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I am one of those for whom superfluity is a necessity.
quote by Theophile Gautier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As for plenty, we had not only for necessity, conveniency and decency, but for delight and pleasure to superfluity.
quote by Margaret Cavendish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vicissitude II: Spring
The picador sun retires
And pants gloriously in his throne
His sweat quenched the drought;
Ocher turns to green and yellow
Marauding with the superfluity
Of palettes soused in nubile flowers—
A chateau of jaunty heraldries
And in the subterfuge of its alleys
I trampled in a quaint boudoir;
A loquacious room for a witling orchid
In the labyrinthine contours of the heather
I strife, I stride, I earnestly bristle
The verdure of saccharine spring time
But the pristine panoramic scene
Diverges a tatterdemalion man
Lost in dainty blossoming days
So I sifted through the prairies,
Ran across turfs, knolls, and valleys,
And slumber with a wilting orchid
The maelstrom of iridescent petals
That dabs the flagellating thorns
Oscillates like the sun and moon
With soporific lulls and inebriated
Pangs of melancholia in gnarls
Chagrined by the superfluity
Foreboding the dawn of debauchery
In the bosom of a redolent spring
poem by Norman Santos
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A superfluity of wealth, and a train of domestic slaves, naturally banish a sense of general liberty, and nourish the seeds of that kind of independence that usually terminates in aristocracy.
quote by Mercy Otis Warren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Though a good motive cannot sanction a bad action, a bad motive will always vitiate a good action. In common and trivial matters we may act without motives, but in momentous ones the most careful deliberation is wisdom.
quote by W.M.L. Jay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Those Who Really Love
and here it is
as a matter of today's reflection
after reading your poem
my friend,
that for those who love
asking what love is
is a superfluity
for those who love much and truly
they just do it
without so much asking
wordless and endless
a hug, a kiss, making love
feeding, giving,
all out reaching
patience immeasurable like an ocean
love without measure
on time undefined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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George Meredith
Forty years back, when much had place
That since has perished out of mind,
I heard that voice and saw that face.
He spoke as one afoot will wind
A morning horn ere men awake;
His note was trenchant, turning kind.
He was one of those whose wit can shake
And riddle to the very core
The counterfiets that Time will break....
Of late, when we two met once more,
The luminous countenance and rare
Shone just as forty years before.
So that, when now all tongues declare
His shape unseen by his green hill,
I scarce believe he sits not there.
No matter. Further and further still
Through the world's vaprous vitiate air
His words wing on--as live words will.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Clockwork Quintessence
A superfluity of roses
nested on a tomb -
I dwelt in this camouflage
wearing my yellowing bones
amongst these similitude
I consented with the strings
that played my rhythms
and plucked my limbs;
I never grew tired
because I'm beyond quietude
The hands of the world
molted the dirt and clay
and rubbed its surfeit palms
to stir the blue ethers
in its stagnant sleep
The inevitable is upon us
and looking back only erupts
my frangibility open to infections
so please don't confront me
with my failures and abjections
Let me lie here unbeknownst
of the skimming in my skin,
soundly exhumed and unfiltered
on my discourse with destruction
and other lustrous things
poem by Norman Santos
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Superfluous
The wafting ether
with white ephemeral flames
traipsing this roofless chasm
reminds me of everything
that I need to forget
A shrill lament, a shuddering
in the semblance of sad violins
serenades like a siren
to purge all musings
and I'm entangled in strings
There's no escaping the lights
and the lofty shadows
chasing our fleets
I am tired of running
but the road goes on
And as I harangue myself
with pride and glory
I counted all the elegies,
the howling echolalia,
and the undying wails
entrapped in this room
This instilled soliloquy,
this farcical infinity;
this is too much
for superfluity
but I cannot contend
against its torrent,
I can only exacerbate
its alleviating number.
poem by Norman Santos
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August
Why should this Negro insolently stride
Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet?
Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat,
Lie heaps of smouldering daisies, sombre-eyed,
Their copper petals shriveled up with pride,
Hot with a superfluity of heat,
Like a great brazier borne along the street
By captive leopards, black and burning pied.
Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream,
With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none
Like those white lilies, luminous and cool,
Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream
By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun
Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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From the Medea of Euripides
The rites derived from ancient days
With thoughtless reverence we praise,
The rites that taught us to combine
The joys of music and of wine,
And bid the feast, and song and bowl
O'erfill the saturated soul:
But ne'er the flute or lyre applied
To cheer despair or soften pride;
Nor call them to the gloomy cells
Where Wants repines and Vengeance swells;
Where Hate sits musing to betray,
And murder meditates his prey!
