Blackout Poetry
Through the Looking Glass Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Streams
Glistening streams wash over the land The Veins and arteries of lif Carrying debris of loss, regrets and ignorance Into the vacuum field brimming with the secrets of the cosmos. Transmutation, emergence, reconfiguration, nothing shall be the same. The intermittent bitingness of flesh surrenders to the perennial bing-bang of the Infinite certainty. Behold, all is
Eucalyptus’ Ode
Auld Lang Syne rings… 2024 Opens… Pre-face (d) The Old squints bravely At the bright face of the New Brimming with possibility. Loved and strangers alike Silently question The Past Ode Time Long Past Distant memories remain Every sloppy kiss, Every glass-clinking toast Every euphoric hug shared Reflections drowned out by slurred conversations The forgotten
Peace
Elusive thing When raised to a banner Yielding masses to agree Malleable Diluted Tempered Alchemized In the fire of ambition and power Objectified As the price we pay for spilling blood In the name of slippery, volatile constructs Burnt to ashes without feathers springing on renewal flight Peace The elixir running in the veins of
Echo of a MEmory
An echo of a memory through cracks in reality slips The faint glimmer of a long-lost dream with crumbling vestiges of illusion scratching rotten edges in its wake A power with feet of clay precariously swinging on recalcitrant dogmas pertaining a past with unraveled seams and bitter stains claimed in the sleepless nights of ignorance
Detour
You are here today… Yet, who are you? Trapped in the corollary of familiarity, Unidimensional relatedness, Insipid, toneless expression Of a longing too afraid to Assert, Profess, Demand Ownership of worth… You are here today… Yet, what for? Around the conspicuous waste And never-ending loops Unfertile soils eroded by Regularity, commonplace Demure Endured Obscured Stereotype