Glorious moonshine

Before every big transition there is a strange lull.
where in the yellow desert the hot wind rises and sings a song never before heard.
a new tune each time to curl around the changing dunes.

when hope is fierce like the scorching sun.
and little grains of memories flow
as if they have places to go.


when that first step is over with.
and the brown ankle firm.
I know the wind will simmer down.
the heat will accept defeat.
glory of days gone by will shine.
and I will reap the benefits of my past.

with-without-withdrawal

With
one foot behind the other
and the mocking breeze

in fleeting moments
are pebbles flung
tied to a pillar
the need explodes to run

living now
living then
dead to the world
dead to sense

oh my lolita
my own forbidden pleasure
in each resides
the trek to the brink

stare down that cliff
the dust the ash
scream in glee
chanting free

stare down that cliff
one foot behind the other
wait,
wait for the mocking breeze

april again

on the grimy floor
completing chores
tracing letters with fingers
watching dust shift, express
the meaning of things
what you feel because of feelings

giving form
(to)intricate complexities

a child still in the garb of a man
waits patient
counts down not seconds
sits unruffled
securely tucked,
in between sheets cream

Freudian Slip(s)

I am afraid
for i am alone
I am alone
to lessen the fear

The world moves not
in accordance to plan
The plan itself
was but half formed

Discovery is in silence awaited
time forlornly lies un-still
The clock moves on ahead
yet some things, still
to change, refuse

Callmecrazy

(Oh)Dear

call it crazy

but it is a right

roll eyes

at a decision clear

pass judgement

on those hours safe

call it crazy

still is, motivated by something else

take the route marked

laugh at those who don't

go ahead,

refuse to it dignify

Know,

my choices will be vindicated, someday soon.

Free Verse

Come what may,

the spring is deep

is profound

melts words into thoughts warm,

and ice can drip on the floor

it can lie still,

next to feet cold

as the scent of varnish new,

envelopes lilac toes

Then spotted a path,

with vision tunnel

Blooms burst from gardens,

strain to be free

None collapsing in agony

and all this time

the way sits patient,

curled up in the shadows

waiting for,

discovery...

Now, Songs hitting the right Note (pun intended) :)

Que Sera Sera-Doris Day

The Little Things- Colbie Caillat

No Substitute- Estelle

Walk Away- Kelly Clarkson

LDN- Lily Allen

Love Locked Down- Kenye West

The Boy Does Nothing- Alisha Dixon

Walking on Sunshine- Katrina and the Waves

Where does the Good go- Tegan and Sara

Life is Short- Butterfly Boucher

Sober- Pink

Come Over- Estelle

Hot N' Cold- Katy Perry

Iris Green

If only that flickering thought
Had never made you pause

And that questioning glance been battered
By the arms strong of faith

…

If only moments were held
Longer than one short breath

And the song too would mould
Itself to the winding road

…

If only the last dregs of coffee
Could be as good as the first sip

And informed were our choices
Before we took the plunge

Lost

fingers of winter tighten their grip
the darkest hour before dawn
around me flits

In Freezing January
words are barely passing
with a 'D' on the scribbled score sheet
they fail me,
nearly tippin over the ledge
from the slippery point
where once, the moss used to rest
on its back, eyes fixed firmly ahead

colder with the breeze
and the river rushing past
over and around the steady black rocks
Oh Peter, you are an image of discomfort

i want the shawl and the welcoming fire
the cosy armchair i still desire
a canvas to paint
a thought to hold
to skip past the post
where thoughts are controlled

Fives miles down and then to the left
leaving all else behind
except that dead phone
a testament,
to the cord of connection snapped
by a once vulnerable
now firm and willing hand.
PEACE

Oh, plus a lil something i once wrote about Woolf. Purely Opinion based.

Out of the possible million things veiled in Woolf’s writing, one fantastic excerpt would be the thoughts of Peter as he walks away from Clarissa thinking “I can’t keep up with them…. Life, with its varieties, its irreticences, had been laid under a pavement of monuments and wreaths and drugged into a stiff yet staring corpse by discipline… One had to respect it.”

What I personally penned down (guided by A Ma’am) on a slim purple post-it was “History as exercising control over human beings. Cite tradition. Ironic- mind as controlled by strings. Choices are contained. (we)Assume we have youth and possibility.”

Yes, I can write a 10 mark answer using just that as a base, unfortunately we only have 15 and 20 mark answers… so will have to brush up on the other 155 pages as well. When people wonder what studying literature can possibly help with, I gargle out the possibility that information written centuries ago is not completely obsolete. What I really mean (and rarely articulate, barring class) is that it’s actually universally applicable and hides very current concerns. Through the thoughts of Peter, Woolf manages to talk about the fact that we all remain convinced that with youth and an apparent lack of obvious obstacles…we have, in us, the ability to make a choice and one that is not intruded upon by society. The illusion that we are ‘free’ when the word exists not, for each action that we decide to go forward with is already influenced by centuries of tradition weighing down upon us, so deeply internalized that it convinces one that the choice we finally pick is one that we innately want… not knowing that what we want has already been shaped for us before we could stammer out ‘momma’ aged a few months.

One had to respect it, thinks Peter… whether we think it consciously or not, we end up treading on the same worn out path time and again. Regardless of how many epiphanies we claim to have undergone, the crossroads are really not debatable. Hopelessly fatalistic is it? Or is it simply too uncomfortable a truth to accept immediately?

No one likes the pinch of the inevitable… I no longer wonder why Woolf ultimately killed herself… if the discomfort of acknowledging her thoughts as a possibility is so high… the pain of thinking them up only to write them out to feed to the prowling (ungrateful) masses must have given more strength to her stumbling journey towards that river which gurgled up to claim her.

