soul thrives in vacuum--Bop Poetry

Posting here, another Bop Poetry. This is in complete opposite voice of what I wrote in my last post. Do read that too, if you have not. I like the refrain thing in the Bop as it kind of makes the whole poem come out in a different way. Read the poem without the refrain and you will know what I mean. Next I will write Beat Poetry. Watch out this space!

****

in that wilderness of love
closed eyes picture you
musk smell gets to me
nailed to myself
my senses are alive
yet tranquility permeates

lost in you, your touch, my mind
boggles at different possibilities

beating into me
throb of our indistinguishable skin
I shake out of myself
anchoring into yours
even though you clutch
that vacuum you are so fond of
nothingness is something
in which you thrive

lost in you, your touch, my mind
boggles at different possibilities

skin have their own language
breath speak in silence
closed eyes meet
in the way only they know
cohesion of particles is inevitable
when souls submerge

lost in you, your touch, my mind
boggles at different possibilities

*******

The Bop:

First stanza, six lines presenting a situation, event, or problem.
Two line refrain.
Second stanza, eight lines, expanding on the first stanza.
Two line refrain.
Third stanza, six lines, resolving or concluding the poem.
Two line refrain.

bop it!

I look above the sky
searching for your face
looking down,
I itch and scratch
stomping my feet
on the ground. don't you know

if I didn’t have rocks in my shoes
I’d run more. to you.

why the hell did I walk
in this heat on the tarred road?
why did I let your words fool me
now my shoes are stuck.
with a false smile on my face
I keep cursing you
and I gotta tell you

if I didn’t have rocks in my shoes
I’d run more. to you.

to have a last look at you
to make you squirm
under my gaze
to shake you from your stupor
wiping your gloating smile
happily watch you disintegrate

if I didn’t have rocks in my shoes
I’d run more. from you.


*******

Here the refrain line is courtsey of deb

The Bop:

First stanza, six lines presenting a situation, event, or problem.
Two line refrain.
Second stanza, eight lines, expanding on the first stanza.
Two line refrain.
Third stanza, six lines, resolving or concluding the poem.
Two line refrain.

short verses

persistent voices
interfere with my thoughts
with callous regard

*******

comb persistantly
interfere my hair's natural waves
pulling it callously
I TUG WITH FRUSTRATION
pulling it callously
natural wavy hair persistently
interfere combing

crossroads

when at crossroads
stop, pause a while,
fix the dilemma.
BY ASKING WHAT AILS YOU?
dilemma fixed now,
stop pausing
and cross the roads.

******

Now go join the NaisaiKu Challenge.

Thanks Andy, I am lovin' writing those!

twilight moments

moths die out
in the flickering light

sun diffuses
into twilight

mislaid within arroyo
of my mind-
my euphoria


*******

twilight thoughts
move in a whilrwind
creating chaos
TWILIGHT THOUGHTS
create chaos
moving in a whirlwind
twilight thoughts

Go join the NaisaiKu Challenge!

Masoning the Drake

As it so happens I am window shopping in the local market when I spot Paul Drake, the famous private detective who works with Perry Mason in the Erly Stanley Gardner's books. I am kind of amazed to see him making a meal out of crispy cakes, various types of sandwiches and a big jug of Coke. He is smiling too, a rarity for him. No sarcastic manner is visible as of now and he does not appear to be tall and lanky either. Considering what he is eating, I am not surprised.

I approach him slowly and sit down in front of him placing my stuff on the table. He does not even blink an eye and goes on eating. He waves his hands and nods at me to say my piece. I ask if it is no bother, I would like to interview him. He nods again in between bites. I take out my tattered notepad and a battered ballpoint pen. I write down his name on a page, underline it and start with my interview:

I: Mr Paul Drake, what are you doing in India? I thought you never left Perry Mason's side.

PD: I must remind you that I am a private detective. I don't work for Perry Mason. I help him when he asks for it. Coming back to what you asked, I have always wanted to visit your country. As Perry Mason is now in between cases, I thought I might as well come here. I don't want to leave India. I am thinking of setting up a detective agency here. Away from Perry Mason.

I: But I thought you and he had come a long way together.

PD: Well yes, we walked together all over US, before we both landed up in Los Angeles. You aren't aware of the fact that he borrowed money from me to start his practice. And he did not bother to pay me back. He owes me. HE OWES ME HELL OF A LOT.

I: Mr Drake, I see you are eating cakes and sandwiches. I thought, you only survived on instant coffee and card board Pizza.

PD: What else do you expect me to do if I am running a detective agency? Who has the time to indulge in such meals there? Now I am on holiday, loving each moment and indulging in it.

I: You are not as tall, lanky and athletic as you are thought to be. However, you have a slouch and very much dour-faced.

PD: Do you know you are being insulting? (He stands up to show me his height and for a change he smiles which kind of lights up his face). I put a small cushion on my belly to be in disguise.

I: To me, you look pregnant..

PD: That's the idea. I wanted to know how does a pregnant woman feel and I am also eating accordingly, to be like her.

I am kind of confused, look him over and say nothing for a while.

I: Why are you doing all this stuff which goes against your image?

PD: What image? Who cares for that? Perry Mason has left me for that chit of a girl. To think, I trusted him so much.

I: Who? What? How? Why? ( I am nonplussed!!)

PD: Della Street, who else?

