"unseemingly" poems
Daisies don't remind me of your absence. Yet they remind me of an unseemingly cold summer. A night where we walked up and down the busy streets, asking strangers for cigarettes. You kissed my hand and told me my skin smelt like daises. It's just..I spent the night with my hands in your hair...and I spent all summer thinking of how someday you'd disappear along with the smell of daisies.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
Unluckily, I am an offspring of two different genotypes,
For it, I so often face the reverse apartheid by a faction,
That faction particular is omnipresent in this nation.
Unseemingly, extremely patriotic I do feel except during cricket,
They look, at my face and deduce that I am not one of them,
That I speak their tongue more eloquently doesn't count..
Up North, they think that my nose is a bit like a Dravidian,
But down South, they often think that I am an Aryan,
That boycotts me in this land of the Indian nation...
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
I recently came across my first journal of poetry,
written in my early forties. A tumultous time in my life, I kept a hand-written journal and the poems flowed. It began on a (recovery) escape~vacation to Mykonos and many other Greek islands. Unable to sail, (stuck on Mykonos by fierce winds that grounded even super tankers), I wrote to pass the time. Even then, I dated my poems, noting when & where the poem was composed. Themes were employed, that twenty years later, reappear (to my surprise) frequently, in my poems of today (by example, "The Wind of Correction"). Even then, I wrote long, way too long poems, some good and some awful ones. Judge this, one not too harshly, judge it as a first endeavor, simplistic, crude and heartfelt.
What seems to have triggered poetry to be the outlet for my emotional upset, as a father of young children, in the midst of a bitter divorce, was a Greek poet, Cavafy, that I must have stumbled on during my visit
and a particular poem he wrote in 1908. I include it the notes in shock and awe, for it unconsciously informed my "style" and seemingly, or unseemingly, still does.
The Geometery of Greece
(His Very First Poem)
~~~
the geometry of Greece
is the perfect intersection
of clear blue sky,
right-angled to azure waters,
with puffs of white clouds
to mark off distances
only
the wind is non-linear,
like feelings,
the wind,
it washes and caresses you,
envelopes and wraps you in
its totality
what it all means is this:
all that I know,
all that I love,
have, got and given,
is leaking and pouring and leaking
from the rectangular shape
what I
now know as,
now call,
my previous life
so now,
the winds of my true self
direct me on a course
that can be plotted
but one day,
one island ahead
no long range planning
on the sailing waters of Greek isles,
the wind does not permit it
the perfect line of the horizon
is not anymore a limiting
boundary
rather,
the sourcing place from which
the wind comes,
that buffets,
to and fro
throws,
carries me forward,
and ever backwards too
this horizon line
that I sail towards,
neither marks nor closes in,
it is always there,
to be sailed to,
ever anew,
to renew
~~~
August 6, 1993
Noon
the Isle of Mykonos
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
Jetting away to your far away home
I'm left with your fragrance and image alone,
To sit on the chair with a scotch in my hand
Miserably aware that I can't understand,
Why you left, why you cried,why you sped for the door
Leaving pungency there in the sheets on the floor.
The aching emptiness, hollow inside
The confusion and rawness of pain, I confide,
That I'm lost. Tomorrow is pointlessly there
When I wake up to find that your gone, in despair.
Just yesterday, we lay spent on the bed
Entwined and sated, unseemingly spread,
And now the ghost of passion's done
When then, we were so wetly one.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
26 October 2009
- From "Watching the Ripples Radiate."
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
In love with your pillow shaped lips
and perfectly symmetrical face
so succulent and fragile;
you stain my mouth
with immorality and sin
i'm defenseless to the unseemingly
spiteful and self absorbing
you call good old fun
but i don't fancy divination
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
A good night sleep is an acquired skill.
Something unknown to the heartbroken, depressed, and confused.
To them sleep is purely a relief; an unseemingly blissful goal that is worked towards
That is once the sadness has settled in for the night and your eyes have grown too tired to cry anymore and finally have dried up
Sleep is Something you fall into on accident from pure exhaustion,
It's not on purpose
These souls are the ones up at night writing
Trying to make sense of the words and the hurt inside of their hearts that seems to leak onto paper before what is written before them can be understood
They are the ones who have a sparkle in their eye and a constant ache in their heart
They are not obvious, oh no
Because someone who really feels sadness knows it's something to be suffered through alone
You wouldn't dare drag someone along for the misery and deceit, the emptiness and aches
Because it's what you are trying to escape
And once you do, if it is at all possible to find happiness and fulfillment in your sorrows
You will lay in bed at night
And your pillow cases will be preserved an eggshell white
And the mascara stains will have vanished
And your mind won't race and clutter and cry out in pain from unknown certainty and tragedy
You'll merely close your eyes, and for once you will sleep.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
i love you there is
something undark
more
unseemingly possible
to speak which
makes your soul–
it the
noose which
hangs by all the nights and days
to be rough
to be wholly of
hard and unhard made;
it want it to touch
(as inside touches)
each small and trembling
****** of me;
and i want it to feel
(as valkyries feel)
hurt beautiful ugly and strong.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
You said these words
Penelope , I am but a fool
Darling I love you
Though you treat me cruel
And you said mushily
You hurt me and made me cry
And if you leave me
I will surely die
(thanks to Paul Anka for these words)
Now you know you little sniveler
That's not true
Cos I did leave you
And I was planning
All my black stuff
Extremely fetching
For your funeral
It's just like you all do
Promise this
Promise that
You little liar
'I will surely die'
Much more like
I will surely drink
Sing to another.
Paul , I've made a small error
Oh Paul , you have been misled
When I made you cry so much
That was just a little test for you
'Little sniveler' How cruel was I
I cannot live without you now
My cup for you overflows
My unseemingly pretense , not fair
You are my world , my everything
(thanks whoever for the last line)
How could I have tried to let you go
How very silly , the episode was
I'll be in your loving arms soon
Oh by the way
Congratulations
Upon winning the Euro millions
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Every once in a while
life will trip you.
more than every once in a while
but it will happen when you're at your best
when you're confident
strong.
It means no harm
It trips so you will fall
and catch yourself
Before you plunge into the dark and unseemingly near depths of
narcissism
It humiliates? Perhaps save
You have been reminded to stay humble.
The depths may be closer than they appear
Stay humble
Don't give life a reason to trip you
a desire for you to fall.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
If I'm itching inside my own skin,
If there's a bit of wild carrying on in,
around,
or perhaps behind
perhaps over, around, somewhere besides my eyes,
If I seem unseemingly unladylike today,
I'm sorry.
Scatterbrained? Surely, certainly, you've noticed.
If you know me, you know this.
I carry on, convincingly
all the while my mind careens away.
Dangerously, it careens away.
Away, attacking the menacingly mundane,
away to a place much more pleasant.
Plesently, myriad of melodrama unfold.
I tell myself stories untold.
I'm so sorry I'm scatterbrained, darling.
I do know.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC