A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)


3 Comments

Pause

Misunderstood.

Mistaken most often.

Used, abused.

Worked to death

Most especially in narrative

Incoherent, incomprehensible.

 

Neither a pause. Nor a period

Not that space between, either.

In limbo, never quite knowing what

Bothers me so.

And never knowing where I could go.

 

I’m sure there is a mould for me

A niche I might, someday, inhabit.

But, till I do, I remain insensate

As that semi colon.

 

17 June, 2017

“A semicolon is used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.”

Read more on what inspired this write here 🙂

http://www.upworthy.com/have-you-seen-anyone-with-a-semicolon-tattoo-heres-what-its-about

semicolon-tattoos-don-t-panic

 

 

 

 

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Exquisite

The dew on a spider’s web

Diamond bright; short-lived.

 

That first shot-

Bending over the horizon,

The blush-pink sun.

A new bride

Yet to grow, and rule.

 

Just as exquisite is that

Sliver you drive

Carefully, ever so carefully

Slathered with love

So your eyes seem to say

Right into my heart

Easing it bit by aching bit

With all that you don’t say.

 

Exquisite, the tremor

Of the dew-like drop

Latched to the quivering lashes

Before taking the plunge.

 

So exquisite,

I’m spoiled for any less fare.

 

20 April, 2017

Day#20 of #Napowrimo, 2017 – National Poetry Writing Month 2017


7 Comments

Circumspect

It’s a freeloaders’ paradise
This vagrant heart you own.

Errr.. own. Let me rephrase that.
You think you own.

Savvy?
You trust, you believe. You have
That unflinching faith
That all is known to them
That love your generous heart.

And so you love.
For you know not
How to be…else.

Elsewhere. You give.
No one asks, they take.
Not because you give.

But because they
Think
They, they own yours.

Because you love.
Love with that endless
Limitless knowledge of how
Your infinite capacity
Can never diminish, but only grow….

While, when they take,
All that you see is how
Defined, confined, blind
They grow.

They say, say,
They love you.
And you? You gullible you

You take that Medal of Honour
Of Love, they bestow.
Adorn your heart for all to see….
Wear it upon your sleeve
Talk endlessly to all who
May pass your way.

Gush, in eager exhortation
Of how they be incomplete
If love be not theirs.

They look on in
Wondrous confusion -that such creatures exist;
Slowly changing the colour of the emotion they lend.

To pity.

You still revel
In the singular faith.
Love cannot, will not
Abandon…

Live that lie
You faith lends.

Never, ever learning the lesson
Not even inadvertently.

How to be circumspect.
Guarded.

For yours is a vagabond soul
That tarries not.

And never holds back.

And therefore grows.
Because the lesson escapes you.

Oh Love!

 

3 April, 2017

Day#3 of #Napowrimo, 2017 – National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a quest into wound lent by a sliver, a shard that strikes just where it hurts


1 Comment

Hangover

The surfeit of
Spirit.
Uniquely branded.

You.

Aeons of drinking
From the cup of
Shared memories
Has not sweetened
Life.

For, your sudden
Withdrawal,
Sent me into
Paroxyms
An orgy, almost

Of pain.

And here I am
Penning a paean.

To that ache
I shall always live with.

Seeming to revel in it.

Maybe I do.
Maybe, that is
The only way.

For, any other way
Would mean

Acquiring new skills.

I’m too old a dog,
For that.

Unless, of course,
I find a new spirit
Just as unique…

And assuage
My soul’s thirst.

5 March, 2017
Online, and as surreal as it can get. No, no spirits, except them wordy ones are responsible for this 🙂 

 


1 Comment

She tried. She really did.

Teetering on the edge
Of possibilities
They pulled me back.
Peremptorily. Sagely.
Masking the accusation
That leaked edgeways
From their words.

Words dripping
Saccharine sweet.

They called me
To Opportunities.
Them. Who called
Me. To talk.
It’s nothing, they said.
That edge you say you’re on?
It’s merely an illusion.
It’s only in your head.

See?
Just a nonsensical illusion
Fed by… maybe a sense of 

Self-pity?
This, with that
Smug, satisfied air
Of The One Who Knows It All.

We know, they said.
We know just how it is.

Do you?
I screamed.
Albeit silently.
I did not
Want to worry them.
Because, you see,
Self-preservation includes
Making oneself as
Invisible as possible.

You do not need
Their attention.
Their Incomprehensible,
Sometimes Insufferable
Sympathy.

Empathy is rarer
Than that pink, well cut diamond.
Should you find one.
I hope, I tell myself,
(as motivation)
You’ll recognise it
Keep it, even if you
Pay with all the
Pain you’ll feel..
That you share
When you share
If you do.
Would it help?
Maybe. Maybe.

That’s the voyage
You’ll never embark on
Maybe.
But just stand on
The Sands of Time
Look out at the
Billowing waves.

Wondering how long
Before you
Give in and
Drown.

Quite, quite drown.

Remembering, of course
To leave behind
The words. The instruction
For this epitaph.

She tried.
She really did. 

7 February, 2017