Gas?
Gases are liquid
When solids became golden
Like good rich men know.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Opening to Inhale
Gases are not solids when inhaled,
Opening is closing, joking is laughing.
To close I think it awkward,
To open I might revolve and learn all politeness.
The inhalation of the air is breathing,
When do atoms mix, and compounds form
From the synod of elements chiming like beauty?
Little with fate as I, much more to do with the matter.
Gas is to be inspiring a volume of completeness,
The solids and liquids divide the space around,
The void is a vacuum of height and brevity.
It will soon know how to reside in torment,
In torment is the vacuum of the void.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Oils Of A Painter
Catering for the painter,
His fish has colour,
Like a wonderful picture
Of food on a plate.
The paint is a drink
Of water.
It comprises of air
And gases and solids.
One made a globule of fat
In the stomach
Work for the better,
So not to be painted.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Male and female aren’t exclusive.
There is no wholly masculine man;
Nor is there wholly feminine woman.
Fluids harden to solids;
Solids rush to fluids.
Man and woman interchange
Their masculinity and femininity.
29.01.2006.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Defending The Lady
Defence prolongs indifference aloud,
It tastes the worth, it makes one cry too fast,
I work on those despairing in the crowd,
Then wonders cease, the worlds shall be amassed.
On clouds we speak, on lines we dab and cry
The luck of gases and the solids here,
Defence is understanding my ally,
The wails and small acts may now appear.
Choose ways that know and concentrate above,
Here ways are certain and they are fixed now,
Their honesty shall blame them with a shove,
One lady creeps behind the face’s brow.
One hears and sees the face of splendour there,
Like modesty it shimmers faster care.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Liquid Sky
I aint no romeo. Im just the man for you.
Holding out as secrets travel, they kind of get to you.
Everybody says that it couldve been something.
Never was a smart kid, never knew a good thing.
Always hearing voices swim ... in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... always hearing voices, like no more choices in disguise.
I aint no sacred idol or a saint pretending.
Ill build you up. Ill tear you down. turn you wrong side in.
What am I afraid of? everyones listening.
Standing on my soapbox, lost the beginning.
Always hearing voices ... swim ... in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... Im always hearing voices, like no more choices, like a lie.
Its just, its just liquid sky.
Im always hearing voices like electric shock waves in disguise.
I dont know what this means. Ill leave it for your interpretation. its just me at the edge ...
Everybody says that it could have been something.
Never was a smart kid, never knew a good thing.
Always hearing voices ... swim in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... Im always hearing voices, like no more choices, like a lie.
Its just, its just liquid sky. Im always hearing voices like electric shock waves in disguise.
Always hearing voices swim ...
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Molten or metallic marvels
I really truly don't know why
some things under the sun and sky
attract and catch my fancy
Quite queerly they happen to be
hot melting smelting solids
that melt into exquisite liquids.
Take for instance heated liquid gold
molten glass or molten brass
and to watch magma 'neath the earth's fold
Ooh I love just about any melting mass.
With similar bizarre ecstasy and fascination
do I always watch onscreen molten lava
Gliding in serpentine turns, oblivious of my admiration
Ah, I just love all that golden molten mass
Sometimes I even have such an eccentric craving
to watch just any solid beauty melting smelting
that I satisfy this craving by simply imagining
the honey to be some liquid fire gold
in a crystal clear jar and liken it to
a metallic gold syrup in the furnace burning
As if it were stagnant mini-lava
right before me glowing!
As for other mesmeric things
that I find real eye-catching
are those which everybody else finds ravishing.
And they are in all shine
dazzling diamond dust
Magical celestial stardust
Glittery terrestrial gold dust
in mankind's metallic materialistic lust.!
But I, I am allergic to dust. ;)
poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
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Remedy
Remediless fascination governs the scope of vision
As far and glum goals wilt from the sudden gas;
Of earth there is soil and air, but not now in gases.
Your hate collides with docile and bleak wetter people,
This writing invades, but yesterday bespoke of wisdom,
Goading a trunk of silver, golden fluid revolved on spheres
Of mud that clotted like blood and its solutions.
Your love invades the premises, new axioms of hate
Deserve us, when we wetter people strive for the rain
To die and the sun to drench us with light mostly;
Let frowning dissolve, from a glowing smile.
This meanness is meant to be tenacious,
Water flows forwards and backwards;
Liking woods and spirits of the gases.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The W.C. (Humorous)
If there’s one place in the house we can’t do without
it must then be the W.C. that doesn’t really stand out.
It is our main port of call during the day and night
that we all use to answer calls of nature out of sight.
And what goes on in there sometimes is hard to believe
but we feel good after our bowels we gratefully relieve.
