poetry

Would I hear the poetry of my soul, even without recognition?: A poem

Would I, if I wrote a poem that was brief and was rugbyfied by too many commas, semi-colons and full-stops, sound as terse to the reader as it may be to me? Or a more derogatory pithy! I can have an entire mailing list of ideas pinned on the office board of my study, without crossing over the page, albeit concise! Would that be enthralling toContinue reading “Would I hear the poetry of my soul, even without recognition?: A poem “

This poetry; is it the song of love?: A poem

You know, this poetry, it can leave your soul heart warmed on a curb of sweet-sonorous onomatopiased percussive melody of first sounds! In a brief lilt, like a wind in a recess that walks you out into the wonder of new light. If you chose to listen to the cryptic messenger as much as you relax in the simple lyrics! I haveContinue reading “This poetry; is it the song of love?: A poem “

I won’t be a shadow of myself, despite all the wicked shadow play!!: A poem

If my words could hang on a clotheshorse, then, what would my poetry be? Would it be an ode to the sterile laundromat or a lyric to dirty linen? I don’t even wash my hands regularly (too often); I think it is the guilty, who indulge in that pastime! I, sometimes, feel like a beast bestowed with belligerence. You know when too much injusticeContinue reading “I won’t be a shadow of myself, despite all the wicked shadow play!!: A poem “

This moonlight is not my delight!: A poem

(I am disgusted with Walter De La Mare’s Silver! WordPress, why do you always humour me the wrong way? Piss off!!!) I read a poem about the moonlight taking us all, man and woman, And filling the rivers, lands, and trees, with its soul. And I shuddered to think, that this may actually be an Age, where Man be betrothed to man, and will Continue reading “This moonlight is not my delight!: A poem “

This, my oath and missive: A poem

(Trump, strange negative things have been happening to my body with those two injections, it is a long list I cannot enumerate! Thank you. Must I bear the consequences for other people’s sins! And must I not take my own recourse to revenge(!) and continue to persevere to be patient at my own cost!) These bridges I will never burn, these beaten paths trodden The famished soul soContinue reading “This, my oath and missive: A poem “

Consubstantiation: A poem

Where does a beginning begin, if it is self-consolatory to pick up a piece in the middle and be lost in the impression that it is the beginning! If you can rally around the underscored fact that truth must have had a beginning itself… Or could it have zeroed in, becoming itself without a beginning, evolving out of a chasm ofContinue reading “Consubstantiation: A poem “

I read somewhere that today is National Haiku Day!: A poem

I read somewhere that today is National Haiku Day! Would it be celebrated all the way from Aomori to Osaka?! It is supposed to be a little poetry in celebration of nature! Is that a little depiction or syntax of all the forces of nature? And is earth’s nature a microcosmic paraphrase of an eternal form orContinue reading “I read somewhere that today is National Haiku Day!: A poem “

Can I hear the travestied music in the streets!: A poem

Out on the street with no name, a rookie approached me and asked me a question: Would I name it? It was an alley to posterity! I brushed him aside; he fell like a rock into a puddle. I won’t even name the meteor that fell at Mecca as an omen of my future! You should know that every time I spellContinue reading “Can I hear the travestied music in the streets!: A poem “

Anne Grey Sexton, your beautiful confessionalism looks stoic, just like my brave self-narrative!: A poem

Do poets share sometimes a twinning as also a contrariness in their ambiguous ambivalence(?)? Like a hearse slowly pulling away in its aloneness (and freedom?); does a corpse feel alone in death or finally freed? Like the blackness of the vehicle that takes it into its sombre grave to be buried into an earth (or into an unimagined dimension more palpably expansive and intense?). What do we think is death? Is it a moment of sobriety, that reflects on theContinue reading “Anne Grey Sexton, your beautiful confessionalism looks stoic, just like my brave self-narrative!: A poem “

In my scruples, I have not the conundrum of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree: A poem

I have no paint on my face, though I’ve been clowning and acrobatting in a cirque de soleil, where even the Sun has little to cheer about! And the audience is perpetually dismayed, yet keen observers. I am sitting on the crotch of a fig tree that is asking for me to shake it down, so that all the fruit come Continue reading “In my scruples, I have not the conundrum of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree: A poem “