The hidden fermatas swelling under confiscated breaths
Heaving secret signs of serendipity soon
Shall all lie naked in their surrogate tongues,
When they sing through my gibberish and my muse jejune
And Nonchalance, How I envy thee!
And the Paris-green ennui of they unheeding retinue
And how those teenagerks and wannabe managerms
Wish they had the courage to be a little more like you
So they've enrolled in what I might call
"The benevolent indecision of an indifferent romance"
But I know its only just a crash-ing course
In the chorus of chaos and the chiding way of chance.
Way of Chance
The time flies
Doom, to the dog of the goon, my friends,
Doom, to the death of the wise
Doom, to our efforts and amends,
Doom, to paradise!
Death, to the fog over moon, I said,
Death, to her innocent cries,
Death again, to the one who puts,
A death to our disguise.
Or our disguise to a death, I mean,
Or his confidential lies,
Or our lust for the color green,
Or the way the time flies.
Doom, to the death of the wise
Doom, to our efforts and amends,
Doom, to paradise!
Death, to the fog over moon, I said,
Death, to her innocent cries,
Death again, to the one who puts,
A death to our disguise.
Or our disguise to a death, I mean,
Or his confidential lies,
Or our lust for the color green,
Or the way the time flies.
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The games people play
And how I wonder, how I yearn
And how the movie stars burn
And how this magic taciturn
Keeps driving you a w a y
This is not confusion dear
It mustn’t be known for mustn’t we fear?
When the stadiums and auditoriums clear,
It’s the games people play
The rest is all up to you now
The universe ascends on you somehow
Asking: “to whom do you pledge your vow?”
What then shall you say?
This is how the plot twists
Your angry fistula and slit wrists
My angry fistula can beat your fists
Decide, fool! Yay or nay?
Better survive than sink or kneel
Better avoid the pain you can’t feel
Better is the adjective that makes people steal
Better is what you get when you play.
And how the movie stars burn
And how this magic taciturn
Keeps driving you a w a y
This is not confusion dear
It mustn’t be known for mustn’t we fear?
When the stadiums and auditoriums clear,
It’s the games people play
The rest is all up to you now
The universe ascends on you somehow
Asking: “to whom do you pledge your vow?”
What then shall you say?
This is how the plot twists
Your angry fistula and slit wrists
My angry fistula can beat your fists
Decide, fool! Yay or nay?
Better survive than sink or kneel
Better avoid the pain you can’t feel
Better is the adjective that makes people steal
Better is what you get when you play.
The loom of life
Now that the labyrinth has been made throughly numb,
all we have to do is follow
the malleability of ambition, risking of course,
the collapse of conviction
when we are on the edge push will come to shove
then we will find the abominable abyss we so dreaded
to be only an echo in the nightmare of history
inept and inconsistent with the waking propellants of desire
And those in the higher echelons shall beckon
And those in lower rungs shall be inspired
The trajectory of dreams will find congruence then,
And the threads of existence shall dance in the loom of life.
all we have to do is follow
the malleability of ambition, risking of course,
the collapse of conviction
when we are on the edge push will come to shove
then we will find the abominable abyss we so dreaded
to be only an echo in the nightmare of history
inept and inconsistent with the waking propellants of desire
And those in the higher echelons shall beckon
And those in lower rungs shall be inspired
The trajectory of dreams will find congruence then,
And the threads of existence shall dance in the loom of life.
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Season's Greetings
Winter stumbles under the drunkard poet’s gratitude
The provenance of ten thousand trembling thoughts
Burning like the fireplace he can only dream of tonight
He’s smashed but the derelict has yet to disintegrate
Slouched, he thinks he’s aerodynamic for the gods who’re
Wondering if he’s hovering or merely levitating in delight
The threshold of pleasure retreating into the night
With promises of bitter strength injected at dawn-
Paracetamol greets him with the season's best
The provenance of ten thousand trembling thoughts
Burning like the fireplace he can only dream of tonight
He’s smashed but the derelict has yet to disintegrate
Slouched, he thinks he’s aerodynamic for the gods who’re
Wondering if he’s hovering or merely levitating in delight
The threshold of pleasure retreating into the night
With promises of bitter strength injected at dawn-
Paracetamol greets him with the season's best
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Porn Star
Trashy porn star effortlessly slides
Around the well-oiled corners
Of my dirty mind
Around the well-oiled corners
Of my dirty mind
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In answer to her question
Your question will not make us wise
Some answers aren’t made for speech
But the truth is, eyes meet eyes
Souls find souls - there’s one for each
It’s not that the answer is any more clear-
Than the voices I hear - though they motivate
But who’s to debate over what fools hear?
