Jagannath's Nature Poetry




   

<< December 2017 >>
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
 01 02
03 04 05 06 07 08 09
10 11 12 13 14 15 16
17 18 19 20 21 22 23
24 25 26 27 28 29 30
31

Poetry based upon actual experiences, not one thought up in the intellectual aridness of a pseudo-thinker. Words as they mean in the specific context of recollected thought or image , not meaning several things at a time but that which re-creates an aura or a haze of an earlier experience








My other sites

POETRY BY A.J.RAO

A.J.RAO'S PHOTOIDEAS

JAGANNATH'S POETRY


UNREAL REALITY



«xBlogxPhilesx»




TDStats.com - Hit Counter & Website Statistics



Who Links Here

If you want to be updated on this weblog Enter your email here:



rss feed


Nov 26, 2006
What the trees do not realize


 
The trouble with these old, gnarled trees
Still standing upright in the earth and air
Is that they want to remain homes
To the many homeless evening-birds
Which incessantly chatter to slum kids
Pouring out of their improvised shanties
With tin roofs glistening in the sun
Through old cycle tires and tarpaulin tatters
Kept defensively in place against the wind
By a motley collection of gray stones.
They do not realize even in their death
That our gardener’s three-stone stove
Is waiting impatiently for their dry logs
To arrive in its enormous, crackling fire.

Posted at 08:59 pm by adukuri
Make a comment  

Mar 6, 2006
On the strand at Babughat,Kolkataerunder

 



On the Babughat the Ganges wore
A splendid necklace studded with images
Of inverted candle lights under the bridge
The flickering flame of the lantern in the boat
Refused to dance to the wind’s death-tune
Near the jetty stood a dark monstrosity
Brooding over unillumined loneliness
Its cavernous stomach ached with
The darkest secrets of the high seas .


Posted at 03:07 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Feb 24, 2006
Mornings

 

My birds are twittering constantly;
Their colors refuse to climb the sky
Amid scattered sounds and sunrays.
My mornings are many-hued skies
Rising from treetops of birdsongs.



Posted at 10:36 pm by adukuri
Make a comment  

Jan 4, 2006
The sun-photographer

 

It is this luminosity, my dear,
Of the gilded leaves in the sun
The magic eye promptly catches
A silver flicker, a yellow transience.
A palliative to the chemical pain
In variously knotted entrails and
The reddish tinge in eye-whites.

Posted at 07:11 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Sunrise and flowers

 

In my nights of waiting
For sunrise and flowers
I look pain in the face.
I wake up bleary-eyed
Trying to catch beach suns
Before they turn white.

Posted at 07:10 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Be

 

The flowers spoke nothing
Waiting for indifferent lovers.
Their colours touched the sky.
Their existence was close-ended
Being closely trapped in the sun.
Drinking moon-beams, they want to be
As birds in the higher zones do.

Posted at 07:07 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

The rock

 

The rock is being cut
Slowly disintegrating
Real existence, ours.
The drill pierces time.
The sky becomes bluer
With nothing between
The blue sky and us.

Posted at 07:06 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Wounds

 

In the recent monsoon
Our rivers felt as if
The mountains had bled
From fresh wounds
Their flesh has gone,
Across the green seas,
To the distant Chinaman
To fill out his bones.

Posted at 07:05 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

The Return of Beauty

 

Things remained unsaid
Beauty had cried in torrents
Of words bereft of thought
Till the blazing March sun
Beat history's scraggly stones
A midsummer celebration
Ensued with images galore
Beauty returned from the hills.

Posted at 07:04 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Breeze

 

The banyan's shadows played
With yesterday’s leaves
The words were leaves
My shadows played with.

Posted at 07:01 am by adukuri
Make a comment  

Next Page