—–SLYBARD—–"Perhaps no person can be a poet, or even enjoy poetry, without a certain UNSOUNDNESS of mind."
My Muse thus guides this feeble hand to con old topics as Swift did in his time; and perhaps I shall be chanced to write much better verse…Archive for Budding Rose
After ‘Objects of insane desire’
I’ve been infected.It’s called Writers block.
When I have some sleep to spare,I listen to BBC dramas.They are awesome.I remember most of the one’s I’ve listened to but some, like Objects of insane desire stick out.It was aired in 2005 or thereabouts.
It’s only mighty fair to say
“Thanks” in sweet breath,
when Fate brings a play,
behind which a mind of a congenial genius.
Like that would have it,
the stars do portend,
perhaps out of habit,
so short this unintended lyric to end.
Budding Rose
Final lap
Ladies and gentlemen,boys and girls,mothers and fathers…I am back!
I wrote this about 3 years ago.It portrays exactly what am going through right now.Thanks y’all for the encouraging comments you left for my previous post.
Here upon this windy beach,
created in my mind with mounds of stitch,
my goals are within reach.
Here upon this windy beach,
where nothing is short of rich,
life is far from my niche.
With my success nigh,
I try hard not to cry
the tears of joy in my eye
but instead reach out for the sky.
Dream
Dealing with one’s Muse,especially when they’ve just returned from a vacation is as easy as mentally calculating the square root of a nine digit number,in say,under a minute.
This is the only poem I’ve written on dreams and the style is experimental.
Dreams are real!
Delight of the night;
Delusion in the dark:
Daisy in the Dreamland dale.
Raise my hopes an inch!
Ramble of the brain,
Regress my life;
Relax my tired soul.
End my despair!
Escapade in my sleep,
Elucidate my destiny;
Engulf my worst fears.
Antsy I’m for you!
Apprise me of tomorrow.
Accomplished you are;
Authenticate yourself.
Meanderings of the brain;
Mender among menders;
Mystery yet unsolved:
Muddled I remain.
Personality
Back in time again.Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff.Let’s get into something more serious,mature and reflective.This is supposed to be part of my second mini-anthology Budding Rose.We’re still stuck in my teenage poetry.
What dwells in the heart,
Rolls off the tongue.
What rolls off the tongue,
Slithers across the lips.
What wonders through the eyes,
Dwells in the mind.
What dwells in the mind,
Makes you who you are.
What passes through the ears,
Lodges in the brain.
What lodges in the brain,
Comes off your tongue.
What touches your skin,
Lingers in the heart.
What lingers in the heart,
Propels you to do what you do.
What enters your nose,
Is etched on your memory.
What is etched on your memory,
Shows itself in you.
What enters your inside,
Lives there.
What lives there,
Comes out often
And reflects what you are like inside.
First impressions?
I wrote this poem when I was 16.It’s one of my older stuff.I just want to find out what comments it attracts so I can revise it accordingly.
Did it hurt much,
when you left Heaven?
Did God mount a search,
for one missing of the seven?
Where,Nightingale, did you perch,
that made you so even?
Your dad must be a terrorist,
because you are the bomb.
No wonder I can not resist,
staring at you, fair lamb.
Are you by any chance sorry,
that you r driving me crazy?
Horizon
Once I looked at the horizon
and, for all I know wished I were lifeless.
Chance had hooked me a horror zone;
sand on a shore, I was sighless!
Today, at the horizon, I looked again
and saw a smile play on his lips.
To say,”ho! rise on” I booked a gain:
land sore from a mile of what he rips!
Tomorrow, I know he will smile,
yet to free me from the rain.
To borrow a Pharaoh’s mile,
get to see me from the pain.
He may then have a laugh;
delay when he thinks I’ve had enough.
But please keep on laughing till you can not!
BLIND SERENADE
In all that word’s can’t tell,
the feelings that we can’t quell,
lie a thousand and one sighs.
Am a bird singing in May
but my feathers are in disarray.
never again do i want to bewail
for Fate’s exclusion on a love sail.
it could be another tale
of Romeo and Juliet washed down the dale.