And who may hear what fools debate?
You might be my long-sought twinkling star
Or maybe just a reminder of this romantic riot
You’ll be mine eventually- even if as a battle-scar
But for now, keep close and keep quiet.
Some answers aren’t made for speech
But the truth is, eyes meet eyes
Souls find souls - there’s one for each
It’s not that the answer is any more clear-
Than the voices I hear - though they motivate
But who’s to debate over what fools hear?
And who may hear what fools debate?
You might be my long-sought twinkling star
Or maybe just a reminder of this romantic riot
You’ll be mine eventually- even if as a battle-scar
But for now, keep close and keep quiet.
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On Poetry
Poetry is for those with too much time,
To put aside
As remnants of our fleeting glory -
Words multiply and divide
But which word’s worth is more
Than the inscrutability of them all?
No, poetry is a mere amplification,
An exaggeration - however small
We are but an accursed lot
Us mathematicians of desire,
Though poetry gets us nowhere
But at least it gets us higher.
To put aside
As remnants of our fleeting glory -
Words multiply and divide
But which word’s worth is more
Than the inscrutability of them all?
No, poetry is a mere amplification,
An exaggeration - however small
We are but an accursed lot
Us mathematicians of desire,
Though poetry gets us nowhere
But at least it gets us higher.
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Free
Que Sera Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The best things in life are free
To run away.
Whatever will be, will be
The best things in life are free
To run away.
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The Oracle's Employee
When the fecund loafer said the world was not enough
That he could not outweigh the lies with truth - the heavier stuff,
Did you not feel the urge to peek inside his radical mind?
And repent for what you had was not what you had left behind
Supposing it was destiny that paved the path beset
With assumptions that we'll never meet - let's pretend we never met
Would you then, my queen, be able to derail from ways of quest?
To prove that you're destined to bend all proofs at your behest
As you revel in new beginnings pray hear my silent plea
Be dutiful and diligent as the Oracle's new employee
But be not swooned by the sword-wielders for they're not really men
Their swashbuckling isn't as virile as the swiftness of his pen.
That he could not outweigh the lies with truth - the heavier stuff,
Did you not feel the urge to peek inside his radical mind?
And repent for what you had was not what you had left behind
Supposing it was destiny that paved the path beset
With assumptions that we'll never meet - let's pretend we never met
Would you then, my queen, be able to derail from ways of quest?
To prove that you're destined to bend all proofs at your behest
As you revel in new beginnings pray hear my silent plea
Be dutiful and diligent as the Oracle's new employee
But be not swooned by the sword-wielders for they're not really men
Their swashbuckling isn't as virile as the swiftness of his pen.
Even Angels Speculate
Even angels speculate at the edge of reason
Within the twilight of a sovereign mind
Shivering at the sight of
Logical fallacies
Madness, they say, is simply a label
“thud” goes the voice in my head
Could it be that it’s just what I’ve learnt-
playing tricks on what I did not learn?
Silly me. I want,
The planet annihilated!
No misery then, would trespass our hearts,
Nor happiness but those cursed angels-
Will continue to speculate
On the edge of reason.
Within the twilight of a sovereign mind
Shivering at the sight of
Logical fallacies
Madness, they say, is simply a label
“thud” goes the voice in my head
Could it be that it’s just what I’ve learnt-
playing tricks on what I did not learn?
Silly me. I want,
The planet annihilated!
No misery then, would trespass our hearts,
Nor happiness but those cursed angels-
Will continue to speculate
On the edge of reason.
