Two Poems

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

These are a collection of abstract poetry.

Submitted: July 31, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 31, 2018





Ezra Pound is


Fruit of music in

Colors of poetry…

T S Eliot wakes

Up the dead land

Of a brothel.

Shelly beatifies

The earth into

A romantic postmodernism …

Birds float elegantly

In the sky….

My heart lives and loves

In the mystic adoration

Of poetry….

Where is the art to live…

Angst you are an existential

Gift a solace to a depressed

Mind ….

Flowers, violets are

Chanting hymns of the heavens..

Where is my mind gone?

It’s wandering about

As a bard …

What God’s done to the word …

I’ll make a feeble verse of it…

Jesus you are a mystic of love….

Beethoven, I pay homage

To you for your romantic


The passion I found in her,

Is a river of mystery?

Poems sculpt the

Architecture of verses

Hanging on skyscrapers….

Walked lonely through the

Crowded night…

Whores are soliciting me

In obscene gestures…

Night is cold and wet

Like a drained phallus …

Tarot, I found in you

A devil of lies…

Astrologers fornicate

In the baloney of untruth…

What has life got to do with


What sincerity does the

Soul have …

Gratitude, I have found

You open in a whore’s orifice…

The stains of sin

Were washed as snow

On the cross…

I wish the day that I was not born…

Nirvana, Yoga, Mantras …

All vibrations of existential


To be a mortal in this pitiless

World ….

Dali dissected time into

A frozen embryo…

Is it the ID of a

Narcissistic Oedipus …

Shame, I have lived

On the pastures of


Paradise is written

In the book of life…

Where is the fire of passion…

I am melting in her robust


The art of making love

Is written in the book of poetry….

Time, the wheel of

Colossal fornication…

Eternity gnashes

As Serpent biting its tail …

What mystic passion

Lies in the one dollar bill…

I am a cloned bastard

Of ethereal poetry…

A cloud of dust

Obscures my shadow…

I have fallen in life …

Each time I climb

Up the ladder ….

Fortune is a lottery

Bringing good tidings

To me ….

Sand castles laid

Out by a child ….

Remind me gently

Of a lost childhood…

Rock music is

A lost metaphor

Of the Devil in his place…

Blues Jazz and Gospel

Echo the sweet music of poetry…

I ask God why I was made

Mortal in a womb?

Morals for me have lost

The color of the skin….

A rainbow is jazz

A fusion of music and poetry…

Time is an echo of a

Bard on wings …

Where is the soul in

A Wasteland ….

Diehard rhythms of shit

Make my day…

My mind is a frozen

Arctic …

I crumble thoughts into

Dust …

Ennui thy shackles

Have tethered my feet…

Oedipus is a roused


Bard, your charm

Does not lie in verse …

Druids plant skeletons

In the forest …

Witch with scythe

You are infernal Macbeth …

Shades of meaning

You lie lost in words….

You adulteress,

You made a veil of sin for me…

Time lies in a savage dream…

When can I know the self?

 The self is fragmented

And disoriented…

A poet’s harp is

A wing of madness….

Fury, you are a

Last supper to relish…

Brothels I have to run

To you to celebrate madness….

Maiden, I have adorned

You with poems …

I have made a garland

Of poetic love….

Smoking pot

Withers the soul…

Time passes by as

A tranquil dream….

Sex awakens like

A slithering weed …

Making love is a poem…

Metaphors poured from

The sky ….

The earth is a wet pussy…

Blessed are the ecstatic

For they shall obtain ecstasy….

Signifiers release me

From shackles of signification….

Am I a ruin of life?

Beatitudes are sculptures of


Epiphanies run deep

Into schisms …

The horizon is drunk

With the cup of oblivion…

When can the chains of

Bondage break free…

When will the shackles

Of the body gloat in delight….

A dream dies in the morning….

What passions are there in her body?

She send me a photo

In a bra and panty…

I she an erotic dream

Becoming a savage to my

Surreal thoughts…

My words are a poetic haze…

I float in the sweet opera of

My thoughts …..

I won’t be defeated in life…

Tomorrow brings a

Renewed hope….

Whisper to me that

You love me…

Poetry is the syncretism

Of the heart….

Passion lies in the chest of words…

Pulchritude I’ve found

You as trash in the dustbin….

Is there power of words….

Utterance bequeath

The life of meaning to me….

Fairies, mermaids and nymphs

I’ve found you all in brothels ….

The meaning of love is found

In a poem …

As I grow older …

I regret that I’ve lived so long…

Mid 40’s catches the blues ….

Morning woke me like a silly song…

Cigarettes you puff my existential poetry…

Where is the song of the night?

Is it an undressed body….

The passion for life ….

I have to find it in

Existential meaning ….

Render me no dark clouds

Of meaning ….

Life chance upon me

A rainbow of existence …

Am I time’s allotted sculpture?

Am I ghost that fornicates

With meaning?

I am the Wasteland of utterances.



Dawn started moving

With the lovers communing

Colors nuzzling fawns

Surging tourbillion

Glowing passion

Eternity flies as

Sadhus in white

Unveiling time on

Mystic flight 

Brook of beauty

Running through

Gurgling Moksha

All the way through

Beyond mundane life

Of Aching Pain and deadly


Heraclitus is moving

From flux to feeling…


(Sadhus are Indian Saints. Moksha is salvation in Sanskrit)

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