Remeniscent of the desert
Irony.
My Virgin lover,skin of brazen pottery
Half buried,amid shifting sand
Amorous.
As the waves flow,slide,mingle
Layer over minute boundless layer.
She is softer
than the sand itself,
The silent sinking
an anklet adorned foot
Barely,half an inch
Into the parched,giving
Sand.
She is greater
than the dunes
Streching into oscilloscopic
Reading
The dangerous curves
Lying on her side
Warmth
The blanket,her sky.
She is the intricacies
of some unknown reptillian
Shiny scaled,flickering
against the dawn
Ra!
Winding sidelong
Birthing,cold wisps
Settling shadows,
Anubis.
She is that single grain of sand
By itself, is silence
perfect and round
Incomplete.
The grain bushes past
Me.
The solitary dancing
Of blue-grey wind
We Sing
The hymn of Nomads.
-Me
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Shellshock
And sometimes I would just think
and lay bare,
the moments that we've been through
like photographs,
on a wooden table
But every print,
would be alive,a film.
And sometimes I would think so hard
That the feeling of lost
would come over me,
a colossal wave
spanning the time and space,
Of every step we took
holding hands.
And i would,
At those times,
Look at that picture of you
Where you had your eyes closed
by complete accident
Yet looked,
So angelic.
I would kiss the lips,
Of that picture,
and feel
a diffrent memory of kisses
or lest create
a new one.
Like that time,
where you had mussels
and garlic,
and yet, your breath
smelt sweeter to me,
than the sun kissed straw
of a meadow bathed with
pristine mountain air.
And that was the kiss
that tingled
especially
for I was simply
allergic to shellfish.
It is at those times
when I need you most
Do my memories of you
seem to be
most gracious.
As every other thought
begins to clear away
I hear your voice
In concern
Damning
The blameless shellfish
Innocence.
and lay bare,
the moments that we've been through
like photographs,
on a wooden table
But every print,
would be alive,a film.
And sometimes I would think so hard
That the feeling of lost
would come over me,
a colossal wave
spanning the time and space,
Of every step we took
holding hands.
And i would,
At those times,
Look at that picture of you
Where you had your eyes closed
by complete accident
Yet looked,
So angelic.
I would kiss the lips,
Of that picture,
and feel
a diffrent memory of kisses
or lest create
a new one.
Like that time,
where you had mussels
and garlic,
and yet, your breath
smelt sweeter to me,
than the sun kissed straw
of a meadow bathed with
pristine mountain air.
And that was the kiss
that tingled
especially
for I was simply
allergic to shellfish.
It is at those times
when I need you most
Do my memories of you
seem to be
most gracious.
As every other thought
begins to clear away
I hear your voice
In concern
Damning
The blameless shellfish
Innocence.
The Frozen Clock
The ticking of the minute hand
silent,hardly noticed
Yet,
Every inching,
to complete the cycle,
A gong
In my mind,
Repeating,Deafening
How time flees,
From Man's grasp
Slipping through,
Elixer,
Ichor,
Much needed,
forever depleted
What should I do?
How should i stop it?
Like collecting the drip of a leaf,
Using nothing
But a broken seive.
Throw it away?
Allow Thought to consume it?
Like Wildfire
Upon a baked savannah?
For shame!
That is the coward's path!
Revel in it,
Become one
make it yours
For You are time,
And time is you.
-Me
I wrote this during the exams, on a macdonalds serviet.Is that how you spell it? Serveit? Whatever.Angst.
silent,hardly noticed
Yet,
Every inching,
to complete the cycle,
A gong
In my mind,
Repeating,Deafening
How time flees,
From Man's grasp
Slipping through,
Elixer,
Ichor,
Much needed,
forever depleted
What should I do?
How should i stop it?
Like collecting the drip of a leaf,
Using nothing
But a broken seive.
Throw it away?
Allow Thought to consume it?
Like Wildfire
Upon a baked savannah?
For shame!
That is the coward's path!
Revel in it,
Become one
make it yours
For You are time,
And time is you.
-Me
I wrote this during the exams, on a macdonalds serviet.Is that how you spell it? Serveit? Whatever.Angst.
Ode To The Ancient Hero
The breeze blows,
Bringing with it
hints of blood and woe,
Death walks with purpose,
Picking through his spoil,
Sword and shield cannot defend
When his scythe touches the soil.
Amid the raging chaos,
Valkyries fly on high,
And thus they shall pick the warrior
That falls,
but shall not die.
My love affair
with the battlefield,
I am no cynic,
I crave no blood,
It is the glory that comes
With courage and honour,
When Life is smeared in the mud.
My search continues,
To another meadow,
Tis where I shall cut down my foes
I will not stop,
Not until my memory
Has become Future's widow.
What I question
Is my purpose?
To journey to true strength?
The shadows that I overcome,
Will they answer me in the end?
Thus the warrior lives his life,
In an enigmatic hovel,
His soul,his power,
his very being,
Only contained in a paperback novel
-Me
I always loved war. I mean, every boy does. Well, most. Until i began focusing on the postives, I always dreamt of the sweat, and scent and rage of warfare. Then I saw the cunning and the silent mind games that pervaded every battle.And I fell in love with it more. The Shogunate of japan have always inspired me,this is one result.
Bringing with it
hints of blood and woe,
Death walks with purpose,
Picking through his spoil,
Sword and shield cannot defend
When his scythe touches the soil.
Amid the raging chaos,
Valkyries fly on high,
And thus they shall pick the warrior
That falls,
but shall not die.
My love affair
with the battlefield,
I am no cynic,
I crave no blood,
It is the glory that comes
With courage and honour,
When Life is smeared in the mud.
My search continues,
To another meadow,
Tis where I shall cut down my foes
I will not stop,
Not until my memory
Has become Future's widow.
What I question
Is my purpose?
To journey to true strength?
The shadows that I overcome,
Will they answer me in the end?
Thus the warrior lives his life,
In an enigmatic hovel,
His soul,his power,
his very being,
Only contained in a paperback novel
-Me
I always loved war. I mean, every boy does. Well, most. Until i began focusing on the postives, I always dreamt of the sweat, and scent and rage of warfare. Then I saw the cunning and the silent mind games that pervaded every battle.And I fell in love with it more. The Shogunate of japan have always inspired me,this is one result.
Reflections On The Prata
Oh king of flour mountain!
Mighty in thy throne
Drenched in greasy saturated fat,
Your glory is reknown.
Lord of the breakfast table,
With your prince dark Kopi-O
of your fluffy emotions,
We the people of Singapore know.
Your birth in a turbulent uprising,
Tossed by the hands of fate,
Yet skilled the hands they are,
For your ancestral emperors
did they make.
Thy romance nay't be a secret,
With the savoury tanned curry
,A match made in heaven,
A marriage in a hurry.
And now glorious conquerer,
Prepare for the end
A rumbling deep within
Will signal the piercing,then the rend.
Yet phoenix like,
Thy nature is,with only a measely dollar
I raise my hand,
and one more time,
Pay fate to resume order
-Me
Hehe, who doesn't love prata? It's a type of indian bread thing, for those of you whom do not know, and have not lived, not tasting the full fathom of its dimensional goodness.Yeah....
Mighty in thy throne
Drenched in greasy saturated fat,
Your glory is reknown.
Lord of the breakfast table,
With your prince dark Kopi-O
of your fluffy emotions,
We the people of Singapore know.
Your birth in a turbulent uprising,
Tossed by the hands of fate,
Yet skilled the hands they are,
For your ancestral emperors
did they make.
Thy romance nay't be a secret,
With the savoury tanned curry
,A match made in heaven,
A marriage in a hurry.
And now glorious conquerer,
Prepare for the end
A rumbling deep within
Will signal the piercing,then the rend.
Yet phoenix like,
Thy nature is,with only a measely dollar
I raise my hand,
and one more time,
Pay fate to resume order
-Me
Hehe, who doesn't love prata? It's a type of indian bread thing, for those of you whom do not know, and have not lived, not tasting the full fathom of its dimensional goodness.Yeah....
Of The Windows I Have Seen
I have lived!
How i have tasted,
The sweetest scent,
Wafting,Strong,
sweet,overwhelming.
It takes me places,
My fingers touch,lightly
Upon paradise's door,
Notice, the intricate carvings,
Her soul at its core.
Her eyes that beckon,
Enigma in their right
Yet,i know,
I follow,She leads
Far away from blight
I have met,
One and only,
Mysterious light
With angel wings
and hypoallergenic rings
She sits,i behold,
Rapture,Sight.
-Me
The first birthday I spent with her, she gave me a hypoallergenic(wth) steel ring as a present.As I sat there, looking into her beautiful brown eyes, I realised that I would follow her anywhere. I realised, funnily, that I was in Love.Aha!
How i have tasted,
The sweetest scent,
Wafting,Strong,
sweet,overwhelming.
It takes me places,
My fingers touch,lightly
Upon paradise's door,
Notice, the intricate carvings,
Her soul at its core.
Her eyes that beckon,
Enigma in their right
Yet,i know,
I follow,She leads
Far away from blight
I have met,
One and only,
Mysterious light
With angel wings
and hypoallergenic rings
She sits,i behold,
Rapture,Sight.
-Me
The first birthday I spent with her, she gave me a hypoallergenic(wth) steel ring as a present.As I sat there, looking into her beautiful brown eyes, I realised that I would follow her anywhere. I realised, funnily, that I was in Love.Aha!
The First Post
Attended a recital tonight. It opened my eyes,taught me to be proud of what I do. Gave me the wings to do it better. Poetry is my life. I have chosen this path. Rather,the path has chosen me. Note the cliche. Rebirth. I want to start fresh. I want to be greener than that Subway ad. I want to start afresh. And I want you next to me.Always.
Well, this blog will be all about my collected work, mostly. Feel free to comment on them,but please don't steal them. My intellectual property.Mine.But seriously, it hurts. There'll be alot of stuff from my older blog,so don't worry.Sorry about the dry first post. Without any further ado, from my brain to the colored pixels on your comp, enjoy!
"Beauty is Truth,And Truth, Beauty.That's all you need to know, and ever will need to know."
-John Keats
Well, this blog will be all about my collected work, mostly. Feel free to comment on them,but please don't steal them. My intellectual property.Mine.But seriously, it hurts. There'll be alot of stuff from my older blog,so don't worry.Sorry about the dry first post. Without any further ado, from my brain to the colored pixels on your comp, enjoy!
"Beauty is Truth,And Truth, Beauty.That's all you need to know, and ever will need to know."
-John Keats
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