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Catherine's Typewriter
Catherine, the gymnast of type-written lore
Yes she knew her hyphen from her underscore
But words were fleeting, shivering and pleating
Between sentences she always felt they were cheating
Depressing plastic maniacal keys she depressed
Arresting her attention was the soul she addressed
For you see, Catherine’s typewriter was alive
It captivated her with it’s cacophonous drive
Then she met a friend through some wicked lemon fingers,
Who told her it was lust in the machine that lingers
But whether it devours the words that she reels
Depended on her telling the machine how she feels
On a windowless morning sometime in the future
Past stilted on the slate she had sewn with some suture
She realized her friend's conclusion wasn't ripe
For all the machine told her was to “type, writer, type”.
Unwinding with the tide
Fate spoke in palindromes
Of the language in which the blind
Found paradoxes, like petty thieves-
For the mathematically inclined
Paralyzed with parasites
I paraglided over fear
For fate seemed so far away
Yet future seemed so near
Uncertainties, they followed me
Unwinding with the tide
My spirit may have trusted me
If I could in it confide
Untrusting, as I grew weary
She came crooning by
Singing to me why it’s important
To learn to trust the lie.
Of the language in which the blind
Found paradoxes, like petty thieves-
For the mathematically inclined
Paralyzed with parasites
I paraglided over fear
For fate seemed so far away
Yet future seemed so near
Uncertainties, they followed me
Unwinding with the tide
My spirit may have trusted me
If I could in it confide
Untrusting, as I grew weary
She came crooning by
Singing to me why it’s important
To learn to trust the lie.
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When The Pillars Blow
My feet lead me to the ebb
Of one silent, somber night
The crunch of trampled foliage, thus,
Reciprocated in my delight
Lilacs whispered, lyres sang
To the music that with me shivered
Huddling stars that cuddled darkness
Silent as my soul delivered
Out there somewhere I heard you shout,
“Qui vive!, Qui vive!, friend or foe?”
“A mere traveler”, I retorted,
“Friendly when the pillars blow”
Stalagmite
It’s not as if I’m moribund or chained to the ground
It’s not as if my pinions haven’t wrestled winds before
It’s just that I’m indebted to the soul I’ve in you found
Unabashedly unsubtle but yet delicate and demure
Psychologically, I am no rational expert
I barely ever make eye-contact with what’s true
Still when my mind wanders - my heart is all but inert
To the promised conclusions that the gods in us once drew
So let them know I’m on my way, let them hurriedly prepare
For exhaustion won’t mar victory as two bodies reunite,
Old ghosts are always welcome to where newer one’s don’t dare
To where I’m weighed down with a burgeoning stalagmite.
Gypsy Woman
Her face was a war-torn battlefield
Where I couldn’t tell the difference
Between the ushering cries of moles mounding up from flawed skin
Or the subdued sniffles of scars from the night before
I couldn’t tell the difference,
Between her areolas and irises
As they disappeared upwards, both folding between heavens
Oh! The battling eyelashes, shyly lashing me away
Clothed only in her shame
Now the lady sees the light!
She knows my name and beckons me
“Onwards”, “the hinterland awaits”
Another step as I move forward,
With a penchant to dream, perchance false,
Gypsy woman wriggles in ecstatic visions
I shudder at the very next thought of the very next sight
“Write!”, she said, “or writhe in agony”,
“as a cosmic loneliness descends upon you”
“from the clouds hanging low over these melancholy hills”
“as you spill desires over your expectations”
Crystal balls tingle my scrotum as it tightens
The fortune teller awakens the escapist dreamer in me
Onwards, to where destiny unites with fortune -
Ruined beyond repair, I’ve never been more resurgent.
