'yearn to hear themselves heard' :clap: Keep writing!
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'yearn to hear themselves heard' :clap: Keep writing!
Meanings, meanings and meanings make all the difference!!!
:ty: RR
Indeed they do PP Maam :D
Unseen clouds
race across the fields
their shadowy wisps
darken the skies.
Quickly colliding
bubbling, brewing
foaming, frothing
their sombre countenances
quiver with unshed anticipation.
Rolling, roiling, they rumble
silvering shards sparkle
heeding the silent pleas
of the
Unquenched
Earth.
>their sombre countenances
>quiver with unshed anticipation.
superb, Querida!
Ah! It is going to rain! Poetic preparations!!!:-D
Thank you RR, your encouragement is very much appreciated. :)
Enjoy the rain for me PP Maam, as of now I only have the icier version to contend with :)
lovely! :clap:Quote:
Originally Posted by Querida
Thamizh! :D A wonderful surprise to hear your comments, :ty:
The Wind brought to her ear
a rustling arrival,
whispering its caution
and blowing her eyes shut...
"I have known you once before"
replied the faceless voice.
That was another time of blindness
in which she had the eyes of many
but could not see beyond herself...
Her fingertips traced
the new born petals
Of silky snow-white lilies
star-lighting the soft crushed velvet.
Once again to be taken away
So that another may see
What she envisioned
on the dark canvas
Of her dimly veined lids.
Her messengers remained
her nimble fingers and
the wedded thread and needle.
“Surely you must know me.”
The voice persisted...
With curdled eyes
she peered...
The Wind
hesitantly dragged
the gasp that had escaped
shushing and stirring
begrudgingly dismayed
at its duty.
Pathos!----
Why Q? I have always been following your poems :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Querida
I know Thamizh, for that I am very lucky :D
but all the same, it's great to see a comment from you too :)
I
All it needs is
a breathing being
who happens to look in
and becomes rooted
curious as to how
it thinks
without creating an action
it sees
without gaining an understanding
it feels
without ever knowing another
it lives
without ever knowing why...
II
Peering in
I see a wondrous
machine at work
how tidily it does
what it supposedly
wishes to do
no master
that commands
no mistress
that demands
no minions
of its own
to instruct
and yet it
works on
with a purpose
and turns
blink, blinking
its red button eyes
twink, twinkling
and i know
for some odd reason
it's think, thinking.
What a paradox! A being supposed to have the thinking capacity does not use it and a machine that does not has it seems like using it!!!
:D Yes PP Maam...originally it was only the first part...but it seemed to not illustrate the "paradox" as you say, as clearly :)
Can also read I from machine's pov.
plain and simple
he concludes
he knows the answers
before they are spoken
"Is it my fault that
I hear what I want
when I make up
my own replies?"
plain and simple
she decides
I will not speak
unless spoken to,
tried of all these
hints and clues
I'll just scream
inside my head.
plain and simple
from the outside
turmoil winning
on the inside
not knowing what to say
not hearing what wants to be heard
both sit mute
fearing fear
no other
sensible
thought
wishes
to be
near.
What a funny predicament!
Indeed Maam! Ego often clouds the eyes!
Maia glances all around her
from her little place
she can see the
shimmering lines
of connections
some glimmer
with familiarity
some faded
and muted yet
all the same
they stay
in association
with her
does everyone
know everything
about me
all that only some
know....is it possible
that they know
the same allies
that I once knew
and therefore
all that I know
is known to all
that I know
and whatof all
the ones they
know?
Maia
fretting away
finds
The subtle
pull and tug
is no longer
subtle
but strong
as try as she might
to struggle
to stir and move
away she
is alas
stuck
glued to
her placement
her spot
her designated
safety trap
within the
social web.
I spy her
trudging along
as if
her pom-pom pastel boots
are made of cement and stone.
every few steps she
lightly stumbles
as if waiting for a push.
as if bracing for a fall.
her face is painted,
brightly, boldly
a mask of conformity.
a mask of feigned bravery.
her designer bag
swings jauntily
from her clutched
hand.
her scarf swirls
with the wind
like
a haphazard dervish.
her dark mane
all tendrils and tentacles
with a life of its own.
her cottoned fingers
push sluggishly
at her sludgey-heavy hair.
her shadow is but a little scrap of a girl.
the wind pushes her swaying to and fro.
but the wind is relentless in its
tossing of her shadow
whirling, twirling
violently yanked up
and thrown down
it crumbles
to be raggedly pulled up again
helpless it seems, unheedful and yet willing...
much like the last leaf to have fallen from the trees
its companions long gone
rained and snowed upon
mashed all, into the wet
and slushy soiled ground.
