W. Bengal, India
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
RAMPANT
A dream of flower-ridden blossoms
The wavering chaos of the river run high
I escaped the drugged wish
Of melancholic numbness around me
The slit-throated sky-high buildings
Of consumer care and globalized madness
The sip of soma is adjacent
Life's little brittle mystery of strange alteration
A camphor of village-ridden blush
The boat ride of everyday coming port
A slush for the modesty of eavesdropping
sickness
Till the city learners the indoors of passion
The burning ghat still flames high
As the coming and going to this world is
rampant
As poetic reverie bemused in silence.
A dream of flower-ridden blossoms
The wavering chaos of the river run high
I escaped the drugged wish
Of melancholic numbness around me
The slit-throated sky-high buildings
Of consumer care and globalized madness
The sip of soma is adjacent
Life's little brittle mystery of strange alteration
A camphor of village-ridden blush
The boat ride of everyday coming port
A slush for the modesty of eavesdropping
sickness
Till the city learners the indoors of passion
The burning ghat still flames high
As the coming and going to this world is
rampant
As poetic reverie bemused in silence.
ALICE
Playgrounds are fine
If you are an expert
Expertise they say
A rare gem
Birds cropped up
In nets
From afar
A golden mirage
A Miracle mystery dip
But still
Playgrounds are nice
Still
Waiting for
Godot? Tree? Eureka?
Still play and spin
My Alice in wonderland.
BEAM
Pyre of hollow embers
Burns purged insecurities;
Ravishing coiling serpent machinery
Jokes and tricksters of naysayers,
Of caging the free-spirited Moksha
Dreams of manna, Himalayan bluebirds
The flappy wings of fancy semantic fury
Only tune of one song.
Loud enough to burst forth
Material orders hierarchies
Ashes of power game
Caged and bonded
Flattering cynicism a cyclical tornado
Only the bluebird sings
It knows the one tune
I'm an om
An autumnal seasonal flashback.
Draping warm leaves around my sweet neck
Honeybees and nectar of soothsayers' fuzz
My veins a musing, jumping,
Free-spirited laboratory—
Made of streaming stars and faith and woolen love
I, a Bluebird, sing of manna
Airy floaty elfish vain
Titular rambunctious whole of a new realm
I am a power of my life force
Watery windy fiery fiesty road
Akashic magic burning sages Rosemary-
Made of streaming stars and faith and woolen love
I, a Bluebird, sing of manna
Airy floaty elfish vain
Titular rambunctious whole of a new realm
I am a power of my life force
Watery windy fiery fiesty road
Akashic magic burning sages Rosemary-
incensed fume
I swallow pyres
Burning up eights lusts heads
I twinkle and beam.
I swallow pyres
Burning up eights lusts heads
I twinkle and beam.
APRIL SHOWER
From the origin it's a tour towards the closure,
Starting with shrieking,
a holy cry, your flesh bleached in blood.
The bell chimed—
heralding one more grave,
While your vim will flower on the earth.
Unknown faces wrap you with caresses
emanating from their void.
Unreason lets you learn
how to smell flowers.
Later, you find pleasure
in sucking the peaches.
With each spring you glow, flushed
with dazzling rain and rushing steps,
while the deity of Word
eludes you with a grin.
You wonder, why I bid death to metaphors
or trickery that comes with vain trophies!
Or why I will the meanings to turn away
and let them die with wicked ways:
It's always a thread of paradoxes.
I now like thatched roofs more
where I can fill rainwater
and see my other in ripples,
Or the tattered sky where I heap clouds—
Always they rain away
With sheepish smiles and loneliness.
Or why I will the meanings to turn away
and let them die with wicked ways:
It's always a thread of paradoxes.
I now like thatched roofs more
where I can fill rainwater
and see my other in ripples,
Or the tattered sky where I heap clouds—
Always they rain away
With sheepish smiles and loneliness.
CONFESSION
Opulence of ever brimming fauna
I asked two-penny questions
Are mortals destined to try
Sometimes a button underneath
My wornout woolen t-shirt
My neckpiece, your two earrings
I have boxed in
They guide me in omens
Like fathers are supposed to do
Heavenly calls
You know you plucked out
The bright red rose
My moonscaped half-brimmed days
No I am not juggling
Simply plain, I needed to confess
My red badge of honor
This poem is not a third-person ranting
It is naked deep and glimmers
Like a bright diamond
No, no outside voices are guiding me
It's my naked revelation
I am I am going going home home
I stopped
Homes are many for me
So much love all around
Chocolaty syrupy sweet
My home
I finish here.