I hope you're here to stay
When the tide is high and anomie spreads wide
Stranger your consoling thoughts then do abide,
By all my wishes born out of all those distant dreams
To put a face behind all my romantic schemes
When all your lovers and all your allies decry
For they can’t hold a candle to someone such as I,
Then stranger, your hopes for this dreamt-up fairy tale
Shall yield themselves to a passion which won’t ever fail
With that very passion I shall stumble through the odds
I’ve more than what it takes to steal you from the gods,
And stranger, you have more than all I’ll ever need
You’re the catalyst of fruition, you bring me up to speed
I’d rather stare at your face but I stare at blinding words
I think of talking to you when I’m entertaining turds,
I miss you most at twilight as the moon smiles at the sun
Sadly enough, stranger, that’s when I miss having a gun
I debate with what’s possible, I argue with this fate
Though time enfeebles greatly yet it does not irate,
For thoughts of you surround me when the truest of friends leave,
Then I roll my cuffs to find another trick up my sleeve
I hope you sink lower than the depths of childish rhyme
I’m a prisoner of poetry, my words describe my crime,
Stranger you’re the talisman that shoos grey clouds away
You’re the sunshine of my heart and I hope you’re here to stay.
Automatic came home
Read another sign on my forehead,
Smell another sigh escaping
Force a twitter of a dream unpacked,
Un-plucked unintentionally
Automatic came home tonight,
Forgive and it was all a bit too foregone,
Suede skies pressed against the moonlit gradients
of mysteries - unfolding one at a time
Automatic came home tonight-
To a semi-automatic universe.
Everything was tattooed
Everything was tattooed on my taboo skin,
Ghosts from outside, ghosts within
Ghosts of color - paled, impaled
Ravishing grotesqueness, unleashed when veiled
Everything was tattooed with needles grinding-
Muscle and bone but never finding
No crimson shores to fill my pails
With rising crags and falling dales
Everything was tattooed as everything must
Be it colored with memory or rendered on dust
Everything must be tattooed or else-
Let’s all just shrink to be lonely cells.
Moonlight General Store
Like the sodomite's sneezing farts
Our septic and susurating hearts
Should stop this madness fore it starts
Our soapbox derby racing carts
Like those nights by moonlight general store,
Ablaze in miscellaneous galore,
These friendly mysteries so impure,
Bring neither frienship nor it's cure
Yet some columns do still resonate
Can't will our wills to love to hate
As we're prepared by this debate
Of Debunking love, debugging fate
All my evaporating, smoking loans,
Nightly whispers or daily moans
Like Replicating rondures in the rones
Dreams are dreams and stones are stones.
This Is Your Captain Speaking
Running low on inspiration these days, so going to push some of my favorite poetry (all written by fellow poets and friends) through this blog hoping that the occasional stumbler enjoys it.
This Is Your Captain Speaking / by Sarku
(All rights reserved with the author, published with permission)
From far off over the porcelain wing
I see another midnight atmospheric sojourner.
The blinking eyelights of both steel birds wink across the blank air between them;
Empty miles leap between us, I and some unknown compatriot borne aloft in that other dreaming sky-barque.
Gold geometries of noctilucent netting spangle across the distant lightless prairie floor
(We sojourn in the dark subterranean kingdoms of the satrap of the preterite dead,
Where the whisper of cabin pressure is the only utterance)
Just beyond the arc of vision there are stars, a chorus of pinbright crystal distants, muy tranquilo.
Below now, I note, the voidfloor with its jellyfish townglowings has fallen away;
Only a rural will-o'-the-wisp suggests the half-real planet below.
A voice breaks into the shadowed gallery of my steel bird;
An intercom interloper, he is a novitiate in night musings (though a hierophant of chill levers and dials)
He does not know the solemn vigil he trespasses on
(As the vulture, a little padre, black canon of the plains does not know the dream of repose that he plucks apart;
As the foolish Greek does not know the dream of Sebak he ripples with his hand at the still jade pond beyond Sais)
Nor should he, indeed.
What is such an aeronaut's place in the twilit canyons and blue kivas of dreams?
Let him keep his eyes on the skyroads;
For my part I rove astral-bodied-
The night is vast, broad, and empty as sable.
Bound and Tagged
I've been specifically asked by a fellow blogger to answer the following set of arbitrary questions. Writing about my personal shit is an exercise I don't usually indulge in on the internet, but I guess this calls for an exception. So here goes:
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
Right Knee. Looks like the map of Italy. Broke a bathroom window at my grandparents place while dancing on the window frame (go, figure). Quite old though, I would've named it after Peter Parker but it's hardly even visible anymore.
