Dear reader, I invite you to listen me sing ‘For The One’, a romantic and inspiring poem. Its alternate title is ‘Abyss or A Bisque Carpet?’
You’re theone who helped me when I was young and couldn’t see the light.
When I was young and couldn’t stand on my feet, you helped me understand–
how to walk over the land and be free as a bird in the sky.
When I’m older and grown, we’ll be together, alone–
We would be warm together under the sun alone taking a chance together on a bisque carpet alone holding our lights together for those in abyss alone and let them shine on together.
As our lives will unfetter once again, we’ll be free like a bird in the sky and shine like the sun over the land.
Bisque: It’s the color of the carpet in my bedroom, where I wrote this poem. It also means an extra turn or stroke allowed to a weaker player in croquet. A fine word isn’t it? 👌
Sometimes they come when you’re lulled into a sense of knowing where a poem is going – and then ‘bam’ you’re hit by a powerful shift to what the poem is really about. Sometimes it’s comforting or leads to an answer to the poem’s problem.
I am still at the beginning phase of learning to play guitar. So my tune composing skills are nonexistent haha If you, dear reader, know songwriting please feel free to contact me. We can collaborate! and make this song even better. The tune I came up with was inspired by the song: Starting Over by John Lennon.
Inspired by my poet-blogger and penfriend– Cindy from Unique Times Her posts and conversations are full of wisdom. A particular advice of hers which prompted me to write this poem is: ‘Just let go and enjoy the tune‘
Posted over at dverse: Quadrille #122 Prompt: To write a poem of exactly 44 words with some form of the word go in it.
Dear reader, I urge you to listen this song if you haven’t already.
by M. Jay Dixit / www.septemberhearttohearts.wordpress.com
Living awfully in a capsized world
of lizards on ceiling.
The truth is deceiving,
meaning it's biased
like the media is biased
and demeaning.
Living awfully in a capsized world
of lizards on ceiling
watching everything
that goes on in
and out of our house.
Living awfully in a capsized world
Of lizards on ceiling
on top of us
scared of us
making any fuss
so they stay alert
and watch us
and kill bugs
who make fuss
and eat them later
or lizards will get thinner
and fall from ceiling
and crash on the floor
and die.
Autumn wheat ripening in the Sun– thousand stalks of wild wheat whisper secrets of nature, thousand waves of wheat ripple like liquid gold in an august afternoon, as an easy wind sways you singing a lazy song.
You’re equivocal.
A hungry artist sees, believes and draws you. Focusing on details trying to interpret the truth.
A heartsick man sees you and is reminded of his beloved’s golden hair.
Lovers hand-in-hand lay in your embrace and share a warm hug under the autumn sun.
A sweating farmer halts his hard labor to take a breather and looks around at you with endless love and joy.
I stop by to look at you on the way to my home, the sun blushes hesitatingly turning a slow deep red and then falls into you So lovely, radiant and sweet.
Pardon? Oh, Tendon Like in garden of Eden Eve never abandons Adam. And the Sun seldom leaves its handsome heat in summer season. And like Cotton holds oil in lantern. And how the atom never leaves quantum dimension. Oh and also like that golden glow which never abandons the horizon when the sun sets or rise. And how Eminem seldom leaves his mansion. And autumn wind never leaves without coloring leaves with its chilly passion making you ache deep in your bones. In the same fashion, your strong tendons hold and connect your muscles to bones never abandoning never leaving.
Alive and burning Inside scarlet rose petals A secret furnace
I bloomed triumphantly, beneath dim-amber skies, in the dawn of this world’s first day. The Sun rose, the sunlight falling upon the field, a weight of gold. I’ve travelled around the world, opened my heart, shouted in the Sun to everything that’s alive. They smelled my fragrance and rejoiced. I’ve felt love; red, hot and vivid, the smell of lovers as they laid upon the field. Melancholy; white, the rain washed me away, as I laid upon the grave.
a sky of billion stars, flickers-flickers; in the night of this world’s last day, a field of billion roses, flickers-flickers.
I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head.
–The Song of Wandering Aengus, W. B. Yeats
Butcher Bob’s confession:-
I ran into her in the alley, I remember her young face but can’t recall her name. It’s like this with most of them. I was using crutches and I asked her to help me carry the briefcase out of my car, which she did, when we reached the car, I knocked her unconscious with crowbar. Then I placed her in the shotgun seat and went straight to my chopping blocks in the hazel wood.
I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head. A burning sensation, hot and vivid. When I completely submitted to that fire, it was like I was reborn, a phoenix from the flames. But only for a moment. Because, the ingredients for ignition of the next fire were always present in the ashes, and the burning inside my head began again.
it’s that time of the season I see her everywhere she’s wild and oh so beautiful but the season’ll end like it always does and once again I’ll forget her name.