I heard singing from the mouth of ears
I saw things thronging, going south for years
Brought my song singing to the river of tears
I heard singing from the mouth of ears
I saw winging slings in quivering fears
Held counsel with great men and seers
Who said somethings wrong
When I said what? they sneered
When I heard singing from the mouth of ears
I brought my wrong to the sandy shores
Shored my heart like a boat with oars
Heard my bong beat foxes, shoot boars
As my dogs run on through the woodland wars
I saw the birds flock and stir
In the sky, full of stockings and pearls
Whirling above the currents that curl
When I heard the song from the River of the World
The mouth was open, but it could not speak
The ears were wide but to hear they were weak
And it ran on, I did not listen to the creak
Of the doors that open, every day of the week
Every minute the river is talking to us
Every wave that is broken
Each one made whole in trust
Like messages spoken
It's sent with love
Let it wash its token
Its voice's calm hush
Friday, 2 November 2018
River Song
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Friday, 19 October 2018
Moon song
There's a big moon rising
like a pale horse in the swamp
There's a dead moon rising
Like the bones of those I've loved
There's a new moon rising
In the ashes of the heavens above
There's sad moon rising
Saying what it needs to say
About the sun and its horizon
At the closing of the day
There's a faint star and its sparkling
In the crystal clear dark night
Far from all the fighting
Of the tribes of wrong and right
like a pale horse in the swamp
There's a dead moon rising
Like the bones of those I've loved
There's a new moon rising
In the ashes of the heavens above
There's sad moon rising
Saying what it needs to say
About the sun and its horizon
At the closing of the day
There's a faint star and its sparkling
In the crystal clear dark night
Far from all the fighting
Of the tribes of wrong and right
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Saturday, 13 October 2018
Love poem
You know I'm sad to say it, and it is probably true
There are no two ways of it
I fell in love with you
They know it in the fields, as they go about their work
Even making hay with it, its like the shadow of a hawk
The cat and mouse play of it, sad but its true
There's a brick wall made of it
I fell off it into you
Some may rant and rave of it
Some may stand and queue
But I can't afford to wait for it
So I fell in love with you
The turkey's run away with it
The roosters always crew
So I thought I'd make a day of it
When I fell in love with you
I'm standing in the green grass
But above the sky is blue
And the sun is golden as a gas
Lamp burning love for you
I've run the clock, and turned the stile
Stuck between a rock and a hard place for a while
I've seen a face longing for a smile
Then in an act of grace, I was lifted from the pile
There are not too many times
I can say I knew
But when you feel it in your veins
You know it must be true
Call at my door, listen for the chime
It rings one time or maybe two
Then you answer and guessing game is through
The opportunity is taken
The bird's wing is broken
But once it flew
I will keep it not as a token
Just as a promise left unspoken
Or some secret I know is true
When I fell in love with you
There are no two ways of it
I fell in love with you
They know it in the fields, as they go about their work
Even making hay with it, its like the shadow of a hawk
The cat and mouse play of it, sad but its true
There's a brick wall made of it
I fell off it into you
Some may rant and rave of it
Some may stand and queue
But I can't afford to wait for it
So I fell in love with you
The turkey's run away with it
The roosters always crew
So I thought I'd make a day of it
When I fell in love with you
I'm standing in the green grass
But above the sky is blue
And the sun is golden as a gas
Lamp burning love for you
I've run the clock, and turned the stile
Stuck between a rock and a hard place for a while
I've seen a face longing for a smile
Then in an act of grace, I was lifted from the pile
There are not too many times
I can say I knew
But when you feel it in your veins
You know it must be true
Call at my door, listen for the chime
