You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Friday, October 16, 2009

Poetry and I

He was stuck with a bone in his tongue
Is it my fault if he would be careless?
With my poetry

The dogs won’t chew stationeries
Designed with graphical thoughts and feel
As I would every inch of his tongue
When smoke sets to flee

And he would twist and swish
Like floss scrapping candies from faults
Before any bitch would sniff his tongue
And scrape all corners of his beauty

Thick and warm when he brushes ink
Over papyrus that covers me
I become more me than the observer’s eyes
And you could see
He kneeling before me

For more words and shelter
He dipping in bones
Of my poetry.

4 comments:

the feeling lioness said...

this is strange and revolving.....wooo...wa....wow

Ophiophagus said...

I sought but solace in the shrine of Nanautzin....
A frenzy of Illumination capturing me...
The deathly cold kiss of the Northern Wind..
Then seemed no more than a mockery..
A mockery of Truth...a mockery of Reality...
A parody of the human sense to feel...
A satire on my poetic license...
Banishing me to dreams of the White Tree...
They say, aye it's strange but the poetic brethren..
Thrive on the shreds of delicious dreams...
As the Darkness keeps spreading...slow and steady...
And entombs the Race in its devilish schemes....

Deeptesh said...

ah!nice one!Your imageries r always able to build that 'willing suspension of disbelief' which I always like.C my new poem too.


www.deepteshpoetry.blogspot.com

Ramanuj said...

the last two paragraphs are the soul of this poem. the rest is redundant, leaves a lot to be desired.

but yes, the last two paragraphs redeem everything!