"workshops" poems
I am The Shoes of Shoes,
which are Solomon’s. Let him polish
me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss
is better than sunshine.
Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed
upon me, thy name
is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes
love thy feet. Stretch me,
with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run
& rejoice with thy feet through
gardens & woods, and across mountains alike.
I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters
of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath
the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant
bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon.
Look not upon me, because I am leather,
but put me upon thy feet for I
am thy soles.
I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces.
As the strong shoes among thorns, so
is my love among The Shod.
As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is
my beloved among The Shod.
His left foot is in my left purse, and his right
foot is my right, tight.
The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh
glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon
the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet.
Looketh fourth through The Round Window
of Wisdom, through The Lattice see
him shoeing himself with my flesh.
Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil,
for our shodding is tender.
My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his.
Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn
my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains.
Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast
as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon.
Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun
& woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak.
Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle
the seeds of the pomegranate.
Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking
trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely.
Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been
fashioned for Achilles.
Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters
that fish among the lilies.
How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters,
the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam
of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler.
O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals
upon thy feet, for Love is as strong
as The Road to Dead we must follow. O
my Loved Shod! for every one
of thy steps you make
in me is my bliss.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:25 AM UTC
Because i'd rather avoid you, delete you, ignore you
because the last thing I wanted to was to find myself in the middle of the night before a full day of MEChA activities and workshops writing you a ******* tragic melancholic pathetic love poem
which makes me angry and sad at the same time
talk about intersectionality
because it's hard to survive
and I want to live
and feel loved
and I feel you take me for granted
and in order to honor the love I have for you
I need to let you go
until I can love you as a friend
you taught me to love you without limits
and that's so hard to unlearn
because I learned to wait, to listen, to save, to not expect, to serve, to accept
because I refuse to go on and pretend this love doesn't exist
because I can't be your best friend
comadre, sister or whatever the **** you call it
because you make me feel little, ugly, betrayed, silenced, guilty, unwanted, dependent, anxious,
and because you always expect a reason from me
mientras como de tu plato hondo de soledad y silencio
because I want you to cry like I cried
feel what I felt
believe what I believed
know what I once thought I knew
because I need me whole
and you taught me to love me in fragments.
Because I love you, and love like that is so hard to unlearn. Any theories for that?
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
I am a poor man
sitting on the corner of
Your Conscious
and Your Reality.
All day everyday
I sit in that spot and
beg for change.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to water my feeble hope, thorny rose
rooted in concrete hatred.
Roots, like my fingers,
too feeble to hold anything
but this patch of dirt to remind
me, I exist.
ALMS! ALMS! ALMS for the poor of heart!
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to wash away the muck kicked in my face.
A cup of change
to cleanse the wounds made
by verbal bullets shot out of nine millimeter mouths
wielded carelessly by boys society has deemed as men.
I sit in this spot and fester,
like a dream deferred.
My skin, cracked and brittle
like aged parchment, hangs over my frame
like sheets over antiqued furniture.
I sit in this spot with
arms open wide, heart open wide, eyes open wide
BEGGING FOR CHANGE!
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to strip the lies and propaganda
from the decrepit facades of your ideas,
storefront workshops left from the age of enlightenment.
My body yearns for nourishment
but I can't afford your lies.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
Now I'm not asking for a Jesus on Galilee moment,
just a cup of change to feed what's left of my soul.
But who am I to ask for anything?
I am just the poor man
sitting on the corner of
Your Conscious
and Your Reality.
All day everyday
I sit in that spot and
beg for change.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
*In his breakthrough work of channeled literature, I Am the Word, author and medium Paul Selig recorded an extraordinary program for personal and planetary evolution as humankind awakens to its own divine nature. I Am the Word is an energetic transmission that works directly on its readers to bring them into alignment with the frequency of the Word, which Paul's guides call the energy of "God in Action."
Paul was born in New York City and received his Master's Degree from Yale. He had a spiritual experience in 1987 that left him clairvoyant. As a way to gain a context for what he was beginning to experience, he studied a form of energy healing, working at Marianne Williamson's Manhattan Center for Living and in private practice. In the process, he began to "hear" for his clients, and much of Paul's work now is as a clairaudient, clairvoyant, channel, and empath.