And I think stretch-marks are a total turn off.
2. What is on the walls in your room?
Final Fantasy X poster. This one in particular (sans the DVD titling, of course).
Taking it off and replacing it with something mature has been a well procrastinated task for about a year now.
3. What does your phone look like?
Black. Bleak. Crass. Like soviet technology is making a comeback through it.
4. What music do you listen to?
I've been asking myself the same question for quite some time now. The closer I get to the answer, the longer the answer gets. But since I must say something, here's a somewhat statistically correct (yet very very concise) list: Scandinavian Nu-Jazz, Acid Jazz, Alt-Country, Avant-Garde American Folk, Acoustic, Shoegazer, Underground Hip hop, UK Garage, Belgian Punk, Everything Rock and Post Rock/Indie, Downtempo/Ambient/Trip-Hop, World music...this is not a pretentious list of eclectic genres, this is as close an anti-genre statement as I can make without arousing offense.
5. What is your current desktop picture?
The following one on this PC. Click to enlarge.
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
Right now? erm. A cigarette!
A good job would be nice though.
7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Allowing same-sex couples to screw legally is perfectly alright as long as they don't make another religion (or anything that resembles one) out of it.
8. Are your parents still together?
Yes. And god bless them.
9. What are you listening to?
Song: Nobody knows the trouble I've seen
Singer: James Morrison
Album: James Morrison: Gospel Collection Volume Two
Though my ears want some Geeta Dutt-esque bollywood shit now.
10. Do you get scared of the dark?
No. I like the dark. It presents more unrevealed opportunities .
But I do have a little (sporadically occurring) phobia of closing my eyes in the shower which lasts a few days whenever I have a nightmare.
11. The last person to make you cry?
The unenlightened self ;)
12. What kind of hair/eye type do you like on the opposite sex?
Err.. on the head?
Blonde and long. Simple.
If not blonde, maybe black but has to be long (>shoulder length).
Not that it really matters though.
13. Do you like pain killers?
Usually avoid popping pills. Uh.. which pain killers are you talking about?
14. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
Depends on who I'm asking out. And whether I'm having a good/bad hair day.
15. Favourite pizza topping?
Ice-Cream.
16. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Pizza with Ice-Cream topping.
Thank you Ishita, that afforded me some positive introspection. I tag the first person who comments (other than Ishita, of course).
you're crazy too!
two feet without the ground and their footprints in the air,
to feel the fear around and to feed hope to despair,
sins we've all committed involve our hubris and our grit,
since all of our resolve is often termed as all our shit
to break the chain of our morose we're hung with hope alive
allay this madness with our prose and poems is what we strive
but madness travels with our words and ideas are it's crew
you've read this crazy bastard's poem and now you're crazy too!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Oh Tarantula!
Orphaned by what I’ve become
Fragmented splinters of star-studded plateaus
Bejeweled yet ever bewildered, I am not becoming-
The me I’ve dreamt and I’m not coming home
What method prevails in your connive?
Oh tarantula! How you can decide,
Yet never get tangled in the net you weave,
Deceivingly invisible and visibly deceiving
Pray fortune favors your threaded fortress,
Your mattresses hanging mid-air for food
Shrewdly awaiting an unfortunate evening catch-
You try your best to inspire me
For what it’s worth I’ve learnt nothing so far,
For the webs I weave intend to devour me
For you’re no ordinary arachnid - oh tarantula!
