I say jeez, and let my teeth Break the extra crispy bacon. How heaven is it, the blend Of pig flesh and fat, on a frying pan. Perhaps I should have said, sweet Jesus, How taste is an epiphany, Like love or lust, a sudden realization That something turning gold. How genius, for man to invent bacon, Thin slices, ...
Shoddy we are like, the fox or crow Baking in the aftermath of one’s afterglow The bed shaked, the gods were invoked Sequel of love, that began in lingerie floored God, a remembrance of a hotel room tabernacle How you can never change, a bedroom oracle Poor baby doll, too big for poor little Barbie And yet so beautiful, ...
Shoddy we are like, the fox or crow Baking in the aftermath of one’s afterglow The bed shaked, the gods were invoked Sequel of love, that began in lingerie floored God, a remembrance of a hotel room tabernacle How you can never change, a bedroom oracle Poor baby doll, too big for poor little Barbie And yet so beautiful, ...
How lichen covered gravestones Hide fossilized human debris, Bones that clattered next To the permafrost, as the winter Ends and spring begins. Snowdrops flowering at will And summer happens. I stumble to a yard, with our dog, Walking through a dandelion Field, uprooting tiny yellow blooms As I run across a yard of ...
How lichen covered gravestones Hide fossilized human debris, Bones that clattered next To the permafrost, as the winter Ends and spring begins. Snowdrops flowering at will And summer happens. I stumble to a yard, with our dog, Walking through a dandelion Field, uprooting tiny yellow blooms As I run across a yard of ...
How Darwin studied Finches in the Galapagos Islands, How the finches are a life Lesson, in adaptation, Their plastic beaks, just like Lips that drift like a ferry Across a medium of air or perhaps ether, The many, you have kissed Without hesitation, in a moment Deprived of caution. How lips still undergo adaptation, To find a niche, in her ...
How Darwin studied Finches in the Galapagos Islands, How the finches are a life Lesson, in adaptation, Their plastic beaks, just like Lips that drift like a ferry Across a medium of air or perhaps ether, The many, you have kissed Without hesitation, in a moment Deprived of caution. How lips still undergo adaptation, To find a niche, in her ...
The pimple, the tennis ball The planet earth, the ascendency of spheres, How from a full stop to planet Jupiter, There are ball-shaped sculptures Everywhere you look. From the miniature, to the giants. While a single favorite of children And adults alike, papadums, Tell you that the world is divided, Between the flat earthers, Like those who cheer on ...
The pimple, the tennis ball The planet earth, the ascendency of spheres, How from a full stop to planet Jupiter, There are ball-shaped sculptures Everywhere you look. From the miniature, to the giants. While a single favorite of children And adults alike, papadums, Tell you that the world is divided, Between the flat earthers, Like those who cheer on ...
Oh, how dynamite moments, Fill a hall in Stockholm, Sweden. Tagore stood there in 1912 While pretenders of the pinnacle, Are shy of what it takes, to catapult, From a slum in Chennai, To that stage in Stockholm. How that little house made of cheap timber, With roofs that blow away, to the storm, Will now be storm-proof. How ...
Every midnight, it trickles to 12.01 AM, A new day, dark as an apocalypse. I’m sleeping on a bundled shirt, a makeshift pillow, No pajamas, only fresh clothes after a wash. How as I awake, breath comes first, The smell of pollen, rocky earth and petrichor, Sight comes next, the eye lids Letting in light, like a pulled curtain, ...
We are people of hope. The crows, although scavengers Are monogamous, and wiser Than any avian counterpart. I wonder are crows, sapiosexuals? We search for the highest point, Only to fall. Acme is both A pinnacle and an agent Of Murphy’s law; what wily coyote Knows best. We are illogicians In the soap operas of life. And in that ...
O is for Oxygen The lungs that expand and collapse, O is for Oxymoron, The paradoxes, the rain and the sun, In one weather forecast. O is for the Orange, The marmalade moments, Bittersweet, mushy and, O is for Operation Second Coming, How Oz, taught you that, Love is like the Melbourne weather, It changes so often; ...
A poem of mine, that was accepted months ago. Its on NY. There is an error in spelling though (ate should be are). This journal is based in the state of West Virginia. http://www.heartwoodlitmag.com/spaceman-in-new-york Manhattan New York New York City
Hi All, Just sharing a friend’s poetry website. You can follow his poems here. He is an award winning poet from Sri Lanka. He is studying for his Ph.D. in English, at ANU, Canberra. https://vihangapererapoems20152017.wordpress.com/
Three poems of mine, in a journal, published by a team in India. The poems are on, very Sri Lankan themes. I hope you will enjoy the poems. Thank you for being a wonderful audience. http://thewagonmagazine.com/post/poetry-dilantha-gunawardana
Boot master, relentless workaholic, Tatoo junkie and yet supreme architect of Moves rapturing towards goal. The precise passes, the hopeful lobs, The attacking runs, how a man who learnt, That one hand is more flexible Than another, learned later on, That the same is true For the feet. How we are All, preferred-limbed soldiers of fortune, Knowing that ...
Here they collect elephant dung To be pressed and made into paper. How beautiful that pages Of poetry are born, from elephant poop, The biggest dung of them all. What used to be fertilizer for The cultivation of crops, now Making way for stanzas, sonnets And haikus. How poetic That inside “the well of dew”, There is innovation, ...
Duckface, luckface, quackface Mugface, mobface, pokerface, jokerface The many faces of a selfie. How there are so many versions To what the arms extend, And an aperture records As stilled time. How my wife and I, on holiday, Take a selfie, knowing That the space between us, That erased its own daylight, Will one day become a gap That ...
The cramped spaces of a pavement In New York, and to the ghost towns Of Texas. El Paso, where Mexican Illegals arrive and Fargo, North Dakota, reminding us. That there is far to go. How the news, tells us about The pollution in Flint, while An oil pipeline battles public opinion. As I ponder how the bald ...
