Life

Methodic Madness

Enslaving chains and wilderness pains 

are broken on healing heavenly domain 

plus graceful throne, envisioned. 

 

Method upholds this marauding madness 

aflicting us on earthly journeys through 

wounded wilderness, deadly disdain 

and frighful famine; distressing 

humankind and nature. 

 

Twisted minds and wicked souls  

torment humankind on this earthly  

journey through birth, life and death. 

Yet, we came with nothing; and with 

nothing, we depart to earth's dust.  

 

Hideous hypocrisy darkens love to 

hide this greatest reality from heaven's 

green pastures, meadows and 

river bed, unchained.  

 

We follow this river path to oceans 

lighted by divine mercy and unending 

salvation; healing broken hearts and 

bleeding, lost souls. 

 

A Short List Of The Things We Know

Folder: 
2020

Once upon a time

my words fell apart

and told me I had nothing else to give.

 

Once upon a time

I believed them.

 

Telling, isn’t it,

the things we know when they are finally written down.

 

So I guess

I only write down what I know

and not what is true.

 

I will write you down until you don’t seem like truth

but you are still here

something I can touch

and mold into something that doesn’t look like a lie.

 

So here is a short list

of the things we know:

 

sometimes I don’t deserve you.

 

I can see the rain before the storm starts.

 

I can’t always see you.

 

When I see you there is something in your eyes

I might break again.

 

I will not do everything right.

 

I will do most things wrong.

I bleed when you get cut

and I can’t stop the slide.

 

I am sure I have never seen perfect

but your hand in mine

is as close as I have ever felt.

 

I will not be everything you need.

 

But I will try to be the moon if it feels like the sun won’t rise

and I wish for you every morning.

 

I love you.

 

You are first on the list

of the things I think I know.

 

I only hope I’m right.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 4/12/20

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FAVORITES

I’ve been blessed to have spent my life with someone who has a host of favorites from which to choose…

Favorite colors, favorite foods, favorite houses...favorite shoes.

 

Favorite authors, favorite actors, favorite places…favorite things to cook

Favorite music, favorite movies, favorite animals...favorite books.

 

I used to tease her about having so many favorites…all in affectionate fun

Telling her she had too many favorites and she needed to narrow them to one.

 

But the more I’ve watched her over the years finding so many favorites as our life has moved along

I’ve come to believe that she is right and I’m the one who’s wrong.

 

I have come to believe it is she…not me…who is sensible and wise

as she observes the world around us through beautifully innocent eyes.

 

Reminding me as we travel the road of life, as we somehow muddle through it

It’s not only important what we see, but how we choose to view it.

 

How wonderful it is for her...how extraordinarily rare

to go through life, to look around….and find favorites everywhere.

 

Imagine the anticipation...the excitement you’d feel every day

If you know in the morning when you wake up…this could be your favorite day.

 

Imagine if you were open to it...if you were so inclined

all the miracles you’d discover...all the favorites you might find.

 

If you can find favorites in the moment...in what that moment has comprised

you will be continually amazed at life and constantly surprised.

 

You’d fall asleep at night contented, happy, thankful, satisfied,….and then

you’d wake up in the morning and start all over again.

 

So the next time she picks a favorite...I have no reason to tease or doubt her

because having so many favorite things…

is one of my favorite things about her.


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A Strange Phenomenon

Folder: 
Satish Verma

When the lone night sleeps
I wake up the moon
for a monologue.

You listen with unblinking eyes
and hear by shivering skin.
Constancy remains alert.

You wanted me to define―
the time. Will that change with
our age, unknown to bystanders?

You were not yourself
in my presence, becoming a lost
child in trance, struck by a magic spell.

There was no physical passage.
Timelessly you would stare at me
to enter my thoughts.

Like a blue butterfly, I will
fly in the room to kiss you, and
bring back the feel of merge.
After a long pause we would part,
taking the scented dream
of our interrupted moments.

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Talking Through Veils

Folder: 
Satish Verma

You were born with
a golden tongue.
When I shut my eyes,
I hear a Beethoven.

In a back vision,
the future tricks. You
become older to me.

Author of beauty, will write
a new chapter, revising the old
script― when ink is scarce in soft tears.

Can you mix the color of doomsday
with a rising moon, sitting
on a blind eagle?

There was always
a tussle between fire and sea.
When the ship was burning, brine
dried up.

Where now, we will grow
out lilies, if sky doesn't cry.

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The Lay of Maranwe

Folder: 
Tales and Fables

Once upon a time, long ago,

enfurled in a land in which did flow

rivers of enormous size,

through great wolds and over the rise

of a cliff, grand and mystique,

on a mountain of which whose peak

looked out over the cold, cold sea

the mistress of sailors, the love of the free.

The sea! The sea! Oh, the sea.

Twas the sea that called Maranwe

to his wrack so long ago

when the sea swelled with melted snow.

 

He was born of the eldest son

of kingly sires who one-by-one

had met the sea and so did yearn

for it, waiving the sun's bright burn

and descended into the shadowy deep

never to rise, forever to sleep.

Doom, his father tried to avoid

for the sake of the son in which he enjoyed,

but strong was the blood that ran through his vein

and quick was he to find his own bane

at the cold hands of the death-thirsty sea,

never to rise, nevermore to be free.

 

Maranwe's bold life began that day

that his father died, and he was sped away

deep into the wold, far from the sea,

so that the bale of his forefathers may not be

his weird, and his mother bade

him loath the sea, upon which was laid

the curse of his fathers and of his kin,

and to love no more the mortal men -

men who were easily swayed by the sea

until they should die, no more to be.

He was then placed into an elf's care

until the house he no longer could share,

and so ran away into deep shaws,

away from men and his mother's laws.

 

A great hunter he soon came to be, 

under no law, forever free,

until the day he found his weird

in an old man with a gray beard

who stood in the way

on the dawn of that fateful day. 

A teacher the man claimed to be

and taught Maranwe sigaldry

of fiery magic with weildy blade

and when they were finished, he again bade

Maranwe to reject the sea

that the bane of his fathers may not be

the weird of a hero so noble and blest

but Maranwe grew wrathful and lay down to rest

the old man who had once been his friend

but the old man, while trying to fend

him off cried “Beware the sea my friend!

For the sea mews lonely cry can rend

a man to long for the sea's dark gray

to find his weird and prove him fey.”

But Maranwe did not heed his words

and under the sight of carrion birds

slew his friend and mentor true

but fearing the wrath of the gods, he flew.

On waking again he was alone

and running away, his face shone

with the sheen of one already fey

so his doom was full-sealed that day.

 

After untold travail, and finally ruth,

Maranwe decided to live forsooth

and bated by the cold freshets and frith 

chose to rid the world of the myth

of the resident naiad who lived in the river.

So taking up his sword, bow, and quiver,

he went to find her, to clear his name

and possibly take from him the bane 

of his forefathers, now almost forgotten

dead on the sea floor, blind and rotten.

But the nymph was know for creating bliss

and in the men stirred wantonness

and by keeping their attention all day 

their farms had all faded away.

 

So on went Maranwe to trap the poor girl,

first to capture, then to hurl

her out of the shaw, to trouble no more

the farmers and peasants who lived by the shore 

of her cool river which led out to the sea,

and then perhaps he would be free

of the bane of his house and the dirt of his name.

For his name ever brought to him shame

for 'Maranwe' means destiny in elvish they say,

and so he looked for her day after day,

to change his weird and live in bliss

and never again his name would miss.

 

He sought her through forest and fountain, glade and glen,

until he finally found her, but then

he stayed his hand and was entranced

by this beautiful nymph who danced

upon the green shore of her river home

far from the cold sea's frothy foam.

And while he stared, he caught her eye,

and her eyes appeared bluer than the bluest sky,

deeper than the ocean floor,

more precious to him than a diamond's core.

But away she swam, with him in pursuit

till they came to the river's root 

and then he stopped and cried to her

for like a fish, he had taken the lure.

She then looked back at the haggard man,

then into the forest she quickly ran

but the forest was Maranwe's home

the place where he always loved to roam.

 

After two days, she began to tire

and deep within her kindled a fire

for this man, so brave and wild

this incarnation of forest child.

And so she turned and welcomed him

the only child of mortal men

who had gained her love, though wild and fey,

her heart, he had finally captured that day.

And so they lived long, through sorrow and bliss 

until the sea claimed her, and then her he did miss

and followed to the edge of that sea

wishing that with her he would again be.

 

Walking the shore, looking out towards the sea

he was met by a very strange company

of men, and the friend who he killed long ago

ethereal spirits, alive but lo!

Maranwe's old friend had turned his head

and looking straight at him, he said,

“Beware, beware of the sea my friend! 

For the sea mews lonely cry can rend

a man to long for the sea's dark gray

to find his weird and prove himself fey.

For these, my friends who surround me yet

were once kings of old, men who let 

their desires fall to the cold, cold sea,

never to die, nevermore free.'

“Your forefathers these are, who I warned long ago,

I gave them each good counsel but lo!

They did not listen, and they became fey 

when they ignored my counsel the very first day.”

 

And Maranwe foreseeing his doom draw near,

ran from that place in bloodcurdling fear

that his doom may yet be completed that day

and that his life would soon fade away. 

So he ran up the shore, back to the stream

but coming upon it, he saw a small gleam

and turning to see from whence it came

saw only the spirit of that once-loved dame

and crying aloud, he wept bitter tears

and afraid of the drawing of his years

to a close, he ran back to the sea

as if able to confront his enemy,

but all he found was the calm sea and shore,

the ethereal spirits he saw no more.                                                                                                                                                                                 

 

For years after he lived by the sea

for in his heart he never was free

from the love of the nymph, whom he had loved dear

and filled with this love, he set away fear

and constructed a plan to sail the cold sea

to find his maid, and set her free

from the death-enveloping sea

and nevermore a thrall would she be.

But at the shore awaited his fate,

for although in his life it came late,

doom overcomes all that it calls,

and it caught Maranwe at the falls

of the great rivers that empty into the sea

at the edge of the lands of the free.

For as he approached, he heard the crying mews

and the battle of fate he knew he would lose

but nevertheless to the sea he went out

and stepping onto the shore with a shout

he cried “The sea! The sea! Oh the sea,

know that you do not own my destiny.

For I have lived long years without count

with the woman I loved, and at her fount

I lived like no man ever lived before,

and now gladly I come unto death's door.”

 

Then forsaking his life, and the sun's bright burn

to find his love for which he did yearn,

he descended into the shadowy deep

never to rise, forever to sleep.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dated NOV25, 2009

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Job

 

Lord, I'm on my knees again

Because the worst has happened

The death of a loved one

The loss of a job

I can't pay the bills

My wife no longer loves me

 

So I'm here today

Before the Lord of creation

The First and Last

And perhaps the best I can say

Is a hollow hallelujah

From an empty heart

“The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away

Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

 

For who knows

Perhaps by my suffering

Someone else may be blessed

Someone else might have hope

Someone else might see You through me

 

I can't see the future

I don't know the greater plan

But I believe, but I Know

That even in the hardest of times

I can rely on You to carry me

When I fall, let me fall into Your arms

Please take this broken life

This shattered jar of clay

And shape it into the man

That You need me to be

 

I trust You

I love You

And because of these

 

I know that I'll be ok

 

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The Road Going To Woods

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Sometimes you hear the
strange voices― coming from
short distances, in half murder
of myths, when you
were strung in the shade
of glittering planets.

Blue knives and red wounds,
unearth your past. You miss your ancestors,
as if living on tree tops between
prayers and hymns.

The skin goes taut. You feed
the bones to stand erect,
to walk like a feral primate.
The script was changing, nor
the parchment.

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Building Windmills

Folder: 
Just For Fun

I wish that I could build windmills

In the vast and empty space between my ears

Maybe they would power my imagination

And feed my hopes and fears

I wish that I could plow the fields of my mind

And raise a bountiful crop

With lands and lands of growing ideas

Over hills and valleys until they drop

Into ravines and torrents of inspiration

Flowing through my very veins

Gushing, splashing onto paper

Roaring like oncoming trains

And blasting speedily through my write-block

Then coming steadily through my head

So I can be happy with my efforts

AND FINALLY, I CAN GO TO BED!

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