For it’s a fact of life that our body produces much waste
from what we all consume as food pleasant or not to taste.
The smells, sights and sounds coming from there can be awesome to behold
before or after anyone has a session in there that one needs to be bold.
It is for this reason a whole industry has evolved over the years in its wake
as we try to do away with any unpleasantness that all our bodies make.
The amount of time we spend in there can be a blessing in disguise
as we eliminate the waste products of our bodies in variable size.
Whether it is gases, liquids or solids depends on the urge
but one thing is certain that with all of them we must purge.
And as far as a blessing goes how many people have received
an insight or solution to a problem that previously deceived.
After spending some time in the W.C. with a good evacuation
we usually give thanks to the powers that be in contemplation.
It is as if we must return or give back some part taken from the earth
and of this we cannot or should not ever be neglectful from our birth.
This inherent law or principle of nature seems to be unrelenting in its demands
that we jeopardise physical and mental health if we don’t adhere to its commands.
-----------------
poem by George Krokos
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Be Good Johnny
Skip de skip, up the road
Off to school we go
Dont you be a bad boy johnny
Dont you slip up
Or play the fool
Oh no ma, oh no da,
Ill be your golden boy
I will obey evry golden rule
Get told by the teacher
Not to day-dream
Told by my mother:
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good (johnny)
Be good be good.
Are you going to play football this year, john?
No!
Oh, well you must be going to play cricket this year then,
Are you johnny?
No! no! no!
Boy, you sure are a funny kid, johnny, but I like you! so tell me,
What kind of a boy are you, john?
I only like dreaming
All the day long
Where no one is screaming
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Johnny!
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Liquid Depression (2)
Liquid Depression
A state of agitated depression
Now facing the liquid depression
Like a closed session
Needing medical attention
Making my agitated confession
Liquid depression my obsession
Liquid depression my only material possession
Years of oppression before the recession
See the expression of my depression
Liquid depression leaving a facial impression
At it's own discretion
Like a rapper at a rap session
And a singer in a jam session
Or a poet at the blog talk radio session
You can't forget the internal impression
The repossession of my liquid depression
It's a new life I'm now facing without question
poem by Frankie Stamey
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Liquid Sunlight
fire shines through my liquid sunlight
thoughts of those I love hurt my head
and with another gulp I'll wash them
down to stop them spinning me around
I smell the scent of your bitterness so sweet
caress your body, caressing my need
the colours of gold that you show me
bleed into seas I never see when you leave me in
liquid sunlight...
timeless I walk on a tight rope
timeless I'd fall timeless I hope
senseless my wonders and liquid is my dope
but sense is no wonder so sunlights my hope
so shine on with me you crazy diamond
you cover what's real cause you are my friend
we'll stagger outside, are we on a, are we on a flight?
my liquid sunlight shining inside
liquid sunlight...
don't ask me why I'm flying so high man
don't ask me why I'm living a lie
ask me where and why am I laying
under the sun as the night is aside
liquid sunlight
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've Got a Golden Ticket
I never thought my life could be
Anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see
A bit of good luck for me
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden twinkle in my eye
I never had a chance to shine
Never a happy song to sing
But suddenly half the world is mine
What an amazing thing
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
It's ours, Charlie
I've got a golden sun up in the sky
I never thought I'd see the day
When I would face the world and say
Good morning, look at the sun
I never thought that I would be
Slap in the lap of luxury'
Cause I'd have said it couldn't be done
But it can be done
I never dreamed that I would climb
Over the moon in ecstasy
But nevertheless, it's there that I'm
Shortly about to be
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket, it's a golden day
Good morning, look at the sun'
Cause I'd have said it couldn't be done
But it can be done
I never dreamed that I would climb
Over the moon in ecstasy
But nevertheless, it's there that I'm
Shortly about to be
'Cause I've got a golden ticket'
Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket, it's a golden day
poem by Roald Dahl
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Time Ebbs Liquid
watch rain fall
time ebbs liquid
liquid sunshine
kisses blesses
earth embraced
whispers new growth
green liquid waves
roll across landscapes
sprout vibrant fresh
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Do I Consider Me A Senior? 2nd Version
What construes a senior, that we are no more leaner?
What construes a senior, our skin begins to look saggy?
What construes a senior, we wear clothes that are baggy?
What construes a senior, our hair has changed to grey?
What construes a senior, we go to church, we pray?
What construes a senior, we walk with bended stoop?
What construes a senior, we can't control our poop?
What construes a senior, we live in a nursing home?
What construes a senior, we don't need a comb?
What construes a senior, we have all but one tooth?
What construes a senior, medication is like a loot?
What construes a senior, feeding the pidgeons is a hoot?
