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This is by Revathy Gopal who was an Indian poet who died of cancer in 2007.
Shapes
Mirror marks on wet glass
finger-writing on steam,
hieroglyphs drawn by
the one who lives behind
the mirror, the messages for me,
if I could only decipher them.
Communion of the lonely.
And when I spill milk I look
to see if the pattern spells anything,
meanings from a past or the future,
arrows shot through time
that will explain everything
I've missed.
Very good. All the Indian poetry you have come up with is very interesting and i like it a lot.
I am enjoying reading poetry that comes from people from a different culture and from very different backgrounds and finding the universal themes that connect us all but also it is good to experience new imagery and ideas and feel the atmosphere of India.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Love fades.
I secure your love,
A pocket full of gardenias,
Cheap love at the factory gates,
Two shining youths,
With their weeks pay,
He buys his fags and hair cream,
She buys nylons and a dress,
They meet the picture of,
Northern youth they kiss,
Amidst the sulphur laden air,
No cares just love,
Don't let them know,
The future brings,
Unemployment empty town,
Too much drink,
He slaps her around then,
Cries into his bottle wanting,
To die wondering how,
Youth has passed him by,
She leaves bruised battered,
Takes the children saddened,
Explains daddies drink makes him,
Bad she wishes it was like it was,
All youthful love and flowers and,
Smiles they found him dead on the,
Bathroom tiles.
Today she's wearing black.
By Herakles
Virginity lost
A glance a chance,
Sordid romance,
She talks to this,
Shy northern boy,
Nibbling my ear,
I blush as I'm told,
Things my mother,
Shouldn't know,
Outside the road,
Is greasy and,
Reflecting a thousand,
Cheap good times,
She gets her keys,
Her flat above,
The roughest pub,
Going upstairs to,
Be entangled in her,
Sordid lair I,
Step in she grabs,
Me and throws me down,
I'm looking up waiting,
For this to be over,
You're done she says,
Is that it ?.
I fasten my kecks,
Shouldn't have bothered,
I think i'd rather write poetry.
By Herakles
Yes, quite!........i've said it before and I'll say it again i reckon i'll be the last fell poet to finish, but if I fnish I'll be chuffed anyhow...and anyway I reckon there's bound to be a good looking sweeper at an event like that, surely?.........;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Be Kind
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.
Charles Bukowski
Oh Yes
There are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Charles Bukowski
excuse my insomnia tonight, i do hope it isn't too irritating!
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.
Li Po
:eek: Oh dear...look at the time!!!!!!
Gangplank
I walk this spring board ALONE.
Reaching the end, feet teasingly detach
with tiny bounces, just high enough to peep
inviting waters below.
Their darkness languid, their isolation luxurious,
no matter that they are deep, no matter that they are cold.
The soles of my feet rest once again,
precariously balanced, meeting
reverberating cool wood below.
I wait, what will fate bring next?
the urge to jump, a push?
or perhaps a careless loss of balance
and the fall.