It rings one time or maybe two
Then you answer and guessing game is through
The opportunity is taken
The bird's wing is broken
But once it flew
I will keep it not as a token
Just as a promise left unspoken
Or some secret I know is true
When I fell in love with you
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Love Song
Freedom is the great retainer,
Bold new reasons for a justified remainer
Earning crust in a lip less land
Where lovers walk hand in hand
Sharks and storks, stalk the sand
Following currents of words
Following currents of words
And grape vines of news
Berries like snippets of information
Pipettes of a muse
Love is pigeons freed
And tying me up
Only to let me go
Love are the dying leaves
On the pavement
Where builders have scored
Their lines in old cement
For plans of ill pursuit
Plans of ill pursuit
Love is the I
The spit in the Eye
That makes you get up and try
Some more each morning
It is the bitterness of dawn
When you realize she's not there
Or when you forget she was even there
Or when money surrounds your thoughts like sharks in a calm lagoon
Spoiling your fun
Like pricking your thumb
On the needle of the loom
Like focusing on the sun
With one
Eye on the moon
Hoping it will work out one day when you're too old
To climb a dune
Like in an American movie
Where they all eat apple pie
But they never show the apple pickers
Nor the millers working
Their fingers to the bone
To give you flour in your home
For 5 cents an hour
Down in old Mexico
Hollywood sweet bread rules the
City arcades
It is in the faces of the charades
The hopes of young girls and boys
Who would have been better off playing with toys
Than joining the real world so soon
Bold new reasons for a justified remainer
Earning crust in a lip less land
Where lovers walk hand in hand
Sharks and storks, stalk the sand
Following currents of words
Following currents of words
And grape vines of news
Berries like snippets of information
Pipettes of a muse
Love is pigeons freed
And tying me up
Only to let me go
Love are the dying leaves
On the pavement
Where builders have scored
Their lines in old cement
For plans of ill pursuit
Plans of ill pursuit
Love is the I
The spit in the Eye
That makes you get up and try
Some more each morning
It is the bitterness of dawn
When you realize she's not there
Or when you forget she was even there
Or when money surrounds your thoughts like sharks in a calm lagoon
Spoiling your fun
Like pricking your thumb
On the needle of the loom
Like focusing on the sun
With one
Eye on the moon
Hoping it will work out one day when you're too old
To climb a dune
Like in an American movie
Where they all eat apple pie
But they never show the apple pickers
Nor the millers working
Their fingers to the bone
To give you flour in your home
For 5 cents an hour
Down in old Mexico
Hollywood sweet bread rules the
City arcades
It is in the faces of the charades
The hopes of young girls and boys
Who would have been better off playing with toys
Than joining the real world so soon
Labels:
America,
Brexit,
Relationships
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Thursday, 13 September 2018
Chicken stew
Chicken Stew, chicken stew
Mix it up, make it pew
Kneel down and give the offering
Like a priest for the proffering
Heal the soul
Chicken body
Legs patrol the earth
Lift the chicken up to God
Hold its wings and see it nod
This is what you were born to
Chicken stew your soul
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
Which to choose breast or leg?
Which witch cooked
Which beggar begged?
For chicken stew hen pecked or pegged
Hang it up
Cut it down
Like a cup
Turned upside down
Empty contents over the floor
The chicken pecks the grain some more
Grain of whisky
Grain of field
Grain of wind
Of piece meal
Grain of gleaners
Bowing low, humble cleaners
Thoughts in tow
Chicken stew for your soul
Mix it up, make it pew
Kneel down and give the offering
Like a priest for the proffering
Heal the soul
Chicken body
Legs patrol the earth
Lift the chicken up to God
Hold its wings and see it nod
This is what you were born to
Chicken stew your soul
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
Which to choose breast or leg?
Which witch cooked
Which beggar begged?