For I’m no descendant of no Scottish king.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Undiscovered
Down in the valley of long lost days
He still swims alone with the hormone waves
Laminated in ecstasy, an oceanic glaze
Splicing up stories whetting his craze
The words etched on the typewriter keys
Have all but dissolved in his melancholy seas
He types and he types for the one he must please
The gibberish is absolvable but the hurt won't decrease
Rustic phrases parsed with asymmetric vision
Insensitive jabs at the symmetry of reason
His words, like raged prisoners out of prison
Missionaries set forth to find him a mission
Honestly, it's not the flair that he lacks
His words, perhaps like hidden jewels in the cracks
Are peering out in hopes of a time to relax
They're undiscovered yet but on discovery's tracks
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Recursion
Two mirrors perplexed,
Gaping into one another-
Fixated, as if sedated,
wondering where reality-
shrank to accommodate,
their perception of truth
Closer, then as they approached-
Chasing the insufficiency of explanation
To realize, that to kill the recursion,
They had to lay, side by side
With nothing in between,
Not even nothing.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Tomorrow
Dear miserable protagonist,
Future has sketched a suspect drawing
It resembles you the most when
You reflect upon it
Yesterday you were born at the ocean
Resolving to sink now, swim later
You tasted its ebb and the neutral flow
Curious, as to what the tide may bring in
Delayed sojourner, latent mourner,
No heraldic laurels are ever bestowed
To those who question the authority of time
Solace for us is just in the battle
May your maiden voyage of a thousand years
Never find an anchor smooching the breeze
Blinded by digital watches, may us all then believe
That future follows what tomorrow brings today.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
When She Flies
"reason is a whore", she said
as faith took a leap in her
holding back all explanations
she jumped to fly
spiraling upwards and propelled hopefully
muting all of logic
the azure sky turned upside down
the pallid dust on the ground annoyed
seagulls when they sang out loud, indiscriminate
incandescent, my heart then heard
the gleeful melee and chirp within,
allowing reconciliation.
come on, Pynchon
there was a booming across the sky
that screwed metal into clouds
with percolating light hammering on our eardrums
with the thrust and torque of a thousand angry gods
come on, Pynchon, let's run out of town
let's become refugees in a distant land
where we'll take shelter from this abrasive rainfall
under leaky sheets of tarpaulin, we'll sip some free tea
as we watch the sunset from this side of a barb-wired horizon
come on, Pynchon, before it's too late
evacuate! evacuate!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
The guilded house of Samarkand
We entered the cinema hall
At three in the night
All the halls were empty
Every odd light on
We came upon a door
That hid jeering voices
He must've knocked octillion times
Poetry was the password
The curtains trapped the conspiracy
A gramophone hushed the silence
Smoke seductively rose from cigars half lit,
Half unlit, the theater sparkled with secrecy
Alcohol, ammunition patrolled around
Like waitresses with naked intentions,
Making each man in the room giggle-
Over the inanity of the next
They called me “the mending bug”
For I could bend their storms
Or fold them into typhoons
Polluting all their plans
I made my request then,
When badly-drawn weapons floated around my nose
“let my friend leave”, I said,
It made more sense than insanity
Head-honchos all spoke amongst
Elders of the protocol.
They agreed to release my friend
From the gilded house of Samarkand.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Raindrops
The monsoon winds whispered their urgency.
Thunderous and yelling nimbi with their rhetorical exaggeration
Beckoned, nay, urged for the saxophone lullaby,
we played as if just to delay the deluge.
Then the very first droplet on my moisture forsaken wrist,
asked me when i planned to come back home,
almost taunting and in belittling phrases not nearly as moist,
as the memories it's question brought.
That night gods wept through cotton pajamas,
as they committed their mnemonics to our dreams
aware, that the morning shall snatch from us humans,
all lack of control away.
We were only spreading caution over monsoon winds
for it was not the wrath of bed-wetting gods we wanted to incur
But we underestimated the fragility of monsoon dreams
for ashes to ashes and shit to shit, they all fall down,
Just like raindrops.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
The pious, the living
All that destruction,
That panicking around
Nothing have you glorified
But death
Sexy jihad aroused by pretty politics
Resurrected by the latent powers of hate
For the pious, the living-
Are nothing but a suicide apparatus
Violence manufacturers we beseech thee,
In the name of Allah, the almighty,
Never kill some of us again,
But please try to kill us all at once.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Untitled
It’s nothing, I think,
You’ll fade away
Not before long, I’m certain,
It’ll all be gray
I have no idea, or maybe I’ve forgotten
What gray looks like,
What sweet suffering it envelops
But I guess, I’ll be okay
It’s such a shame,
That everybody will be everybody, again
I’ll miss you, sure
But I’ll invent explanations
We can feed regrets to the future,
We can tumble blindly
We can survive through it all,
It’s just the romance that’s dead
Look at everything we’ve learnt through this,
Torrid chemistry of neurological protein sequences,
Isn’t that all love is?