To dens of guilt and shades of care,
Ye sons of melody, repair;
Nor deign the festive dome to cloy
With superfluity of joy,
Ah! little needs the minstrel's power
To speed the light convivial hour,
The board with varied plenty crown'd
May spare the luxuries of sound.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Love Is Ripple
Love is self emanating palpitation
It comes out with earnest appeal in relation
There is more attachment in revelation
Person loves only for self elation
Personal appearance plays important role
Beautiful features invite eyes to respond call
What can be fun if I think it may vanish?
Life otherwise if temporarily face and may anytime finish
It is stupidity to argue for future happening
Who on this earth may remain always heartening?
Not loose natural beauty and stay ever green?
Such arguments are called silly and never heard or seen
If you find fault with beauty and dream in foolish land
It will vitiate the relation and turn trend
No girl may like future prediction
Based on stories as mentioned in frictions
How can one argue that he loves her only because of God?
Is he not making fool of himself and committing fraud?
It is love only and prime necessacity of human being
And we play the role of joker in the circus ring
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A bonded free
I released soul from imprisonment
I thought it to be right movement
How one can lodge it in captivity?
Can it have future with its continuity?
I gave full freedom to go in for wild search
It should have no room for complaints with heart ache
It has full right to breath in fresh air
There has to be clear move with intention very fair
Let me admit I have been lost in you
This is not idealism but very true
I have no means to prove it any way
The real feelings are very far and away
I may search all over again and again
I may be lost but energy to regain
I want to under go any amount of pain
I shall do nothing contrary and refrain
I wish it to be really free
Must provide me comforts under the tree
From where I can see clear and sky
With powerful wings straight away fly
I am lost with its simplicity
I fear no treachery or duplicity
It is there for me alone
It should never hit me as stone
I have put enough trust
It has to be there and must
I shall have choice to test the ground
A new love has to be found
I know it will not deceive
I shall welcome it and receive
I have longed it for future
It must be trust worthy and mature
I shall not deviate
No steps to be taken to vitiate
It must move and pendulum to oscillate
It should cement the bond and co relate
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Peace of Christmas
This fully spirited rendition
Of tranquilizers,
Packaged by innocence—in a manger,
In a manger,
Has surprised the hungry and the angry with peace.
But down the road in years ahead,
Mary Magdalene waits,
With many heads,
That will settle
For peace not dreamed of;
Yet cares less who cares,
And would follow her new-found dream
To view a Roman cross.
As for today, Father Christmas
Has chosen to be a toy
To countless children—a celebrity god;
Tantalizing them with gifts—not in a manger,
Not in a manger,
But packaged with superficiality
For the anger sleeping in hunger,
In ambivalence of ambience.
Accept my offer of
The peace of Christmas—not on a platter,
Not on a platter,
Neither packaged in the superfluity of moments
But the simplicity of purposeful humanity;
To be sung by shepherds
Who longed for morning light.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
The peace of Christmas.
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Holiday For The Forgotten
Here, have some of my holiday,
Reveling in the blares of soliloquy
And watching the stars shift their bones
Waiting for the first signs of dawn
And laying awake in your bedroom
Until the sunspots would fritter away
Again, back into the Mobius Strip
Of impassable holidays.
Come take a seat in my banquet
A hollow table for eight people
With sutured lips and eyes,
A superfluity of feast and revelry
In a plethora of emptiness,
That would keep us bloated
All through the gaudy merriment
Of the dilettante eve.
Succor in the warmth of an empty hearth
And be accustomed to the comport
Of the bleak echoes of silence
And let us open the presents
That we wrapped for ourselves
And the unanticipated letters
Of coveting unfettered friends,
Inebriate with the pangs of jealousy.
Evocatively, inexorably,
A surfeit of effervescent air
Can suffocate the trampled ones
Whose names were not inscribed
In the jaunty arms of carousals
But we, we will breath our own air
With the cinders of schmaltz flair
Cordially inviting in the holiday of the forgotten.
poem by Norman Santos
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Partially honest
Can anybody of us claim to be partially honest?
Are we trying our best in real earnest?
We claim to be sincere and nearly good,
You will find many living in world only for food,
So many of us love to lead life of dishonesty,
Every moment we die to show honesty,
So hollowness in our approach,
We need no specialization or coach,
We try to show what we are not,
Try to vitiate atmosphere and create a knot,
Nothing appeals us and we always rot,
Think we are cleaver and will never be caught,
I t is our human nature,
We don’t live in today but in future,
Not improving present but go for cure,
What we can gain is not for sure,
Lovely things doe not appeal,
Good ideas we out right repeal,
Never try to attempt for wounds to heal,
It is the exact time to work for real,
You may not go for complete honesty?
Keep soft corner and little bit mercy?
Feel for sentiments and not show pity,
Pardon small mistakes and not feel guilty,
It ultimately pays and happiness fill, .
Not immediate reward but good will,
Closeness in heart and hatred slowly kill,
Sure to succeed in mission without guilty feel
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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When Feelings Fail to Flabbergast - 1968
Future today, tomorrow: past,
love's piper must be paid at last,
where two's no longer company
one's crowded out, one too many
fights pseudo superfluity
self-confidence at sea, aghast.
Too late is hell. Seek, rather, fast
to try new track, exile, outcast
unworthy partner, fake. Break free
from falsehood lacking harmony's
far better far than fragility
stretched out by thin elastoplast.
Life's boat cannot advance half-mast,
an appetite scorns cold repast,
‘alone' keeps credibility
preparing for fresh melody
by banishing futility
when feelings fail to flabbergast.
Causal love-links multicast
play games, dream's downfall seemed forecast
to herald heartbreak threnody
yet somehow primes rhyme's melody,
prime-time until eternity
mocks mortal bombast vain as vast.
(3 March 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Your Insanity
It took me years to understand
Your insanity-
Your flowery rhythms and
Your mismatched attire
And shoes,
That smiled upon me
Each time you spoke
Something unimportant-
Yes, there is purpose in it,
I suppose-that some divine
Providence that lifts you
Higher than this mundane
World-but I found
It's this insanity that keeps
You doing what you're
Doing-
Like songs of crickets
And wild yellow flowers
That tickle your nostrils
And brush against your nipples,
And all the sarcasm
That make me laugh
At your girlish ideas
About the complexities
Of life and love-
Yes, I suppose I'd go fishing
With you among the stars
And read through your
Private journals of what
The universe was like
Before you and I were born-
But all I know is this
Here and now,
While the insidious clocks
Keep reminding of
Our mortality and
Superfluity of it all-
Yes, your insanity is
Infectious as is your youth,
As we volley back and
Forth between secular
And divine,
Between revelatory
And superficial,
Between exuberance
And routine,
Between just breathing
And being truly alive.
Beyond words lies the ocean,
Beyond rationality,
The spirit of lovers
In a tender embrace-
And there I am, I suppose,
Caught up in the insanity
That you propose-
And all I can say to you,
My darling, is
Yes, and yes, and yes…
May 21,2008
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Burning Waltz
The echoing stupor
trailing the shotgun clout -
a shrilling lament
tearing the filaments apart
in this madhouse dance
among the flames
succumbing to the hysteria
jazzy hands played
the scherzo is a fountain
pouring upwards
from my shickered eyes
A silent gargoyle
watching a caryatid
peal an enigmatic laugh -
an enthralling silence
with a vertiginous pull
girdling the aeons
that flummoxed before
the wan in her eyes
still and quiet
golden as gold
I have become your poise
Have I been dazed
by watching mirrors
become the architect
of sullen bliss?
Legless, I floundered through
the downtrodden path
in an erratic sway
and inebriated rhythm
where streetlamps quell
their faintly tongues
so the subtle hue
of darkness can invite
the weary dreams
to lull and evocate
a burning waltz
to a sedating slumber
an oblivion against
the superfluity of your letters
and terse vengeance -
still, I danced
like my legs knew nothing
but your melody.
poem by Norman Santos
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Bank on same
Politicians all over bank on same
Catch the nerve and earn the fame
Loot the wealth and rule the scene
Such unique creature can never be seen
Why to go for distant land and search?
He is all season bird to know everything and preach
He is powerful and capable to teach
We are all shameless who look for him to reach
What will he do after reaching on stage?
Advise you on whether and on all ages
He has to gain on all the fronts
As we always follow him and want
He can fool all with all immunity
We have made him powerful and mighty
He can fiddle with system and get Scot free
As he has enough of fruits to pluck from the tree
Judiciary, police and agents and party close the eyes
No one questions his integrity and ask why
This all makes him to act arbitrarily and above law
The same situation can not go on or be allowed
The situation may worsen one day
No one can save him from pushing away
That day will be final for him to repent
He may then not need any request or consent
People are fed up with corruption
There are daily cases reported without any interruption
Whole country is put into shame
Yet they act bravely and pass on the blame
Some leaders are left loose to vitiate the scene
Such parallel is never observed or seen
Only Tsunami or earth quake can remedy the situation
The time has arrived for us to go for real evaluation
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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