A Teenager’s Angst

Summers, vacations

Are real and uncertain

Lives start and end here

Face

tonight
a much-desired homelessness
pulls at my heart strings – some nostalgia –
as the moon violates our privacy

see those conniving windows
yield to breezy coercion
leaving me more desirous
of this strange vulnerability

your face – it is heavenly –
a glassy reflection so divine
i can only imagine the glory
when Moses descended Sinai

tonight, May ends
yesterday the rains found strength
those strange hot winds could not but uphold
the beauty of your countenance

Just What If….

Today’s guest post is from my adorable “weirdo” Amity. 🙂 I just love her writes. They leave you thinking and wondering….who really is Amity? And when you think you’ve begun to understand, she wows you by introducing her alien friends (her muses I suppose), who often decide if, when and what she writes. 🙂

Don’t we just love Amity?

Messieurs et dames, here is Amity, doing what she knows to do best – wow us. 🙂

Just What If….

What if black was really white and white green?
Would it make a difference?
Would the black mamba be as gentle as a dove?

What if the sky was green and grasses blue?
Would it change the force of nature?
Would the sun wither in season?

What if your skin was red and mine pink?
Would we love more?
Would there be peace in the world?

What if the rainbow was colourless and the butterflies grey?
Would the rain still know when to stop?
Would life still be beautiful?

Just what if…?

Vision Not For All

Vision is not a possession of all.
It belongs only to those
Who allow their minds
The grace of wild flight
Wings that wander to other worlds
A restlessness to be quelled
Only on finding the right answers.

 

 

PS: I’m trying my hands at Visual Poetry. There’s still a lot to learn and the above is my baby step. I know there’s a lot to discover. Wish me well.

Bridge Of Compromise – A dialogue

Subject A: Compromise is the bridge that we build to acknowledge the fact that our differences stand us apart, yet are no excuse to remain in isolated vanity. When we connect,  the chasm closes, rifts fade and between points of view, classes, cultures, ages and generations, we lose ourselves yet find a new self.

Subject B: True. But I do not wish to find this new self if I must become less good that I might make you less evil. What benefit can the dilution of good achieve?

Moderator (Zika): Dear reader, what do you think of the subject? I’d like to know your thoughts.☺

The Meter, The Measure

A hill is a hill
Because the valley exists
But for low plains
The highlands would deny their name
I am tall
For the reason that you are short
The blackness of me indistinct
If you weren’t so white
We must coexist
Else be nonexistent
True identities fade
Where interdependence is ignored
You are my yardstick
Much as I must be the measure
The meter by which you must shine
That shine that’s so divine

Seek, Knock, Ask

It seems to me sometimes that
The reason why I find
Is that I might seek yet again

And the door is opened
That I might knock yet again

It seems I receive
That I might ask yet some more

Not for the good of one
But for the good of more
For your grace suffices for me

I’ll Save This

I’ll save this tear for that  final day.
When I will call and you will not answer
My last respects I’ll dutifully pay
I’ll sing of the dirge to the last stanza

I’ll save this laugh for that final day
Just in case you call and I do not answer
My dues I hope I dutifully pay
With grace my reward
In time to be bestowed

Things I’ve Always Known

Blue and yellow make green
As if you didn’t know
As if I’ve never known
In the mélange
Of low spirits and jealousy
Is there a resulting envy, pray tell?
White and black make grey
This is no fact
Of which you know not
If transparency or the sanctity thereof
Were tainted by opacity
And the darkness thereof
Would there be a resulting grey area?
The shrouded mystery thereof?
Why red is akin to danger
The sense of foreboding
And quickly embraced by love
And all in its coffers
Again I cannot tell
What color seems to me to be
Is what it’s not to you
It’s certain that the thoughts of man
Inventions of his mind
Can all hold true whate’er the clime
This I’ve not always known

Dear Inkhorn

Image: plagueofdissent.wordpress.com

Dear Inkhorn, I would
Indeed that I could
Be some more verbose
With long-winding prose

Be less of a poet
No more of these couplets
These simplistic quatrains
I bid thee restrain

Alas then dear Inkhorn
That would leave me forlorn
For when I’m no poet
I find that I’m not