[Poem] A HATE POEM (Written About oneself)

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A HATE POEM (Written About oneself) 

 

Hey there! Walking with your head in the air

Looking down on us mere mortals with disdain

Do you really think you have the best brain? 

You swaggering, pompous know all

I’m forever plotting your downfall.

 

You nod at our jokes sagely

Then posit a theory airily

You were cottons and talk of abstinence

Shaming our silk ‘n’ gold with a cold countenance.

 

You jump up and take the mike

Whenever opportunity strikes

Then you sing, speak, put on an act

Don’t you have any tact?

Fooling others with your humble act -

But you don’t fool me 

 

I see through your ruses ‘n’ your subterfuges

You large weasel strutting about like a gazelle

Do you delude yourself that you’re fit for da Vinci’s easel?

Why do you dress up even to throw out the garbage

Like a film star at an inauguration, you cabbage?

You top heavy, arrogant, megalomaniac

I’m waiting to down you with a killer wisecrack.

[Poem] An AndAdi

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AndAdi –(Hindi -Anth + Adi) where a form / variation/ root of the ending word of the first line becomes the first word of the next line. This form has been long in use in Tamizh literature since the Sangam period.

AndAdi can be written composed either as couplets quatrains or longer pieces.  


 

Her heart grows restless

 Rest is a word from the past

Passing from childhood has made her truant

Truancy a badge youth prides

Pridefully she wore her beauty and youth

Youthful longings and pleasures she sought

Seekers easily find recalcitrant love

Love that thrives on the blood of innocence

Innocence, the sacrificial lamb of maturity

Mature though she grew yet she pines for the ravager

Ravaging lips that plundered her body endlessly

Endless tugs at her earlobes, restless the serpent explored

Exploring, his voice grew hoarse, “I love you!” he said

Sayings have a way of winning tremulous hearts over

Overhead an angel shed tears as he envisioned her pain

Painful was the moment when he left without a word

Wordlessly she watched his indifferent retreat

Retreating into a shell the girl is now a shadow of herself

Self-destruction who do the youth seek it out eagerly?

Eager as moths that rush towards flames hastening their deaths?

[Poem] Comance (Romance) in Rorona (Corona) mites(times)

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It was quite a tall task to write a poem using pun, malapropisms and spoonerisms.

 

 

Comance (Romance) in Rorona (Corona) mites(Times)

The poached cotato that hibernates in the sofa rises

Examines its surroundings in profusion (confusion)

Proceeds to the kitchen eager for a solution

That morning delusion - the pancake(panacea) for all ills-

Ambles in without a preamble.

Non greeting, non hugging, grunting, tapping

The shemale inversed (immersed) in music and

Demands accusingly “Where’s my coffee?”

“It will come!” she thunders from a music infused ear

Though she often thunders from empty headphones.

They are magnates (magnets) in north pole.

He lingers.

 

Looking askance at his countenance she misreads the presence.

She does a break dance-

Jiggles, wiggles, tickles his knuckles - he stumbles, fumbles.

Grabs her waist - mid stance.

She regards the eye of her guy

Eagerly. The beaver plonks her down - the killer joy.(Kill joy)

 

“Break fast!” He mouths pronouncedly.

“Compost ...err... bread toast!” she shouts.

There escapes a snort from a seething snout. The hulk ambles off in a huff.

There goes my russet potato manacle clad ( A spinoff of Shakespeare’s famous line Look the morn in russet mantle clad) she muses, sighs and retreats.

Dead meat trapped in lives dead beat.

[Ekphrastic Poem] Bruno Catelano's Sculpture

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PROMPT

Art cannot be divided into sections and often one flows into the other. Painters may use a great work of literature as their theme while poets can be inspired by paintings and sculptures.

This is a sculpture by a

  modern sculptor, Bruno Catalano. Bruno Catalano (born :-1960 - ), is a French sculptor, most renowned for creating sculptures of figures with substantial sections missing.

He has created life -size bronze sculptures, called, ' Les Voyageurs'. The one here is called, 'Fragments' and is located in Venice, Italy.

 

 

THE REFUGEE

He takes the plunge

Into impossible waters

Hounded by a greater fear

Carrying nothing but a few belongings in a blue bag

A truckload of memories

A tome of suffering, of loved ones

Left behind or are long gone. 

 

Caught between the devil

And the deep sea

He finds solace in its embrace

He is the fleeing refugee

Having nothing more to lose

Death in a choppy sea is solace

It will permanently erase all memory

But fate always has a different plan.

 

Casting him ashore in an alien land

It even saves his blue bag

Will he survive?

Will life be any different?

Will be questions that rise and fall

Like sea waves

A shadow of his former self emerges

Grows in stature as hope rises

It grows, it glows -

A faith reinforcing conflagration.

[Poem] Some Thoughts on Forgiveness

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If you haven’t sinned at all

But you're told “I forgive you”

Would it offend?

I suppose it would.

Not only that -

It would incite indignation

And open the doors to be forgiven in turn.

What of the juvenile

Who was absolved of a brutal rape/murder?

Who walks free today?

Condoned on account of his age

Does the condonation suggest

That he hasn’t done any wrong at all?

Will the mother ever forgive or forget?

Forgiveness is a myth

As long memory exists

Despite all the coaxing to move on

It lies somewhere

An inert dog in the sun

Who suddenly wakes and bark.