Time in trying
to burnish this heart
noticed no matter what
the seams still showed
the cracks still faintly glowed
All the darkness had been drained
and the edges all glued with hope
And still,
obstinate
it remained
resolute
in its
flaws.
Beautiful imagery!
Maam, thank you for your comments as always :)
If you are referring to "I spy her" then it's quite close to reality and so it helped me be specific
reading it over now, though not a proper "blazon du corps" style, there's still something of it... :D
You are right, Q!
a palpable taste
staley, moldish
it rests fuzzily
upon the tongue
and secludes itself
in the nostrils
insinuating itself
in throat lumps
the flowers try
to distract the eyes
the incense
reveals a too-thin veil
the tears do no good
their salt does not whet
the appetite of the
living conscience
the eyes do nothing
but look and look away
see and then attempt
gather its remembrances
its instances spent
with this being
but the self immersion
of such glimpses into
a life lived
do no more
than make the
reality of the body
unpossessed
any less real
or un-alive in its
final place
of viewing
before it is
destroyed...
for whose sake
but those who
still breathe free
who hasten
to forget
memento mori.
A meaningful and touching dirge!
Startled i catch
my reflection
its shadow appears
slowly flitting,
settling uneasily.
Stepping aside
i see my dampened aura
lazily play catch up.
The room once again
lays disorderly
a table leg quivers
a chair turns.
the ants continue to swarm
colluding, confiding
in whatever it is that's rotting
something still awaits to
announce itself
its stench is lost to me.
Do they know of their doom
of the broom that looms
their scattered demise in one fall swoop
a fatal brush,
a bristled death.
I look away
let them crawl away
let their beady bodies
cluster in clues
another time
"Now why did I put that there?"
I muse loudly
(Not, how did that get there?)
the stirrings cease for the moment.
it has to be me, i cling to this.
(Not, how did it end up there?)
for is there ever an end?
at the precipice
a word strains to hold on
repeating its sound
as it is pulled down
by its fellow phrases
sentenced to a sentence.
all alone it makes no sense
it signficance long fallen
in to the cloudy depths
of the listless Lethe
i hear it as it fades
"what was that you wanted to say?"
the mind shrugs and wanders away.
Beautiful imagery!
The Inevitable
what will be
will believed
into being
what does not
has not
what cannot
should not
doors stay locked
windows stay shut
a pit yawns ever closer
paranoid!?
the scorching sands beckon
tiring of camel appetizers
the ever sporadic nomadic
creatures burrow through burials
seeking refuge in the bones
long tossed away
and spat haphazard
it waits to consume
a being
fresh in its naivete
ripe in its optimism
still tasting of tender youth and
milky sweet innocence
a wandering fool
well guarded
and concealed
well fed
and congealed
with the hopes of
an adventure.
:frightened:
simply because of such and such
a rumoured touch
a faltering clutch
a faulty crutch
it amounts to much too much
the colours run and jostle
wetly spewing rivulets of
glossy gasoline hues
caught up in the spin
lazily foaming
inky bubbles
the vestments
dizzy and damp
blend into
a sheet of clear
washed clean
of purpose
Washing machine?
Yes was doing loads and loads of laundry when penning this one :mrgreen:
though it's quite silly to wish all soiled clothes to become one pristine sheet...it felt about right at that moment.
celestial sparks
shooting through
a meticulous midnight.
a sprinkle in time
a twinkle of eye.
the untread
snow
brightly lit
with a lavender glow.
there trudges a tired soul
its hopes in tow
searching for a way to believe
that there is such a thing
as home.
Bewildered beings in the wild
entangled in the sinews
of a much beaten trail
tread by countless others
some lead nowhere
others lead where many
can only admire from afar
questioning their sanity
admiring how far fate let them stray
many more still traveling
begrudgingly staying on task
foolishly crowing their deeds
others await in the dark
for their promised
Judgment day