this one reminds me of suicide bombers. Very well written. Enjoyed! Happy New Year! Hugs- Catie Lindsey
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
TWILIGHT
Interesting poem, Satish! You've got some wonderful lines in this one. Enjoyed!- Catie Lindsey
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
THREE FACES
Yes, three faces -- among the multitudes -- to see. A couple of days ago, I saw a remarkable face on Skype, the face of a young woman named Joy.
My nephew Tyler is visiting her at her family's home in Buenos Aires during his winter holiday break from college. He met her some time ago in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and spent only a short time with her but made plans with her then to visit her in Argentina.
I hadn't met her before the Skype call, but it took just a moment of seeing her Joy-full smile to understand why Tyler decided to spend his break with her. It wasn't an ordinary smile. It was a smile that just came welling up from her being and brimming over from her with no affectation, continually and more and more joyful as the minutes of the call passed. It felt as if her beaming face was a healing vortex.- Dick
My nephew Tyler is visiting her at her family's home in Buenos Aires during his winter holiday break from college. He met her some time ago in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and spent only a short time with her but made plans with her then to visit her in Argentina.
I hadn't met her before the Skype call, but it took just a moment of seeing her Joy-full smile to understand why Tyler decided to spend his break with her. It wasn't an ordinary smile. It was a smile that just came welling up from her being and brimming over from her with no affectation, continually and more and more joyful as the minutes of the call passed. It felt as if her beaming face was a healing vortex.- Dick
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
GENERATION
'Each death becomes a daisy" Optimism of a poet. And the ancient lingua franca ought to be pregnant with meaning.-U K Atiyodi, Kandangali, Payyanur
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
INTEGRITY
I'm still not getting it but you have some raw feeling leaking through there man, and elsewhere
maybe it would good for others to understand how you feel in a way that they can understand?
we think our troubles are so unique, that not knowing their story no-one 'other' could possibly fathom their depths and twists
so our minds hold us in their thrall and we churn like worms on its hooks
needing freedom,
trading it in for images and concepts.
I think there is a place for being elusive, not sowing seeds in sand etc.
but I doubt that this is it.
who am I to say?
I am you, in a way
are you listening to yourself?- DJW
the sky
unopened
the awe
blows me away
like wind on the sand
and the moon rising
angels
I have yet to meet- Kailashana
maybe it would good for others to understand how you feel in a way that they can understand?
we think our troubles are so unique, that not knowing their story no-one 'other' could possibly fathom their depths and twists
so our minds hold us in their thrall and we churn like worms on its hooks
needing freedom,
trading it in for images and concepts.
I think there is a place for being elusive, not sowing seeds in sand etc.
but I doubt that this is it.
who am I to say?
I am you, in a way
are you listening to yourself?- DJW
unopened
the awe
blows me away
like wind on the sand
and the moon rising
angels
I have yet to meet- Kailashana
PAIN OF ELEGY
Lord, how I love your poems. I rarely if ever, get them intellectually (why would anyone want to grasp a poem intellectually is beyond me), but oh, how they resonate in me! You and Silent are cut from the same cloth. Sometimes I think you're the same person.- Kailashana
Kailashana wrote:Lord, how I love your poems. I rarely if ever, get them intellectually (why would anyone want to grasp a poem intellectually is beyond me), but oh, how they resonate in me! You and Silent are cut from the same cloth. Sometimes I think you're the same person.
I see the power, and emotion, in his language too and have asked him to help me understand what he is saying twice now with no response but, in response to your (why would anyone want to grasp a poem intellectually is beyond me) I will share my thoughts with you, with whom I already feel a deep respect.
I don't think a poem is a piece of art. I think it is a communication.
Art, for one crude definition, may be that expression of being that has no borders or boundaries and can be interpreted by the beholder however they see fit. Expressive art does not need a listener, a watcher, it just is, with or without you.
The concept of using language to express being is, in itself, bordered by the fact that we each of us share the collective mind that was bought into being by those very same words. Without language we humans would not think, this is a fact. We would be, and feel, and exist, but we would not think. Our thoughts can in turn be used to show each other the content, the warp and weft of our minds, and this is more than good, I would argue it is necessary if we are to mend our wicked ways, at all.
The limitation of everyday language is that it hopelessly fails at expressing the indefinable, naturally, by definition.
When we wish to communicate something other than the technical 'how to, where from, what for' of being and reach into the deeper nature of our consciousness then the very words that we need to use to understand each other serve to both open the gate and then effectively stand in its way.
Enter the poem.
A way of expressing the extraordinary in an ordinary way, through speech. Music, painting, dreaming, dancing, cooking, love-making, all the non-verbal ways of connecting to each other, of being, are gloriously free of this terrible impediment of words and their interpretations. Hence the poet's natural wish to free the language so and loosen any bounds of convention.
I understand this impulse but I reject it, only and purely in the poem. This is my reason
If I hear someone and I do not understand them then I have the choice to ignore them or to try harder or differently to understand them better. If I just ignore them then, well who cares really, people are ignoring each other all over the world right now, so what. If I try harder or differently to understand them and I get somewhere then great, well done me. But if I still do not get what they are saying no matter how much I squint my eyes at it then I have another option, to ask them to how me understand it, or even just to tell me again, in a way that I may grasp.