Paul has led channeled energy groups for many years. In 2009 he was invited to channel at the Esalen Institute's Superpowers symposium, where he was filmed for the upcoming documentary film Authors of the Impossible. He is the subject of the feature-length documentary film Paul & the Word which will be released late summer, 2011. His workshops in 2011 include Edgar Cayce's A.R.E. in New York City, the Jungian Center in Vermont and the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, Calfornia. Also a noted playwright and educator, Paul serves on the faculty of NYU and directs the MFA in Creative Writing Program at Goddard College. He lives in New York City, where he maintains a private practice as an intuitive and conducts weekly, channeled energy groups.*
Personal and planetary evolution- Live channeling with Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAgh2pXDDls&feature;=youtu.be
Waking Universe With Guest Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7BI0Lgb9Kk&feature;=youtu.be
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
DR MARTIN LUTHER KING trained us in workshops based on non-
Violence to resist the water hoses soaking us and knocking us down
On hate filled sidewalks or the sharp teeth police dogs set upon
Men women children biting our private parts and making meals of
flesh,the billy clubs sprayed tear gas on the EDMUND PETTUS
Bridge, but somehow as I walked saying inside that time will tell about
Me and I glimpsed ahead the resurrection of my soul and manhood
Rising from the dust of shame. We all locked arms together with our
Wounded bodies determined minds and hearts spirits soaring
From DR KING's I HAVE A DREAM words and marching right
On into history
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
This carpet - a Turkish Smyrna -
is made with Gordian knots,
tied by the fine fingers of a child
tied to a loom
by a thin, pale leg.
Every centimetre - a hundred knots
This carpet - two and a half million knots
all Gordian
tied tightly
by the fine fingers of a child.
Each thread is dyed
with plants
picked by nomad hands
from shifting lands
Henna oranges and Madder reds
Saffron yellows and Indigo blues
Colours bloom and fade
with the change of seasons.
Patterns are centuries old,
never drawn or sketched,
only sung to the young
by the old blind weavers,
who walk the workshops
and the aisles of looms.
In this shadow world
of soured and fetid air
dreamless children
live threadbare under a black sun.
Wide borders holding everything in place
no figures or stories, just a labyrinth
of abstract shape and colour
drawing you in to the treasure
at the centre of the rug.
And the knowledge of the knots
the Gordion knots
tied by the fine fingers of a child
tied to a loom
by a thin, pale leg.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I miss the bright blue hair that doesn't stand out.
I miss the croaky voices when we all decided to shout.
I miss the midnight raves in all of their madness.
I miss the people being free and just pure happiness.
I miss just the people and how amazing they are.
I miss the walk to the village 'cause we're all too young to drive a car.
I miss the henna on my arms which instantly washed away.
I miss the pride march and queer disco all of which were pretty ******* gay.
I miss the ****** baloons 'cause why the **** not.
I miss the one ******* girl who I didn't tell was hot.
I miss the political jokes and the question time Q&A.;
I miss the jokes about consent and the woodcraft way.
I miss the workshops on politics, on science, on the war (against fracking).
I miss everything including the café and folk suply store.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
they have sought me out
when others would not--
could not
find the world that I had
gone off to fall into
and off the edge
into the terrible abyss
where I have made my home.
I
can't find the words to describe
what this is I'm
feeling.
depression
doesn't exist,
a single word cannot describe
the vast and neverending icy oceans
that gently freeze your flesh,
petting and washing your soul
while hoping for its prize.
that cruel and dark mistress
I have many times known,
it has taken me to its darkest depths,
yet
always floats me back up to the top.
that's my problem,
it is
gravity
that always finds me--
gravity
that is on the hunt,
that chases me through the ocean
deep,
the dark-touched caverns and the
crevices full of nothing.
it is
gravity
which always finds me and
surrounds me,
entangles me in its
gentle pressure,
slowly pressing me into
a single point,
a dot on the grid.