Isn’t it as complicated as it gets?
So goodbye, sweet dream, goodnight and sweet dreams,
I’ve got leaping sheep to count,
I’ve got rhapsodies to illustrate with your memories,
I’m sure you’re busy as well.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
A hammered heart
A hammered heart is the perfect percussionist,
Beating to the rhythm of rhyming allusions
Illuminated illusions-
Thoughts of her
The warmest may passes in a motion blur,
A mirage stirred by my hopeful breathing,
An impatient sun is seething,
Resolutions burning proud
I feel the music is a bit too loud
Trapping hope alive
The jazz and the jive
All dying a bit too slowly
Lying to a love laying lowly
Sinking as I speak
With all feathers and beak
Droning as I’m drowning down
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Ode To Linux
Oh mighty penguin - copied to the left,
I'd embrace and kiss your tender insides,
Oh but not the average Joe.
Joe likes to peer out his windows,
Or peer into an acceptable predicament
Nevertheless, you're not his compromise
Fedora shaped shell painted by a gnome,
Feeding a delectable kernel - invisible yet omnipresent,
I feel I need taste buds on my eyes
Oh and then you're absolutely free!
Freedom redefined.
Free as in "free beer"!
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Shiny Happy Baloon
This shiny happy balloon
dancing to your tortures tune
might just burst or rupture soon
you better toss it out!
Let it float to the punctured moon,
with patches and packets sewn
invisible at high noon,
will it hear if you shout?
Sober, swaying in a saloon,
savoring Finland's finest rune
silent as it hears me croon,
knowing, I'm in doubt
If on the planet of the singing baboon
people think December comes before June,
can't an astronaut kill a cartoon?
with a scary shout.
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Irrigating Venus
Party music pouring out my cellular phone
smoke dried lips mumbling in a slippery prayer
skin kneaded in wreaths of crystalline paranoia
bead by sweaty bead at a time
I might just be hunting my miss fortune in hell
Is that her voice or my ringing knell?
God! I don't even believe in you.
For you were never really as necessary as her
I think she's trapped by countless concrete walls,
Waiting for some slave of voodoo dolls,
To rescue her from her contemporary prison
That only allows her a contemporary freedom
I guess there's a diminishing sense of lust involved
Libido evaporating into the summer mirages
Irritated, I wonder if I would ever be able-
To irrigate Venus with fluid fascination
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Direction
It's an incongruent testament
to our so called friendship
sparkled by silence
that's glittering over roads that separate me from you
It's an uneasy truce
that i share with desire.
It's a travesty on the flames of burning passion
to be soaked to their deaths with visions of a future alive
I’ll confess that I’m as terrified
as the firecracker traveling in a submarine
wondering if you're the lone torpedo
debating over it's reasons to explode
Hesitation.
drives us both insane, in the same direction.
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From here on in
where does it go from here on in?
this twilight - but a nervous delay
wouldn't you like to stay another second, son?
before this silence gets in our way
watch consequence, draped in flowing irony
with suspense, in it's most brutual renditions-
murdering every passing second slowly
we all talk but it's all the same
us poster boys for caricatures of an ignorant sin
rescue us, for we have sinned a dream,
and it's devouring us from deep within
take no chances son, fate is deadly,
it orchestrates a dilemma in a mesmerizing medley
remember, for all it takes is memory
to forget that the future is frivoulous and fake
let all your fires sleep in peace inside
abandon all those who are better left alone
the pathological liar in you is an excellent guide,
when you're travelling through emotions obscure and unknown
the world is not worthy of your tears, my child,
but it's changed by your anguish, and pain however mild
pick your questions with effortless care,
dare, for all you can do is dare,
and when the night snatches all blankets of hope,
wrench your lungs dry and throw punches in the air
then relax, because from there on in,
it's all despair,
it's all despair.
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