MAY DAYS
Rains in May days are like coins
The surplus is warm
The last drop, Tangy
—An orange flush
Over my cheeks
To remind me
Flush away and heal
The poison ivy.
In the afternoons
I look up,
The violet vast spreads
In the open.
A rainbow makes my sensitivity
A beautiful pool
Of coloured waters.
Then I know howling storms pour
To mirror the humane
Blanketed deep around
A vulnerable little child
Coiled in wintry rage
The eyes are afraid to look open
And taste the earthly paradise.
At night I walk open
The night plains
Winged with doors of magic blind
A stairway to a fountain
The tails swim in the mermaid bliss
Funnel like the soma
Wets the green flush
And weeds out the darkening thrush.
Then, the castle of
The mountain
Where cherubs lie in ditsy water
And sprinkle the purplish hymn
Of Almighty
And his blessed lamb
In surplus rain of
May days.
Over my cheeks
To remind me
Flush away and heal
The poison ivy.
In the afternoons
I look up,
The violet vast spreads
In the open.
A rainbow makes my sensitivity
A beautiful pool
Of coloured waters.
Then I know howling storms pour
To mirror the humane
Blanketed deep around
A vulnerable little child
Coiled in wintry rage
The eyes are afraid to look open
And taste the earthly paradise.
At night I walk open
The night plains
Winged with doors of magic blind
A stairway to a fountain
The tails swim in the mermaid bliss
Funnel like the soma
Wets the green flush
And weeds out the darkening thrush.
Then, the castle of
The mountain
Where cherubs lie in ditsy water
And sprinkle the purplish hymn
Of Almighty
And his blessed lamb
In surplus rain of
May days.
PROMISE
The courtesy of ever-brimming love
The fountain of lost promises
Of lands and antique mountain heroes
They sang a different lullaby
To keep the vigil intact of broken dreams
A dream is a moving wish for penchant hope
I stand at the gate of eternity
Of heavenly shadows and rainbow dreams
A penmanship of an author lost and found
As the river ran a thousand depths
For the feeling of innumerable grief
As if my heartstring was tied to a shadow.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Poetry is like a bird. It ignores all frontiers.
—Yevgeny Yevtushenko
____________________
Our thanks to Sayani for today’s fine poetry! Sayani Mukherjee, a frequent visitor to the Kitchen, is a poet hailing from Chandannagar, a former French colony in West Bengal. She received her post-graduate degree in English Literature from Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi. Her creative works have appeared in various international and national magazines such as Medusa's Kitchen, Beatnik Cowboy, Third Eye Butterfly Press, Writers Workshop, Synchronized Chaos, Fiction Niche, The Quiver Review, The Chakkar, Literary Cognizance, Literary Horizon, Horoscope Press, The Romantic Breeze, plus the literary magazine of her alma mater and several others. She is also part of various anthologies of poems, such as Paradise on Earth, and Bleeding Hearts and Mumbling Minds. Recently, her debut poetry collection, Ode to Meraki, was published by Authorspress, New Delhi. She likes to spend her leisure time in photography, cinema and arts.
Thanks again for today’s post, Sayani!
____________________
—Medusa
Poetry is like a bird. It ignores all frontiers.
—Yevgeny Yevtushenko
____________________
Our thanks to Sayani for today’s fine poetry! Sayani Mukherjee, a frequent visitor to the Kitchen, is a poet hailing from Chandannagar, a former French colony in West Bengal. She received her post-graduate degree in English Literature from Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi. Her creative works have appeared in various international and national magazines such as Medusa's Kitchen, Beatnik Cowboy, Third Eye Butterfly Press, Writers Workshop, Synchronized Chaos, Fiction Niche, The Quiver Review, The Chakkar, Literary Cognizance, Literary Horizon, Horoscope Press, The Romantic Breeze, plus the literary magazine of her alma mater and several others. She is also part of various anthologies of poems, such as Paradise on Earth, and Bleeding Hearts and Mumbling Minds. Recently, her debut poetry collection, Ode to Meraki, was published by Authorspress, New Delhi. She likes to spend her leisure time in photography, cinema and arts.
Thanks again for today’s post, Sayani!
____________________
—Medusa
Sayanı Mukherjee
A reminder that there will be
a workshop in Lodi today with
Nancy Gonzalez St. Clair, 11am;
and Sacramento Poetry Center
will present Cecelia Rodriguez with
“Unlocking the Power of
True Storytelling”, 2pm.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
a workshop in Lodi today with
Nancy Gonzalez St. Clair, 11am;
and Sacramento Poetry Center
will present Cecelia Rodriguez with
“Unlocking the Power of
True Storytelling”, 2pm.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
