a nightly soirée

night-fishing-at-antibes-1939

Night Fishing at Antibes, 1939 by Pablo Picasso

words enveloping a slight breeze,
igniting curious forms – electric flowers,
dilapidated furnishings –
in this white expanse of high-
rises, and low lying lives (living lies),

words holding aloft meaningless
outlines to my structure, night
breathing its sonorous sounds
of cackling, ravishing through me –

i see gyrating epiphanies
of dahlias and pigeons mating,
of rain falling on the clouds,
bursting spectacles on the ground,
the predators prancing in a loss
of the timidity, of their own flesh.

dreams dreaming themselves
in a dreamscape verse – white doves
fluttering like paper, striking sun,
deepening gashes, of scarlet-violet
thickening into crystal lies (one disguise),

dreams holding fictions apart
from an unlikely truth-like reverie,
and drinking evening dews made of
spider silk, cactuses, subservient me –

i feel the voices of the dead
in my brown breast, thumping
steps of journeys, bound by
ringlets of faith, on the bodies
singled out in their own ecstasy,
of a rigidity, of their own levity.

~

it is a nightly soirée of handsome faces –

dark mouths,
darker eyes,
light dreams,
lighter skies.

.

For With Real Toads’ Weekend Challenge; also linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU

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an evening reverie (ii)

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signaling the day-end is a light
soft to touch, sweet in its flavor, dark
in its attire, wiping smiles and words
from my ramshackle lips  – empty eyes

carrying in its hold wry remembrance,
it tricks me by wind-woven fingers,
playing with a velvet shadow, blue-green
in color, smooth dew-leaves in temper.

.

Image source
(Anticipation of the evening coolness by Nikolai Taidakov)

Edit: Linking it up with Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

the undertaking that a poem is

who saw that slithering liaison in the bushes?
it creeps forth as the moonlit sky grows dubious
of the possibility of its own virtue,
slyly, the sun peeks from the edges of a sight’s view,

a cuckolding cockerel rises and crows, an arrival
of a distant beam breaking the sweat of a dark cloud,
and a nice plumage hovers in the air
brightened by the prospect of that tantalizing warmth,

the stomach heaves, the chest sinks, and the velvet
dimension vibrates with that noise yet again,
there’s movement, there’s a curtain swaying
desperate now to be flung apart, and show the scene

of this instant, this momentary lapse of that beastly
no-man, clawing across the white that pervades
on my page, small prints emerge, the purity fades
and from nothingness, a poem springs forth, clinging

to the nature’s call, go on, go on, ask again, see again,
die again, but for a word that memorizes the soul,
and there’s light, and there’s lethargy in the voice
of that fiend, perhaps it’s the end with a final dot.

.

Linking it up with Weekend Mini Challenge at With Real Toads and Poets United.

a semblance of sanity

unbound,
a fanged sun appears in the sky,
spewing light that digs into the skin,
forming crevices of an uninhibited tomorrow.

it’s an initiation, a baptism from the past
as little kid fingers hold you apart
from the lethal essence of your own myth.

I bite my own tail, unbound, I see faith
in spontaneity raveling from its burrow,
I hear the rustle of the grass beneath my feet.

hunched back, I stand for the venomous kiss,
light draws caricatures on my face,
waiting, I stand, hunched back

for all that comes when the blood freezes over,
and the lips turn blue,

I beget death so that I can live.
I beget chaos so that life fulfills.

unbound,
the fanged sun pierces the scales
of my existence.

.
Linking it up with With Real Toads.
The legends of America describe the snake totem with following terms: “Impulsive, primal energy, shrewdness, rebirth, transformation, initiation, and wisdom”.

I made a post today particularly because of this :

blog

acquiesce

 

nature1

when the light spilled out in the open,
I took a pause, my stride halted in that pulse
as they moved ahead,

his curls were visible in the crowd and her
pacified smile,
it was when the dark and light conquered
each other that I knew of those punctured
holes in my chest, I acknowledged my skin
in its composite radiance…

the distance covered itself, and holding hands
became arbitrary to my nature of resistance,

and letting my fingers entangled in her locks,

I saw to it that I would need, I would be human,
I would want to be found.

when the light spilled out in the open,
my heart was wrenched out of my open self,
and my bloodied hands traced the curves
of my laughter as its thunder boomed
against the sky, and the savage sun
spilled more light,
and the wailing winds fell into my eyes.

it was Elpis that rose from that gaping
hole, a new birth of dying, an old ending
to the origin of life,

open –

they saw the light.

.

For Poets United Midweek Motif.

Caught unaware on the camera… A picture of mine

I encased a picture of mine, old and yet not so,

within the flourishing shades and hues of dark,

and brightened my presence, to be coalescing

with the background, of winding waters of sea,

to let people contemplate me, of yesterday,

those whose eyes never locate me today,

.

an entity forgot, I am a background myself

and thus what they see, is what they get from me,

a smile that was never to be, never turning up

on my oblivious face, gazing away from lens,

through which the light of me, sneaked inside

the mechanical coils of the camera, and

.

unbeknownst, the shutter closed… tchk-ek …

I swim, flow in ivory blue gale of that juncture,

I add without any regard, without discerning

if it is there in me, the light which fled from

my serenading meditation over distant lands,

and dyed with my shadows, an impression of mine

.

Much of it is based on my new Gravatar. This is a slightly formatted version of a photograph clicked unbeknownst to me; from a little far away through zooming by my sister.

Image source