For chicken stew hen pecked or pegged
Hang it up
Cut it down
Like a cup
Turned upside down
Empty contents over the floor
The chicken pecks the grain some more
Grain of whisky
Grain of field
Grain of wind
Of piece meal
Grain of gleaners
Bowing low, humble cleaners
Thoughts in tow
Chicken stew for your soul
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Monday, 10 September 2018
The Webdings of Yu Mincho Demibold -the writing is on the wall
I want to see Calibri's body
I want to meet Arial
Or Times New Roman marching down
Fleet Street with all the journalists in a bow
Tell me about Agent FB
I
wish I could meet such an exciting guy
Or Lucinda without her unicode
She should have passed it on by now
Perhaps Bahnschrift passed it to
Baskerville Old Face
He was hounding Bauhaus 93
He wanted an autograph
But left in some disgrace
After Dante and the Engravers MT
I would like to lie with Georgia Pro Black
Or wrestle with Goudy Stout
Tell me how long will Miriam
Be fixed on Narkisim
Will it be ad Perpetua?
Before Poor Richard Shouts
And we all knew Rockwell was Extra bold
When he wrote in Italics
To Sitka Small
But she was not meek, no not at all
When after a week
She wrote the Univers condensed on the wall
You see Verdana Pro Semibold
was christened in the font
and named Yu Gothic
In wide Latin
But what got everybody's goat
Was that Courier new note
Comic Sans MT
Was really born in the attic
I want to meet Arial
Or Times New Roman marching down
Fleet Street with all the journalists in a bow
Tell me about Agent FB
I
wish I could meet such an exciting guy
Or Lucinda without her unicode
She should have passed it on by now
Perhaps Bahnschrift passed it to
Baskerville Old Face
He was hounding Bauhaus 93
He wanted an autograph
But left in some disgrace
After Dante and the Engravers MT
I would like to lie with Georgia Pro Black
Or wrestle with Goudy Stout
Tell me how long will Miriam
Be fixed on Narkisim
Will it be ad Perpetua?
Before Poor Richard Shouts
And we all knew Rockwell was Extra bold
When he wrote in Italics
To Sitka Small
But she was not meek, no not at all
When after a week
She wrote the Univers condensed on the wall
You see Verdana Pro Semibold
was christened in the font
and named Yu Gothic
In wide Latin
But what got everybody's goat
Was that Courier new note
Comic Sans MT
Was really born in the attic
Labels:
writing
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Wednesday, 5 September 2018
Of all the things I thought I knew
Of all the things I thought I knew
There was always you
And yet the beams of the Mercedes Benz
Ring true
They caught you in the head lights
And towed you for a mile
It was a white rabbit dawn
That caught up with you
What did I know?
I thought I knew it all
That there was nothing left to teach me
Then I met you
I thought I knew
How the story goes
Girl meets boy, boy gives girl rose
Some such saccharine thing
I remember in the throes
Of all the things you taught me
That one thing is true
I thought I knew
We sailed off into the sunset
And the hero gets the girl
There are diamond studded pianoes
And Rubies on dancing shoes
That all the world's your oyster
And the whole ocean blue
But the briny has some surprises for me
That much is true
I thought I knew
If I stayed on the beach
That I would be safe out of reach
Out of harms way
But that was only half true, anyway
The truth was like a speckled egg breaking
Like a broken heart aching
What more can I say?
That much is true
There was always you
And yet the beams of the Mercedes Benz
Ring true
They caught you in the head lights
And towed you for a mile
It was a white rabbit dawn
That caught up with you
What did I know?
I thought I knew it all
That there was nothing left to teach me
Then I met you
I thought I knew
How the story goes
Girl meets boy, boy gives girl rose
Some such saccharine thing
I remember in the throes
Of all the things you taught me
That one thing is true
I thought I knew
We sailed off into the sunset
And the hero gets the girl
There are diamond studded pianoes
And Rubies on dancing shoes
That all the world's your oyster
And the whole ocean blue
But the briny has some surprises for me
That much is true
I thought I knew
If I stayed on the beach
That I would be safe out of reach
Out of harms way
But that was only half true, anyway
The truth was like a speckled egg breaking
Like a broken heart aching
What more can I say?
That much is true
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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