I have truly fallen off the map,
untracked and
untouched,
though
they have hunted me in my loneliness,
have sought the scents of my sweet,
bitter tears
to taste and touch and
bottle in their dark and
sinister workshops
where the devil does the disco and
Satan serves his smile.
that
horrible
smile.
it is a wildfire
burning in his mouth,
a burning,
white-hot inferno
which burns me alive
and also
burns me when I'm dead.
I have lived
many lives,
before,
I have died and
come back from the flames
hundreds of times,
before.
I have scattered my ashes in the
chilly ocean of
night's black face,
have lost myself in the rippled edges
of the cold and uncaring cosmos.
these bits of me,
pieces and parts that are gone beyond recognition
coalesce in the waters
and
come together to re-form--
they
shine like stars,
bright and burning
white-hot
distant
points
on the silent grid
of depression's endless oceans
and night's eternal smile.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
I returned to where i fit like a puzzle piece into the transparent rock and the crystalline water,
where the trees grew prehistoric palm fronds, wild grass with a view over islands and shades of blue
where the sand felt like silk
birds flashed by the water, visions of grey bodies, yellow legs and wings shaped like pterodactyls,
the waters reflective surface barely alludes to the cosmos beneath
a teeming reef with blue starfish, red starfish, all manners of little fish, parrot fish, shiny squid in hues of blue purple iridescent as I snorkel I see eye to eye with fishies
the coral how they move or don’t ,
their shapely curves in brain wave formations or flowers in perpetual bloom, perhaps akin to a large mushroom
So I breathe and let my fear go.
This is where showers are outside and doors open all night for the breeze to wash me as I sleep.
Where the sky is shifting all in sight,
miles away rain falls and I delight in the visual ecstasy
of the creative flow
the ease of the wind and the lap lap lap of waves
at tidal flows bubbling in, sloshing out -
No skyline disturbing “skyscrapers” but horizons are in vision and further further
inside and out as
I watched a stacked Cumulus mediocris cloud rain onto the ocean, progressively getting smaller and smaller top down,
I saw a lightning storm illuminate the rising sun behind as moon slice smiles
I saw the reason why the heavens are called heavens
the stars almost close enough to touch, an expansiveness of space
when I breathed
it came inside me and filled me
with the vibrancy of billions upon billions of alchemical workshops, working in conjunction with each other, some element created here, some element come together there.
I paused at the highest point of the rock hill a shooter slings on by
past condensed galaxy middles.
When I breathed the expansiveness of ocean and rocks, reefs and prehistoric vegetation I was filled with expansiveness
It was there that I felt the shadows held friends too
my heart beat slowly , quickly, round up down
until one morning I woke up, transparent too
vibrating so highly becoming nothing
even just for a moment
I felt in unison with the rocks and the waves and the sand
the being I currently am
made up of the same stuff and in there
Oneness
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
For the young who want to
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.
Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.
Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a ***
The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else's mannerisms
is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you're certified a dentist.
The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
Marge Piercy
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
Armed guards, perimeter fences,
no this is not a prison camp.
Are you having a good time?
Solar panels, composting toilets, weaving workshops,
sedation, not sedition.
Our partners distracted,
we find freedom.
I was looking for you for ages,
just not where we agreed.
My friends have taken too much.
I can't find my tent.
I don't know what to do.
The trees are so beautiful
when illuminated by lasers.
I am a ball of light, an orb of perception,
intimately mingling with those that didn't pick me up hitchhiking.
But here we are brothers, and sisters,
don't drop your phone.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:34 PM UTC
Started from ‘call your seniors sir’
these four years have been on roller coaster.
From never missing any lab or lecture,
to going online of entire semester.
From finding every face new in the corridor,
to opening of bottles behind every door.
Long lines running out of the cafeteria,
and now running wild on unemployment hysteria.
Myriad hours spent staring at laptops
and did I mention long boring workshops?
Bonds with eternal laughs and tears
some worth, some broken love affairs.
Timidly walking through the hallway of classrooms,
to bursting crackers inside bathrooms.
Don’t know about the insights on this way;
but guaranteed were new experiences every day.
All these years we had an August run,
or should I say four years of endless fun?
Curiously wandering in pursuit of new teams,
now running against time, chasing dreams.
These bolted doors are testimony to all the screams,
morphing to adulthood from our silly teens.
Unfearful moments strolling in the common hall,
and endless hours practicing basketball.
Cheers to everyone who was part of this journey,
opening up paths of limitless learning.
And some answers I’m still searching,
like who left that chair outside my room; burning!
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 4:59 AM UTC
(Note: The first two lines of this poem were used by Diane Wakoski as a prompt for students in her poetry workshops. I couldn't resist the challenge. The result was this poem. Try it yourself. - mce)
Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
Let us observe
the proprieties,
proper and Puritan.
Let us maintain
the distance of fools.
Let us smile
the waxed smiles
of corpses.
Let us pretend
we have never
danced within
one another,
have never sung
unlikely songs
of flesh and desire.
It will be awkwardly
exact and Victorian,
but it will be safe.
No heartbreak will ensue.
Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
- mce
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
A three day extravaganza
of traditional folk music,
and rustic camping bonanza,
relaxing and therapeutic.
dance, crafts, children's activities
presented at the Old Poole Farm.
the ultimate of festivities
in upper salford, a schwenksville charm.
an event you won't want to miss!
workshops, showcases and concerts,
rain or shine, foods galore, what bliss!
lots of sleeveless shirts and short skirts.
jamming and camaraderie share
a great way to spend summer's end.
the Philadelphia folk fair,
an experience to attend!
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Apr 28
Hi all !
Having a great time here in post-modern poetry.
We’ve been on the island since Sylvia Plath croaked in ’63.
It’s been a bit smoggy, incoherent and gratuitously cryptic, but the prison-guards are super-nice and they let us write Haiku once in a while. There’s this MFA creative-writing place just up the road from the gulag, it’s really charming. They publish a chapbook that 4 people on the island read. They also host workshops, like How to Find Your Authentic Voice and Pushing Language Beyond the Boundaries. Last night we saw some non-identity-politics-driven verse in the nearby wilderness reserve. It had beautiful plumage and made totally weird sounds. (Hey Dylan, you’re remembering to feed my muse, right? Don’t let her out after 5 since she might stay out all night. She does NOT like the free-verse abstract work. Feed her the structured message-oriented stuff to the right of the editorial literary-elite. Thanks ☺ ) Anyway, we’re trapped on this island so if you find someway to get us off, do your best.
PLEEZ tell the editorial prison-guards that we are working on our English Lit MA degrees.
P.S: send the Maya Angelou and Adrienne Rich books soon !!!!!
Love,
Rita Dove’s Bookshelf*
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
The thought of ... Communities ...
Interests Me .....
because communities NEED ... " UNITY " ...
If they're gonna succeed ...
In ... Keeping The ... " Peace " ... !!!
Peace and Love ...
Can Create ... Harmony ...
Harmony ...
Creates ... Peaceful Streets ...
Streets that require ...
LESS police ... !!!
Because Police are required ...
TOO FREQUENTLY ... !!!!!
Police NEED To ... Recognise ...
How They ... BE ... !!!
cos' Harassment of youth ...
Can UPSET Their ... " Chi " ... !!!
They ...
NEED TO feel .......... FREE ............
to be ... Who They BE ...
Without always fearing ... BRUTALITY ... !!!!!
This comes from ... " Patience " ...
MORE ... " Race Integration " ... !!!!
MORE ... Workshops for THEM ...
They NEED ... Education ... !!!!!
On how our youth are ...
Black Youngsters and Asians ...
and Youthful ... Caucasians ... !!!
Racists NEED ................................................................................................. REMOVAL ...
from our ... " Police Stations " ... !!!!!
That WASN'T ... " A Dig " ... !!!
But ..........
ABUSE of ... " The Law " ...
Makes .....
Most People ... SICK ... !!!
and this can bring ... TROUBLE ...
when dealing with ... KIDS ... !!!
Communities NEED ...
to ... FIGHT OFF ............... *** - isi - on ... !!!!!
They NEED ... POSITIVE Leaders ...
With Singular ... Visions ...
People, who ... LISTEN ...
to Statements with ... Missions ... !!!!!
NOT People who have ...
"Narrow Minded" ... Opinions ... !!!
From groups run by ... " Muslims " ...
to ... groups run by ... " Christians " ...
DON'T Use Your Religion ...
to ... Build A ...................................................... Partition ... !!!!!
Use Your ... Religion ...
to UNIFY Children ...
cos' UNITY is ...
What Most People are ................................... Missing .......................... !!!
We NEED ... Education ...
That FEEDS ... Information ...
to Help us ................................... AVOID ...
Social .... "depravation" .... !!!!!
There is ... NO EXCUSE ...
for Children's ... STARVATION ... !!!!!!
Private Investment ...
Can Save populations ...
From ...... Discrimination ......
FORGET The ... " Playstation " ... !!!
The games of TODAY ...
NOW NEED ... Alterations ... !!!
Investment is ... NEEDED ...
In REAL .... Recreation .... !!!
Sports Clubs and Parks ...
This ISN'T ... A Call ...
But PLEASE ......
Hear My ... HARK ... !!!!!
cos' ... Those Who DON'T LISTEN ...
REMAIN ... "in the dark" ...
This piece has been ... Written ...
For Peoples' ... PROTECTION ...
Crime DOES NEED ... Inspection ... !!!
Our Youth NEED ... Direction ...
BEFORE They ... End Up Hearing ... !!!!!
"Son you've been sectioned !"
cos' violence can lead to ...
Psychiatrists Questions ... !!!!!!!
Violence is SPREADING ...
A DEADLY ... Infection ... !!!!!!!
THE CURE ... is ...
PREVENTION.
PEACE ... is a word ...
That DESERVES ...
One More Mention ... !!!!!
I Hope what you've read ...
INSPIRES ... " Reflection " ...
So to those who've read this ...
REFLECT ... Upon This ...
Communities WON'T GROW ...
Without ... STRONG CONNECTIONS ... !!!!!
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
*
*Good that LOVE is not life
Good that LOVE is not work
Good that LOVE is not a marriage
Good that LOVE is not an agreement
Good that LOVE is not a signed contract
Good that LOVE is not a Terms of reference
Good that LOVE is not a Job description
Good that LOVE is not an Annual plan
Good that LOVE does not have a budget
Good that LOVE does not have to give account of expenses
Good that LOVE does not have targets
Good that LOVE does not come under HR rules
Good that LOVE does not come under LEGAL laws
Good that LOVE does not follow rules, regulations
Good that LOVE does not care for moral, ethics
Good that LOVE does not get awards, trophies,
Good that LOVE does not get citations, certificates
Good that LOVE does not get applause, fame
Good that LOVE is not a post or position
Good that LOVE does not care of hierarchy
Good that LOVE is not about status and power
Good that LOVE does not fetch you friends
Good that LOVE is not a job or business
Good that LOVE is not about 9 to 5 job
Good that LOVE does not expect meetings, conferences
Good that LOVE does not expect workshops symposiums
Good that LOVE does not make you pretentious
Good that for LOVE one has to wear a fake mask
Good that LOVE does not let you follow any ideology
Good that LOVE is not reimbursed by salary, wage
Good that LOVE is not paid for your work done
Good that LOVE is not found on Internet, social media
Good that LOVE does not bother about likes, dislikes
Good that LOVE does not exist on laptop and mobiles
Good that LOVE is unlike any other relationship
Good that LOVE is not restricted to family & friends
Good that LOVE is not about learning, knowledge
Good that LOVE is not about literacy and education
Good that LOVE does not care for wealth and riches
Good that LOVE is not about decisions and making choice
Good that LOVE does not believe in religions, God/dess
Good that LOVE does not suffer from phobias & neurosis
Good that LOVE does not hide behind ideologies & doctrines
Good that LOVE is liberal and progressive
Good that LOVE is a rebellion against everything
Good that LOVE is the one that kills EGO "I"
Good that LOVE is.... "LOVE"...!*
*
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:39 PM UTC
Man is evil ,
he stole from the tree ,
he ate from the orchard ,
the apple ,
the plum ,
the pear ripe ,
yet no fruit did it bear .