I: Well, that was to be. I always thought Della Street was in love with her boss and he with her.

PD: No, you don't know the rest of it. He left me for her. For that I can't forgive him. Last I heard, she is going to have his baby. I wanted to be the one having that.

He puts his head on the table, cakes and all, and starts bawling. I am left speechless. Slowly everything dawns on me. After a while, I try to reason out but he is in no way responsive. I pick up my things and walk out.

His last words are, "Bye, beautiful."

When I look back, he is ordering more food.

*********
Cross posted from my Reading Room blog.

say that again

squeezing the bridge of my nose
with the blue tinted glass
I look with harried concentration
into that page, indecipherable words
popping out from everywhere

mosiysma, inghruyt, dkjulxzz
are but a few. only from those kids
one learns new words, making no sense
wait a moment, but they do
if nothing they do bring in a smile

"secretly wishing I was the student, they my teacher"

ketchup & french fries

smudged with dirt, wiped clumsily
tiny fingers are dipped in ketchup
the glowing child sucks it clean
risk of infection unknown to her
her harassed mother watches
curbing her own impulse to stop her

something compelling her, mother
collects another plate of french fries,
pours ketchup liberally over it
and candidly copies the child,
longer fingers dipped in it
she sucks each squeaky clean

"if it is not true nirvana, then what is?"

stone with moss and lichens

Get into this train for a great ride....





hiding there-
yet aura makes known
of your presence


******

musty old letter
bringing in tears-
tears me apart


******

others' memories
are just as private
as our thoughts


******

All these and a few more were inspired by J. Andrew Lockhart.

you clutch the vacuum

getting up from bed
I feel the walls shaking
walking awkwardly
towards the stove
I warm last night's tea

bedcovers lie on floor
you clutch the vacuum,
which is as naked as you
sweet smell of love turns
bitterly sour in the morning

sipping the obnoxious tea,
I look at you with a hatred
so fierce, anger so unknown
your snores goad me,
I pour the tea on you

your sudden shout does
nothing but the scalding stains
on your body remind me
of ghosts from my past
spectral of that hanging over

"that tea was undrinkable, anyways"

NaisaiKuing: all the way

for basketting the ball
pull on your sports gear
get going ballistics
FOR BASKETTING THE BALL
get going ballistics
pull on your sports gear
for basketting the ball


*****

loosened elastics
pull down your pants
make you fall flat on ground
LOOSENED ELASTICS
make you fall flat on ground
pull down your pants
loosened elastics


*****

basket appears far away
the sky feels nearer
you see stars on ground
BASKET APPEARS FAR AWAY
you see stars on ground
the sky feels nearer
basket appears far away


*****

writing a naisaiKu
is it not mental sports
living out the brute force
WRITING A NAISAIKU
living out the brute force
is it not mental sports
writing a naisaiKu


************************

Check out NaisaiKu by clicking on it.

enthrall

I
trapped
by
culture,
you
by
expedient

I
ambushed
by
soul,
you
by
nihilism

"forever and ever, sucks for ever"

mysticism

rabble of words
validate
disarrayed thoughts

rays disappear
from the sun
darkening the sky

sky is almost bereft
of stars, clouds
hide it from view

hidden view conjures
up images
of mystical creatures

disarrayed creatures
somehow validate
those rabble of words

"within our mind each single thought is valid"

nature rules

switching on the light
I find a slimy lizard
slithering on the wall

after a while it is
on a hot pursuit
of a tiny insect

pausing a while
it watches the insect
waiting for a kill

when insect moves
the lizard swoops
wallowing it whole

in fascinated horror,
I watch it unblinking
rooted to the spot

"death for one is food for the other"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Get into this train for a great ride....

movement

soil spews me out
I bloom happily-
to warmth of sun

winds blow sand
all around-
still I am rooted

azure sky stares
askance at me-
I proudly sway

rough drafting of art

king of surrealism-
Salvador Dali
The Birth of Venus-
Botticelli

Monet abstracts
Picasso distracts
Monalisa smiles
Matisse riles

I look into all those
again, yet again
and my ego falls
deep into drain,

on my own canvas
or my palette
nondescript
artwork piles

blackened charcoal
covers my bruised soul

illicitly intertwined

your fingers-
crumple the pages
making it illicit

call it illicit?
your syringe hits
my nerve

twitching nerves
jerk, I crumple
falling on the floor

floor hugs me
coolness embraces
me. illicit?

dancing verses

paint splashes
over that canvas
hiding what?

hiding thoughts
rise so high
only to fall down

downfall-
scraped knees
kiss the earth

kissing the ground
smells heaven
it feels like home

homing emotions
arouse instincts
of nesting intensely

intensity for me-
equates to nuzzling
deeply into you

deeply into you
my pores
drenched with love

slowly building it up

melted snow-
footsteps
on concrete path

Inspired by tikkis.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

footprints on snow
aliens
from outerspace?

Inspired by John McDonald

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mysteriously
misty snow
enters into my pores

Inspired by Snow floats by Ken Wagner

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fog rolling in
dracula's daughter
lives in sin!

Inspired by midnight fog by J. Andrew Lockhart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

knives of icicles
cannot prick into
my sandcastle dreams

Inspired by Sandcastle dreams by Janice Thompson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

slipped yet again
into that precipice-
saved by a log

Inspired by Rain Melts by Ken Wagner