What construes a senior, no solids only liquid food?
What construes a senior, the time seems to fly?
What construes a senior, we shrivel and slowly die?
What construes a senior, we learn how to survive.
What construes a senior, we do our best with our remaining life.
I am now crossover fifty,
but I am still very nifty!
Meditation Sixty-Two
Second Series
Canticle 1: 12: While the king sitteth at his table,
my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.
Oh! thou, my Lord, thou king of Saints, here mak’st
A royall Banquet, thine to entertain
With rich and royall fare, Celestial Cates,
And sittest at the Table rich of fame.
Am I bid to this Feast? Sure Angells stare,
Such Rugged looks, and Ragged robes I ware.
I’le surely com; Lord, fit mee for this feast:
Purge me with Palma Christi from my sin.
With Plastrum Gratiae Dei, or at least
Unguent Apostolorum healing bring.
Give me thy Sage and Savory: me dub
With Golden Rod, and with Saint Johns Wort good.
Root up my Henbain, Fawnbain, Divells bit,
My Dragons, Chokewort, Crosswort, Ragwort, vice:
And set my knot with Honeysuckles, stick
Rich Herb-a-Grace, and Grains of Paradise,
Angelica, yes, Sharons Rose the best,
And Herba Trinitatis in my breast.
Then let thy Sweetspike sweat its liquid Dew
Into my Crystall Viall, and there swim.
And, as thou at thy Table in Rich Shew
With royal Dainties, sweet discourse as King
Dost Welcome thine, My Spiknard with its smell
Shall vapour out perfumed Spirits Well./p>
Whether I at thy Table Guest do sit,
And feed my tast, or Wait, and fat mine Eye
And Eare with Sights and Sounds, Heart Raptures fit:
My Spicknard breaths its sweet perfumes with joy.
My heart thy Viall with this spicknard fill,
Perfumed praise to thee then breath it will.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Rich Music
Rich music like the morning sun, showers us with tender love
Touching our dear lives with so much tenderness to be won.
Rich music spreads peace right across the air like a gentle dove,
So that we can feel the need to live together as one.
Rich music fills the whole place with sounds of harmony above
That we can live in the world, so pleasant and filled with fun.
Rich music gives notes on how we can handle the inside of
Ourselves, so that we can live to shine like the sun.
Rich music tells how we can give our illness a good shove,
So that all the good we bring into our lives can be done.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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Do I consider me a senior?
I am now fifty but I am still nifty.
What construes a senior, that we are no more leaner?
What construes a senior, our skin begins to look saggy?
What construes a senior, we wear clothes that are baggy?
What construes a senior, our hair has changed to grey?
What construes a senior, we go to church, we pray?
What construes a senior, we walk with bended stoop?
What construes a senior, we can't control our poop?
What construes a senior, we live in a nursing home?
What construes a senior, we don't need a comb?
What construes a senior, we have all but one tooth?
What construes a senior, medication is like a loot?
What construes a senior, feeding the pidgeons is a hoot?
What construes a senior, no solids only liquid food?
What construes a senior, the time seems to fly?
What construes a senior, we shrivel and slowly die?
What construes a senior, we learn how to survive
What construes a senior, we do our best with our remaining life.
Copyright Philo Yan August 20,2012
Are you rich?
Because parents are rich
I am not rich.
Because brothers or sisters
Or in-laws are rich,
Because own children are rich
I am no richer.
Unless I myself am rich
I cannot be rich.
Too late to understand
And hence poor I went.
Agartala
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Liquid Depression (3)
I'm no exception
I'm owned by the liquid depression
Most people don't know
When I played my part
I couldn't depart
Broken hearted
That's when I started
Down the wrong path
I headed and never dreaded
The liquid depression
That kept me sane in this game
I would drink Jack until
I couldn't remember my name
I know it may drive me insane
Before I'm through playing this game
The liquid depression is like a thirst quencher for my soul
You know the memories I have to control
Liquid depression is my only hope for peace within
I can't control the thirst in my soul or the sin
I know it's a game I just can't win
Remembering liquid depression while
Writing prose poems in free verse
Now give me a few minutes to rehearse
Before I come up with another verse
poem by Frankie Stamey
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-80
My garden is lighted
So is my mind delighted
There you Golden Torch
On rhizome's clutch
Hither thither lantern
Lighting the way certain
Leaves sided alternate
Erect you rise accurate
Rich in soil rich much
Bracts or flowers such?
Based on maroon or red
Red or yellow splashed
Proud bracts prime hued
Next sepals in green-gold
Rachis and pedicel too done
In green-yellow-red heaven
O'Heliconia Golden Torch
In your bliss ever on march
poem by Indira Renganathan
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