How he builds to his own Glory ,
Majesty power .
How resplendent his works on the sea's ,
Andrews designs his workshops in the ghost of Brunel ,
' even God himself could not sink ,
this ship '
How proud am I that New Yorks lights may shine bright tonight .'
Faster and faster she sailed burning coal fires roared ,
pitch black smoke they roared ,
like an uncontrollable beast foaming at it's mouth ,
Child and mother and Father did not awake ,
or like cattle with rats left to their fate .
Nothing was spared for the great and the good ,
Oysters ,
French ice cream ,
Cream of Barley ,
Hors Doeuvie ,
Roast Duck and apple sauce .
lumps of ice on deck enter this cold spring dawn that could only bring death .
The wealthy sailed in boats that heard Angels cry ,
dolls and chairs ,
Kitchen pots and plates ,
mothers held their babies as salt waters swell .
Only the moon that night could ever give away it's secrets to it's starry hosts .
Children were tossed into sacks ,
then into nets pulled up into the Carpathias ***** ,
Women wandered like lost souls looking for the're men as dawn broke so did the reality of their never ending night .
New Yorks lights shone bright that night ,
not for Titanics waters did they part ,
Pier fifty four greeted the survivors to such surprise .
The thousands that gathered with grief and questions in their eyes .
How many dead ? the death toll rise,
to this never ending night until the violin played and fell forever silent to the sea ,
nearer my God ,
yes nearer my God to thee .
All that remained the crashing of each wave ,
the Atlantic Ocean swollowed whole ,
Swollowed whole .
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
steam-puff
white clouds
bellowed out
from
the
workshop of
the Gods
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Recently lock down began
You may say
This is not the time to write a poem
When darkness falls drop by drop
From the sky.
In this cursed timorous moment
Breathe is confined,
Infected by incorporeal virus
Present in the silent outline of the city.
This is not at all a time for parasitic dream dalliance.
I myself too is a socially isolated person of pessimistic attitude,
Whose, vanity is a part of genetically accumulated negativity.
When people speak of moonlight and starry nights
I am frightened in apprehension of darkness.
When people speak of blooming of flowers
I wait wakefully in apprehension of a storm.
In every morning, I dream idle dreams of the evening.
My friends know quite well
That I am a foolish ancient mirror of psych lateral inversion.
.
Yet I wish to dedicate few moments of this tragic conjuncture
In the name of poetry
In this scary time of screams and uproars
Once again I want to start
The protesting parade of indomitable words
With the crime of antisocial psyche.
O' gloomy time of locked down city
Can the defeat be admitted so easily?
Where is that moment that can resist
The inevitable course of impending sunrise?
Can the clamour of birds become silent
Out of fear of horns of buffaloes?
Can the poison droplets fatigue the seeking thirst of enlightment
Of the descendants of light?
Will the deep paddy of green fields
Admit defeat so easily
Out of fear of unruly flood of Ahar ?
In fact, the words are not so simple
In fact, the words are not so simple
In this ominous darkness of ENDHAUBAALI
Once again,
skillful shadow war.
Every person of the locked down city knows
Patience matters, only patience.
The enemy will perish without a trace
Lockdown, Lockdown, lockdown comrades,
Lockdown the city;
Under silent raid; like a new Stalingrad.
The world conquered enemy
laughs horrible laughter at the
extended banks of the Luit.
But for that the heart is not trembled.
We want triumph and only triumph without the fear of death.
The country men are ready
Prepared with well-skilled, proficient and disciplined array
Will go forward with sword of thunder
Built in the workshops of science and technology
When clarion call comes.
New Saraighat is calling us.
Every citizen of the locked down city knows what is needed.
A little patience and some sacrifice.
In this cursed darkness of Endharubali
Once again well-skilled shadow war
The experienced wisdom of locked down city knows
Patience is a must, only patience
The enemy will die of drying
without tracing the host
The enemy will die of hunger
without finding out any trace.
Locked down for two fortnights
New Stalingrad, new Stalingrad.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC