Mist and fog,
Cough and cold,
Blanket and fires,
Badminton and shuttle cock.
Winter is of flowers,
Marigolds, dahlias,
Chrysanthemums, sunflowers,
Poppies, calendulas, actors,
Zinnias, peutinias, salvias.
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A druggie,
Or a visionary?
Walt Whitman as a poet is of the United States of America
A poet of the States and Americanism,A vagabond and a trampHe sings of America and the American people,Welcoming and greeting all,Acknowledging the contribution of all,Even going beyond it.A singer of heart, he sings soulfully,Of the self and the soul,The Oversoul,Ever present in our consciousness,The Inspiration Behind,What is past is past,Let us mould the futureSo that…
Khortha bhasha ke
Ek prakrit apabhransha bhasha cchikeJe rakam maihili, bhojpuri, magadhi cche,Khortha angika bhi cchike,Bangla se bhi yukta cche.Khortha languageCall it Nagapuri or Angika or Ccheccha,Is a Prakrit broken languageJust like Maithili, Bhojpuri, Magadhi,Khortha is but Angkia,Linked with Bengali.
I do not understand,
Who a rock star,Who a jazz star?Somebody says itThat he a disco jockey,A DJ man,But I know it not,What am I?What star am IAfter all?
Green Earth
I think aboutAs our existenceIs connected with it?Your PhotographyThe photographer said it,Smile please,Keep you smilingAnd smiled heHearing the words.EtiquetteSorry, sir,How it healed me,I cannot say it?Poor Mother, Poor Baby GirlAt the stationI saw the poor baby girlSucking the breastOf the poor motherSo miserable and weakIn appearance.Teardrops had driedOn the cheeksOf the childLooking so piteously.
If you had to,
Divorce,Divorce her,Why,Why did you?Did youDo the drama,The drama of love and loving?Is to love to divorceIf you had not to keep her,Keep her?Why did you,Did you love,Why did youPersuade her?Breaking her,Can you be,Can you be happyAnd if you can be, go and re-marry youSome another girl?
on the ground,
breaking thin arms of twisting branches,
and then howls
on the north side of the Black Mesa
a deep, throaty laughter.
Because of him
we have to sell our cattle
that rake snow for stubble.
Having lived his whole life
in a few weeks,
slow and pensive he walks away,
dragging his silver-stream shield
down branches
and over the ground,
he keeps walking slowly away
into death
bravely.
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for Pat and Victorio
wire hooves to shed beams,and sink blade in neck wool,’til the gray eyes drain of lifelike cold pure waterfrom a tin pail.(It kicked, choking on nasal blood,liquid gasping coughsspattered blood over me.)Slit down belly, scalp rug-woolskin away, pinch wool backwith blade to pink flesh, ssst ssst ssstinch by inch, then I slingwhole carcass in bloody…
Portate bien,
I behaved myselfwhen others were warm in winterand I stood out in the cold.I behaved myself when others had full platesand I stared at them hungrily,never speaking out of turn,existing in a shell of good white behaviorwith my heart a wet-featheredbird growing but never able to crack out of the shell.Behaving like a good boy,my…
I feel foolish,
when I run by them.Those robins do not have the grand style of the red tailed hawk,no design, no dream, just robins acting stupid.They’ve never smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey, consumed drugsas I have.In their mindlessfluttering aboutfilled with nonsense,they tell me how theylove the Great Spirit,scold me not to be self-pitying,to open my lifeand make this…
I see Senora Sanchez
Black catfishpop the silverwater surface,waves unrollas the gnarledbronze face andblack eyesremembercool sea shellsand warm turquoise,the turkey gobblingbehind bushes,and the red skirthanging on boughsas she bathed….She pulls her black sweatersnug around her, folded armsacross her stomach.She who rememberscannot say amenbut smiles to sunriseas she walks through the grass,&nb sp; &nbs p; ; the tall,&nbs p; ; green grass,grass…
Twenty-eight shotgun pellets
I gently thumb each burnt bead,fingering scabbed stubs with ointment.Could have neutered me, made extinctthe volatile, romantic man I am.“He’s dead,”doctor at emergency roomcould’ve easily told my wife that night.Instead, “Soak him in a bath twice a day. Applythis ointment to the sores. Here’s a month’s supplyof pain killers.” I remember the deep guttural groanI…
The blackbird sits
Ready toSqueal his gutsWhere?
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Shivering, tethering, fluttering
Time see off the sun
Heating, waving, stretching
Warm, light
Summer
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The broken wings of
Surprise feast for ants.Fallen from his dreamsreached realities,now working harder.with shattered love life,she took human services,many lives salvaged.
I felt like itching on the back
I showed it to doctor, no skin rash, no rednessNothing he said, then what is happening and why?I prayed to Almighty! Please save me from thisAnd in my dream, I saw two friends taking about meAnd whenever they talked bad, it itched meI got up from sleep, could this be the reason!As the day opened…
Life is a circus of tryst
I perform exercises to remainI do stunts to entertainI have no choice but to followwhat fate has decided for me to swallow.Inside my heart I see all hollow.No one is there to understand my sorrow.I envied my colleague the jokerthinking they live their life the king sizebut of course their mind does the exercisebehind their…
In my agony and your ecstasy of love.
Life arena becomes the battlefield with tug of warWhichever side the rope gets pulled, war is on again.
a fall from the top
swift at the bottom
I wonder on loss of innocence to technology today
Why micro moments filled with gadgets and iphones?Why storybooks are lying in the shelves?Kids say, books are too long to readthey have seen in video games and cartoon movies!They refer to youtube, google when asked for somethingAll assignments are done by mere search.Modern Tolstoy’s life is like a chat room,hundreds of friends on the three…