In a fairly intense (even poetic) conversation with Jean, I happened to mention a dormant thought… one that I apparently felt very strongly for. I said to him, if you look at the essence of a person (their soul probably) as water or a flowing liquid that seems to travel over gravel and soil with experiences acting as the same… with each circumstance we go through being represented as the so called pollutants of the liquid- sand, soil, twigs, leaves. Then, and this is purely my opinion, the essence itself may carry these intruders on in life as the water keeps flowing to places new… however, the essence is not affected permanently by them but what they do manage to maneuver is how the past baggage allows us to stare at the new. Experiences of the essence as eventually affecting the perception of all that is to follow. The thing is, having always considered taking ones life a mortal ‘sin’ if the concept exists, how can I honestly let the word ‘strength’ rub shoulders with one who has willingly taken her own life? It’s possible, keeping in mind a belief of the essence and its journey, that the sheer weight of the discoveries Woolf made, was enough to push her over the edge, literally. Not advocating any form of massacring the self, but perhaps leaving a window open for Woolf and not condemning her totally… for in all fairness… the journey she undertook was littered perhaps with too many heavy branches and piles of mud that most would have crumpled under.

(Current in-mind Quote "a word after a word after a word is power")

Allegory Ignored

They say i should suspect, guard with a frown.
a frown so deep that it clearly spells out...
'hey you there trespasser, keep out! keep out!

you're no snowy bunny
nor an orange owl
not a ray of hope
bouncing off those clouds

not furry
not cuddly
not hug-prone
nor round

you're not those things
you're a suspect they've found
they said to be careful
they said be aware
they said you would sneak in
against all obstacles rare.

but you're not sneaky
or nasty
or even too proud

then why the warning?
why insist upon that guarding frown?
why demand all this secrecy
lest the world know you've escaped

they say you're what we fear
when we huddle closer in the dark
they say you'll disrupt
all thats been mellow in the past

so what? i ask
there has been change before
and scoff all i do, those who say no!

so i leave the door open
just a tiny bit...
just in case you're around
through it, you can fit

and on that very table
will be a cream coloured cup
and a brownie to go
and along with that,
will be a yellow note

a note with curly writing
and a request to not go...
so i too can face this fear
and heed not dusty myths, simply centuries old!

so listen to me now,
and listen to me good,
piffle to the warning
that i've been following
from people unknown.

they....they.... they're nobody but someone elses left toe!

Amen?

Dark Chocolate

Of Doughnuts, Dreams and eating your Cake!

This year will be a cake
With cherries buried deep
melting Rum chocolates and brandy
Leading to immeasurable ecstasy

The pressure won’t kill
And ambitions won’t crumble
The steam shall rise
And with it, fly dreams

Salt will melt in oceans deep
Like sugar buried in coffee and cream
It’ll be happy
And oh so gay

With analysis discarded
For sense wholesale
this year, it has started with hope
And that remains, it’s sole support.

-----

'May God Bless Us All Everyone’
(Know your Christmas tales)

I pick the sweet crumbs falling off the warm dough… and that makes the sugar-rush stronger. - The philosophy of jam-doughnut munching. :)

Ps-Barry Manilow is a Genius.

I know time won't pause and i won't move.

Eliot Eliot Eliot- You are my Prince and everything else.

How wrong is it, to that, give time? (Title)

a squirrel crawled up on my leg
so deep in thought was i
that it, i barely felt
odd, for so much time had been spent
at age eight, in chasing them
their friends, cousins and foes.
chasing them all on foot, at times alone.

today, so deep was that meditative thought
that it sneaked up on me so
did it too feel, the moments blazing intensity?
i patiently waited for it to flee(to go)
(for a man was 'it', or a woman she?)
but imagine my surprise
when it chose instead, to touch me

its tiny paws, fell light on dark denim
cautious footsteps yet unaware of my presence
Is this what they mean
when we're asked to wait?
for heaven to gently fall at our feet
in a heavily engraved metal plate?

What was its intent? i mused
for when i moved
it too scampered away
and i wondered
what would have happened
had it, the courage to stay.
-----

I guess you would call the above a symbolic poetic free verse attempt. Or 45 minutes alone in the chaupal with music post-eliot class.
Is it a rape of emotions to cut them into little pieces and feed them to uncomprehending beasts?

"I'm inhaling the poems whole with no restraint. Letting them rest on my own self, creating acidic reactions like black petals which refuse to melt into the redness of the raw skin. With Prufrock's indecisiveness i sway."-

Ironically, this has been the most vocal i've ever been in any post. Ever. And yet i won't be shocked if no one ever 'gets' it. Guess you gotta be the writer and no one else to know to know EXACTLY what it all means strung together the way it is.

A heavy straw

with the constant ticking
of the pincers of time,
ideas considered first
centuries ago,
are once more scrutinized

in not a gaze vague,
they're ripped for meaning,
there's desperation vivid
in the fanatical gleam
of a hungry eye,
as it searches for that metaphorical light,
we claw at the thin veil
that bars from us, air
crumbling dynasties and forlorn hopes
are all buried together in a single tomb

transparencies needed
shrieks a part of the mind,
not a dull moment too many
as with each step
emotions get intensified,
the music swells
and then fades away
of course, there will be no answers
till we have questions ready framed.

Aug 11 2008

Unflinchingly, i accept ambiguity
Keeping my fingers crossed
for the very best
But also knowing, as people do,
that sometimes change is something good.

No more unconsciously catering to anyone but me.