For myself, I feel that if someone has not understood me then the fault lies with me first. I have been too obscure, or clever, or elusive. Often it is my ego's wish to appear mystical and wise that is behind the veiled language that I have used to effectively hide what it was that I wanted to say. When I could have said something simply I said it with some flourishes, some panache, and left my listener untouched or worse, bewildered.
Most people choose the 'ignore' option. Which is why poets are generally left only talking to each other.
We can do better, but 'we' don't have to. I am only speaking for myself.
What do you think?- DJW
more comments................http://delightedteahouse.com/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=1674
Kailashana wrote:Lord, how I love your poems. I rarely if ever, get them intellectually (why would anyone want to grasp a poem intellectually is beyond me), but oh, how they resonate in me! You and Silent are cut from the same cloth. Sometimes I think you're the same person.
I see the power, and emotion, in his language too and have asked him to help me understand what he is saying twice now with no response but, in response to your (why would anyone want to grasp a poem intellectually is beyond me) I will share my thoughts with you, with whom I already feel a deep respect.
I don't think a poem is a piece of art. I think it is a communication.
Art, for one crude definition, may be that expression of being that has no borders or boundaries and can be interpreted by the beholder however they see fit. Expressive art does not need a listener, a watcher, it just is, with or without you.
The concept of using language to express being is, in itself, bordered by the fact that we each of us share the collective mind that was bought into being by those very same words. Without language we humans would not think, this is a fact. We would be, and feel, and exist, but we would not think. Our thoughts can in turn be used to show each other the content, the warp and weft of our minds, and this is more than good, I would argue it is necessary if we are to mend our wicked ways, at all.
The limitation of everyday language is that it hopelessly fails at expressing the indefinable, naturally, by definition.
When we wish to communicate something other than the technical 'how to, where from, what for' of being and reach into the deeper nature of our consciousness then the very words that we need to use to understand each other serve to both open the gate and then effectively stand in its way.
Enter the poem.
A way of expressing the extraordinary in an ordinary way, through speech. Music, painting, dreaming, dancing, cooking, love-making, all the non-verbal ways of connecting to each other, of being, are gloriously free of this terrible impediment of words and their interpretations. Hence the poet's natural wish to free the language so and loosen any bounds of convention.
I understand this impulse but I reject it, only and purely in the poem. This is my reason
If I hear someone and I do not understand them then I have the choice to ignore them or to try harder or differently to understand them better. If I just ignore them then, well who cares really, people are ignoring each other all over the world right now, so what. If I try harder or differently to understand them and I get somewhere then great, well done me. But if I still do not get what they are saying no matter how much I squint my eyes at it then I have another option, to ask them to how me understand it, or even just to tell me again, in a way that I may grasp.
For myself, I feel that if someone has not understood me then the fault lies with me first. I have been too obscure, or clever, or elusive. Often it is my ego's wish to appear mystical and wise that is behind the veiled language that I have used to effectively hide what it was that I wanted to say. When I could have said something simply I said it with some flourishes, some panache, and left my listener untouched or worse, bewildered.
Most people choose the 'ignore' option. Which is why poets are generally left only talking to each other.
We can do better, but 'we' don't have to. I am only speaking for myself.
What do you think?- DJW
more comments................http://delightedteahouse.com/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=1674
Thursday, December 22, 2011
NOBODY WEEPS
Oh My! My heart sighs at this deeply passioned verse... Dorothy A Poet Who Loves To Sing- Dorothy A. Holmes apwlts2
Sunday, December 18, 2011
UNENDING WAR
A successful portrait of an ongoing failure ... or has peace ever been a natural state of being in a world where all life depends on the death of something else? Vegetarians kill and eat plants who have themselves been nourished by the degraded remains of plants and animals that have passed before. " A city cries. The siren screams again." is my favorite part of your thought provoking poem.- york2frisco
PATTERN
I like the image of waves because there is always another coming. We can work on changing the patterns in our lives. One thing I do is to make note of suggestions I may to myself throughout the day. Some of them need couter sugestions.- sstoth0
What a lot said in these few lines, everything in it so evocative and interactive. Waves in the same sea.- Dick
to touch the earth,
a fish must drown
and wash ashore
there is a light we
must follow, patterns of
density and viscosity,
membranes entrained
in the sound of water.....- Kailashana
a fish must drown
and wash ashore
there is a light we
must follow, patterns of
density and viscosity,
membranes entrained
in the sound of water.....- Kailashana
Saturday, December 17, 2011
HALF-CLOSED LIDS
Vermaji, Very powerful poem. Better than your recent poems. Congratulations.- K.H.Prabhu, Kumta, Karnataka
Very dark, bleak and graphic. True, we cannot wish away it. Thanks for sharing, Sir.- Seshu Chamarty, Hyderabad-
TIMES BURDEN
I enjoyed reading your poetry this morning Satish. I hope you have a wonderful weekend. I am going to see if I can write something for a couple contests this weekend. Hope you find the inspiration to do the same. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours. Love- Carol Brown
this is really nice!!!- David Rombo
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