Days that are ******* like a sad hunt
When the tracker is bent
On tragic orchestrations that only lead to a duel . . .
Undoing, Oh must it be, "Must we fit?"
Let us know and get on with it.
In his bed the women are only dreams
Phantoms, iridescent sirens.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Yes! I am not King Lir, nor could ever be;
Am a child cast out, transfigured, remote
Innocent, prey to the white flaming truth
The growing down, that clothes my name
Inconsequential, sheathed with shame,
Polite, capricious, calamitous;
Empty of all, it is unanimous
Nor even the memory of ripeness
Invisible, a drop in the pool.
I am weary . . . I am weary . . .
I shall whisper to the newborns when I am old.
Shall I build upon the strand? Have swordplay with the sea?
I shall tear my hair, mutter to the moon, bury my wounded knees
I have heard the Selkies singing, sailing with the breeze.
I do not think they will give their skin to me.
I have known them gliding beyond the ninth wave.
I still hear them sing so sweetly, weaving sorrows, on my back
Carving the blue waters as the waves are turning black.
We come and go in cycles with the moon, as tidal waves
Seep and seethe, foam and heave, lone captains setting sail,
In folly with a capsize brimming, before our boat has been bailed.
— after Elliot
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC