"unruffled" poems
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
*White river running
Delicately
Ethereal glow of
Twilight hues
Suffusing the atmosphere
Stark purple
Grass covered in aftermath
Of night's freezing cold
Miniature icicles
Tapering on mossy rocks
Melting with the sun's
Scattered rays
Unruffled indulgence
Bone-chilling splendour
In the arms of the mountain mist*
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
lush cornucopia of greens
and overlapping canopies.
rays filtered through
somewhat a broken lens.
an arbour found
which carelessly took root.
calling out,
inviting,
offering sanctuary
from the shrill calls
of the turbulent outside.
a harbour
to which my heart
had taken to.
and had intended to stay.
but such is the nature
of man.
*no other man's peace
can be left unruffled.
no other man's cocoon
can be left unravelled.
no other man's haven
can be left uninvaded.
and no other man's trove
can be left unraided.*
like before I'll have to go.
and just like man's exploratory nature,
I leave seeking another
unfound recluse.
inadvertently,
paving the way for more to come.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
*A darkness engulfs my heart
Devouring it's fibers
One big chunk at time
Am lost of a soul,
But a wondering spirit,
With a decaying body
I hate to love,
Love to ****
And **** for joy
I make bed in a den,
Where my head rests on skulls
Drowning in this pool of a nightmare
A young maiden,
Blooming,
With fair skin
Long dark hair
Swimming,
In a wooden bath
She smells of roses,
Standing within a flaring curtain
White, and lucid
She drips of innocence
Walking unto me
On the oak floor
She leaves tiny prints
Of her ****** feet,
Towards a canopy bed
Where white sheets fall
Like a stream onto the floor
With dotted petals of red
She climbs unruffled,
With a cordial smile
But salacious stare
Crawling slowly
To find my lips,
Kissing lightly
Feeling her cold,
Tingle my warm skin,
About the *****
Before laying gently
Her head on my chest
My hand about her shoulder
Humming to a heart's beat
The hymn of the fallen ones
The tale of a blood brother*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
Teaching me the correct way to make
a paper airplane. He took me to his bindery.
The machine beats bustled and roared and shook
the unruffled metal walls that made me feel
like I was sleeping in the middle of a dragon’s
den, its snoring breaths protecting me
from fathers who didn't know how to be fathers.
I just finished losing all my teeth,
the new ones growing in at different speeds,
my front two like frozen stalactites from different
ice ages. My hair was banana yellow blonde and I liked
to compare myself to a younger Britney Spears.
A potential avalanche of paper next to the metal walls,
vexed by one deep exhale and the pieces
would go up and around like dandelion parts.
My father, forever bound to binding the parts together.
He brought me a single sheet and began twisting and folding.
I always hated him for his genes, for having a Russian
heritage that made me annoyed at the klutzy appendages we shared.
Is it funny that I lie and say I'm Welsh?
It's not funny that I can remember every detail of his over-sized,
meaty hands, how he kept that silly ring on his finger,
the graying knuckle hairs peeking out:
free me!
Not to say I think about him every time I make a paper airplane,
but not to say I don't.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
Nailed and ******* on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,
Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.
He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.
Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed
It was for our sins that He lay down His life,
It was our misdeeds that made Him bleed,
It was for our lust that He was painfully stripped,
It was our arrogance that bent Him low.
None could gauge the agony he endured,
No man ever performed such a daring deed,
To liberate mankind, the Lamb was slain,
To lead his Flock, He walked in front.
‘Love your enemy’ was the mantra He recited,
What He preached, He relentlessly practised,
While writhing in pain, He prayed for His foes,
Pleaded with his Father to spare the wrath.
When wrongly accused, never said He a word,
Unruffled remained He on painfully betrayed,
Hard it was to be deserted by those He loved,
Sore it was to be treated so very rude.
The Son of Man came seeking the missing sheep,
He builds from where everything is wrecked,
Rejoice in Him, for He is our Lord!
Adore and worship, He deserves to be praised.
Peace was what He promised the world,
Grace was what He gifted to all,
Look up to the Cross when trials confront,
And cast your burden at His feet!
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
Unruffled,
those feathers tell me
how rough its all been
But it can never be
can never be,
the same again
Disastrous
Your skin is so cold
Take away
All you're told
How can it ever be
Can it ever be
the same again
A silence in the breeze
A hope thats reeled
Just a steely mime
But I have no regrets
No regrets
This time
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
The last times I wore a french braid:
17, laying on my stomach in the psychiatric intensive care unit, (adolescent)
I reach for my hair, and let them grow tired,
tirelessly overlapping the strands until the entire mass is taken care of.
I stay on my stomach,
I try not to move too much or the orderlies will think I'm at it again.
A few days later, in the unit common room, my new roomate has me sit in front of her.
She runs fingers through, twists and playfully tugs she says if we hadn't met here she'd be in love.
I agree.
Still braided by her delicate hands my hair flicks as we giggle together into the early hours of my 18th birthday,
sipping at ***** dipped pepsi she had her sister sneak in.
The nurses chant "this isn't a sleepover! Get back to your beds!"
But we are kids,
So we feast on the cookies and crackers I'd been shoving down my pants at mealtimes then she waits patiently as I purge them.
We make blood sister bonds in our skin with razorblades and she braids my hair one last time before they move me to the adult ward. Because I was no longer a kid.
So the next day I cut it off.
I cut it off the next year too.
And half way through the next I cut it again,
keeping my hair just out of braiding reach,
Just out of length of fingers running through,
twisting and playfully tugging,
I like it a mess, so they won't fall in love with me anymore.
Braidless, I can stay distant, unattached like the feeble, overdyed locks matting on my head, but I can feel it growing every second
20, I lay on my stomach, hospital bedsheets unruffled in starch allegiance,
Reach behind my head and see if it's long enough, and I braid.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
He enters the door, waiting for her flesh to come,
Drops the glass and grabs hard to the core,
Unruffled her hair and lifts her up and close,
Unhook the blouse, and baby my body is all yours,
Deep, too deep you penetrate the soul of my skin,
Everything turns upside and you rock my world,
Something starts and something climbs up inside,
Pain, no pain, it’s all gain from these well-furnished sins.
Stranger in no eyes, you and me, crawled up like a snake,
Time for break, let’s try something else,
Been running over each other on the same grounds,
I love the way you pounce and makes me create new found sounds,
Fire, oomph, nirvana, you reach the ultimate moment breathless,
Wish I could pull over every skin of mine over you and give you unfound pleasures,
Rubbing against you, the friction, the force, I am drop dead,
Catch me please I have no energy left, just do it once more and help me spread.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Carstairs had been waiting for the boat for three days and there it was, suddenly appeared. He had dozed and it had appeared. He trained his binoculars on it, but it was too far away to be clearly recognisable. It seemed motionless, becalmed in a sheet of unruffled water.
He had dug himself into a bank in the sandhills. He still had a little water, some raisins; there was a final cube of chocolate carefully wrapped in the whole of its paper. It was the thought of this hidden pleasure that had sustained him during the hours of darkness when the slight rain and the chill of inactivity had forced him to exercise, to move about, though always afraid he would lose his burrow.
From the earliest light of dawn the day had been clear and still. The sea birds had muted calls, the sea itself more a presence than a sound. The tide had steadily retreated beyond his expectations. He knew he had to wait for the arranged signal.
Turning on his back he looked at the sky. A few clouds floated hesitantly in the glazed blue. He remembered suddenly a moment from his childhood, above the beach at Red Point. He had escaped his parents, his adored sisters, and hidden himself in the marran grass. He had lain on his back and felt himself levitate into the clouds. He had looked down on the whole scene, a waking dream. Those moments floating above the long Highland beach had never left him. Sitting in the examination hall for his Tripos that memory had come upon him; he had been paralyzed by it, unable to write or think. He had closed his eyes and strange geometrical shapes had ensnared him. He had felt extremely sick . . .and then very calm. He had returned to the task in hand, a translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, that opening passage describing Eurus, Zephyr, Auster and Boreas: the four winds.
. . . he felt something wet nuzzle his hand. A dog, a black shape no more. As he struggled to move himself a larger shape obliterated the sun and shot him.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
The scurry and flurry of thoughts
hound me
jabbing, stabbing
so I seek comfort
in the ebb and flow…
I do not rush and dive in.
Rather,
I let myself
slip softly…
easing myself carefully into
the saline calm
fingerlings of froth
licking my skin
Only my face,
save for my ears
greet frigid air
All the rest of me
just wants to
drown out
drawn out
waves
of thoughts
and words
It's not enough
to mute everything
so
I take that deep breath
and sink myself
deep
deep
er
deep
est
The weight of the waves
bearing down on me
s-lapping, c-rashing
th-rusting
p
lung
ing
me
to the unruffled depths
I crave for breath
yet
I welcome the cool liquid.
So soothing…
embracing me
drinking me in
I wallow in it
as it swallows me in
and then…
and then
I find out
that all along
I was inside
my own
tear
d
r
o
p
.
.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
**The water was quiet and unruffled:
Though intemperate winds blew on it
Ne’er once did it ever really stir
And we got so used to its pervasive presence
In line with global trends everywhere
We took notice only when loud waters bubbled
Like wayward children we scoffed
When delectable words of wisdom
Wafted like therapeutic mist out of Wisdom Well
But now that the well is empty and dry
Our deprivation begins in earnest
And soon, very soon, nostalgia will whip us
One and all till we learn the bitter lesson:
That second chances belong to storybooks only;
Now that this veritable repository of true wisdom
Is in other dimensions our dilemma cries out
Who amongst us shall quench our thirst
Now that the water in the well has dried**
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
-
*Lying alone on a mattress of caverns
Pillow sham dreams only cool on one side
Twin fitted sheets in a queen-less adventure
Beneath a blanket of tears drops I hide
Headboard illusions cast vacancy shadows
Along the place where the bed is still made
Unruffled covers are lost in translation
LED numbers past midnight displayed
Caught in the silence so loud it is deafening
Even the moon cranks its volume too high
Shouted my prayer though there won’t be an answer
Folding away endless questions of why
Soon every star in the sky will be leaving
Shimmers will fade without even a care
Space quickly made for a hopeless sun rising
Another morning I won’t find you there*
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
An indistinct smell of wood primer
fills my bedroom as
glitzy images hover
above my head
of you,
wearing over-all's and painting
our picket fence
white.
It turns me on
and I start removing
my clothes,
alone,
though I want you
to be doing this
for me.
Increasing the pace
within minutes,
I touch myself
to the thought
of our first Christmas and
getting used to your shampoo.
Massaging every settled-in scar,
consenting to the electricity
passing through,
that make all of the
unresponsive parts of me,
finally,
effervescent and vigorous.
Envisioning us
making love at that waterfall and
now my fingers are soaked
but it should be yours
and I really want you
to be doing this for me.
Quivering and tearing up,
I have never felt so
satisfied and unruffled
having an ******
to the thought of a future
with you.
But Oh,
to lie down in bed at night,
alone,
without your hand in mine,
it forces me to love myself.
Even though,
I really, really
want you to be doing that for me.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Few years from now where you
Will be living a fulfilling life and
myself unruffled inhabiting the latent aura ,
Ouch!then smites the peripetia,
Ensuingly at a gratifying glance,
You see me,you merely remember me.
Your mind ponders but your eyes struck
as if it has a memory,but
at the very Perceptively
poising moment I see you,
my mind and eyes struck intimately,and
Satiable senses synergize momentarily,
while the other senses get numb.
Nothing travels in my mind,
no electrical impulses,it is as if I am meditating,
but my eyes gets emotional as if it bears an image.
It secretes the preserved fluid
that gravitates to my cheek,
where my hands scatter it along my face.
the years don't matter,even at the touch
of trance,you sprout from my thought.
The thoughts of partaken moments
vacillate in my mind,perhaps,
my senses don't work but
my heart works for you......
I love you for the millionth time,as
I say this it adds to another or nothing.
(A moment that happened for once,
never promised to happen twice nor hence,
but the fantasy pursues me thence,
the fantasy that pierces (me) )
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
Trees whisper with a lazy-leafed murmur,
Starlight strange in this shadow-land stark,
At night window-watching, wanting, wishing,
Empty black winding road, without you.
Wind moans soft and branches knock,
Ceiling alive with my shadow nightmare,
An acre of bed, listless, lonely, longing,
Soft white sheets unruffled, without you.
Rain rattles like a rasping smoker’s cough,
Spot-lit droplets make snail shadowed walls
Staring solo awake, alone, alert, alas,
Boredom-struck insomniac, without you.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
If you evade me,
I will not enlighten you.
If you are oblivious of me,
I will not make obvious myself,
If you don't love me,
I will not seek love from you,
I you don't like me to pursue you,
I will not pursue you,
I will do whatever you intend,
Lest my resistance will hurt you,
If it distresses you,then it will distress me,
I impersonate your volition,
and I am your mother,
As an air and space I include you,
As a water you quench by including me,
As a land,I am your body,
If you cry,I cry...
If you are in distress,so will I be,
If you are blissful,so will I be,
and where by your intentions my existence around you emanates,
And I am always with you not as a thought nor physical presence,
but as an air,as a land,as a water,as a fire and as a space....
Always in contact because you are a product of my 5 elements,
And I have a memory,the memories are your intentions,
Every element that exists in and out,
transfigures with your volition,
So,if your intentions are pure,pristine,
Then you shall master my five elements,
If you seek me,then I will reveal myself....
Your seeking has to be super-intense that you could be receptive to the truth,
When I reveal myself,you will dissolve in me,
Into the eternal maternal muse....
Where bliss never cease to exist....
And then there are no intentions but unruffled reverberations.....
Seek me unto "that which is not"
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
*Earth spinning alike wheel
People moving to discrete directions
Changing of seasons
Summer to Autumn
Birth following Death
Welcome with good-byes
Villages permuting to towns
Entire world changing
I stood unruffled
Without any changes
No idea to which direction
Is my way to life
Mind being blank of blue
Knowing unravelled path to graveyard*
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
Let us put a few pages between us
Unread, unsaid, unshed
Unsoiled if it could be said
Likened as if they would stay
Empty as the newborn day
Unruffled as a Sunday afternoon
Too many flavors have spoiled the cook
Shape-shifting constituents of exactitude
Aplomb with certitude
Straight as an arrow
Smooth as certainty
Singular as perfect pursuit
Agaze are you, blue hue
Cobalt true and blue
Cerulean sometimes soft
and clouding
Metallic pallet surrounding
Hard as steel,
Warm as a cold day in May
Where analysis paralysis
Has you curious
Doubting and dubious
Calculous and carefulness
Left you immaculately scandleless
Does it sometimes get so lonely
Between the devil and the deep blue sea
Have you ever not looked before you leap
Do you ever gurgle goo goo’s
Before you go go
Running in place
Going nowhere
Never too close
Never too base
Was it ever not intentional
Wrought by incompleteness
Messy this neatness
Red hot chili sweetness
Intense with meetness
Hurt and heat compete
Will you ever admit defeat
This can’t go on
I’m ending it here now
This is the end
My pretend friend
I tore up the recipe
I’m going to make you over again
A pinch of friendly less pretense
A dash of vulnerabilities
Stir to understanding consistency
Deep well cooker piquancy
Boil until bubbles break
Give and take
Friend
Skewer to hold shape
Then lift with a circular motion
More kneading
Less bias
Low and slow
Until tender
More me
Less you
This I can do
And so can you
I’ve made you anew
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
The ****** mountain suffers
The limp and empty rope
Of the falling novice
Like an impertinent scar.
Unruffled by the tension
Of his fingers clinging
She is unresponsive
To his young chattering bravery
Mad with lust and fear he tears
Her undeveloped frock
Buttons of ice rain down
Falling hands grip lose threads of snow
Her beauty needs a wild man
A sensual avalanche
Whose passion would fill her aching reach
With the bright substance of his wayward dreams.
One whose driving force ignores
The pretence of her slopes
And in whose thunderous arms
She learns the dance of hammering drums.
Now her body hugs the ground
Her open arms are wide
for all the weight of climbers
To mount her firm and passive shoulders
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
To him, she was like the breeze;
Wild. Unruffled. But never constant
The strange kind. The piercing kind.
The kind that makes your eyes water.
The kind that tickles your skin like ice
Under the scorching heat
Relaxing. Dangerous. So vibrant
To her, he was all the four seasons,
Of the entire year;
Changing. Moody. Shifty. So dry. And oh-so lively.
And so beautiful. And yet so horribly terrible.
And they were a mistake they always made
And swear never to make again before they make it again.
Like a sin. So tempting to be made and so regretful when it's over.
Like an addiction. A promise not to indulge in again, before indulging in again.
He was a plethora of untold secrets under a blanket of stars
She was all the blues and greys of Nostalgia
They were a strange forbidden reminder of a never-forgotten past
A story revised but never concluded.
And the lesson never learned.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
As I sit . . .
green leaves hang . . . motionless . . .
~our earth spins on it's axis over a thousand miles per hour~
As I watch . . .
adagio grasses bow in repose . . .
~our earth orbits the sun over sixty-six thousand miles per hour~
As I rest . . .
vinca vines trail unruffled . . .
~our solar system whirls around the milky-way over five-hundred thousand miles per hour~
As I wonder . . .
flowers pose placid and serene
~our milky-way hurls headlong over a million miles per hour~
In my garden . . .
stillness reigns resolute . . . amidst this unimaginable tempestuous maelstrom
I am called to witness this defiance;
this static anarchy against the universe's irresistible momentum
I am surrounded by leafy verdure in stock-still solidarity;
blossoms colored with un-budged boldness
and tendriled vines in composed contempt
I am called to witness this unperturbed mutiny against torrid irascible forces
As I sit . . . musing on this peaceful anarchy
I think on He . . . that humble anarchist
waging peace against war
love against hate
grace against revenge
His submissive cheek immovable against brutish forces
I sit . . .
peacefully content in my garden of Eden
unmoved . . .
by the celerity of this careening world
geo.vuy 2015
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
He is a fool
who, when the sky is lit
in the morning dew,
scowls at Spring
and shrugs.
She is immutable.
Brimming with chances
and hard won charm,
not a tremor in her voice.
She is singing.
Always singing
that honeysuckle song.
He is a fool
who misconstrues his gravity.
Ignorant of his orbit,
trying to tilt the world.
She is unruffled,
and he will roll off her back,
smooth as the mallard,
washing his face
in the sunrise pond.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
In this bizarre
world of confusion
and violence with
so much brokenness
and misunderstanding.
We must comprehend
the deeper order
of the principle
back of things,
hidden within the
fabric of our
daily lives
Understand that through
chaos comes order.
Without ruffledness
there wont be
any order in
the scheme of
things spiritual and
physical.
The unruffled things
brings stagnation
in nature.
Death of things
occur in nature
to usher in
a new sequence
and another chance
of a new beginning
to suit different
seasonal circle and
cross current
into another phase.
Light overrides darkness
and darkness turns
into light.
Continuity allows the
spiralling of negativity
to positive effects.
Error reminds the
heart to forgive
unconditionally.
The night brings
closure of natural
order to usher in
the day light.
Both are working
in synergy to
bring desired balance.
Natural disaster comes
to cleanse and
reshuffle and recircle
all things good
and bad for
our edification.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC