Broken Constellations
Days stretched
but its light kept waning
until the pallor is the same
with a dead star's flame -
a prostrate miasma
of saudade iridescence
that only divulges
in beleaguered musings
and I wonder
if I am the only one
who can see its gossamer fractions
and the only one inveigled
by its fecundated vacuum
Somewhere,
in this prostrate flummox
of a fulminating constellation
our eyes opened
into different horizons
Your furtive vision
basked in the quiescence
of star-spangled oceans
measuring its depth
and usurping the reflection
and the resplendence of this
emporium of modest afflictions
stifles the echolalia
of a quasar's scream
I remain suspended
steadfast to my ponderous insularity
played by godly tethers
of delinquent abandons
stifling with frantic inflections
as the doors of the galaxies
revolved in a riveted motion
and in this eternal frame
of constant recuperation
from constant withering
you are ubiquitous amongst
the broken constellations
The universe wouldn't halt
for our subtle rupture
but the fusillade rages on
while you resigned into your aurora
and a bereavement ailed
cicatrizing with the superfluity
of my blackholes' etudes.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Death Star
Like all temporal musings,
a gyratory wind
on a ponderous vacuum -
the shrilling symphony that whets
the dislimned filigree
donned upon my elusive stars
fulminates from holding the floodgates
and when it succumbed
to its ghastly call
and basked in
fire and ice
its soul is devoured
now a death star
tight-roping with empty words
and vacant eyes.
poem by Norman Santos
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Dialogue
The Lone Star: Why are you looking at me?
Me: : For a soulful company
The Lone Star: I am so above, you are far below
Me: : My heart yearns for a distant fellow
The Lone Star: Do I not blink too often!
Me: : My pulse beats too fast, O listen!
The Lone Star: I am a citizen of a cold universe
Me: : My heart warms for you and will never lapse
The Lone Star: I float alone like a wanderer
Me: : I can touch your reflection on a dew's sphere
The Lone Star: You miss me when there is a day's light
Me: : You sleep so quiet in depth of a day's bright
The Lone Star: For ages lonely I am here
Me: : When I shall leave my place, I will be right there
Shamik Bose 6.6.2010 Calcutta
poem by Shamik Bose
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Surmised Afflictions
Crossing your path involves
immersing my cicatrizing wounds
into the saline ether of your
florid motions, generous inflections
and disentangling my limbs
to swim and dock unto your feet
to be jeopardized and be rejected
Because the exodus of this tragedy
is an expostulating pathos
where nothing dares to sink
like ghosts basked in the evisceration
of our long surmised afflictions
That is why before I hear
another mellifluous promise
I am colluding my woes and rues
to immolate myself
into the pyre of desolation
and my ashes will glide like
petals adrift the tempest
or dead fishes in the currents
This unleashed wretchedness
throws me into my cage -
my iniquitous den of eternal
scavenging for felled stars,
ravaging in the dark like how
you sculled a billion sea
to assail double edged climates
to devour me in your fathoms
until drowning was surmised
my favorite onslaught
poem by Norman Santos
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A Bard's Song To The Pensive Canaries
Hiding in the floor
of a bottomless ocean
I watched bubbles scampered
to meet the climbing dithers
of light in this abyss
And muse alone I did
while the limpid limbs continually
oust the life it possessed
and the cage of feral memories
shattered from the inner tyranny
The flustered world
caromed in a wistful ballet
while my breaking bones played
the esoteric melody and
everything under this
pirouetting parasol was just
a defunct music box
playing songs - tinkering violins
and effaced harmonicas,
inveigling the canaries
and their trepidation to fly,
carrying on with their
their genial metronome
Dance, like a wallflower
riveted amongst the shadows
of your cobwebbed chandelier,
my own tersely plea reckoned
And my lifeless body
wrecked even more
As the charade engulfs my hymns,
lecherous malcontent filled
the empty crevasses,
the saudade effulgence
descried the terrorizing desires
to kneel before the nights
that sundered our parsimony
And for all the lonely silhouettes
still enthused to break with me -
in flight or in plight -
I offer my percussive endeavors
to debilitate our forged camaraderie
in the insularity of our myriad
sundered predicaments,
this wordless song that falls
like star in a fecundated supernova
is the water that shall baptize
our rebirth from our plethora of deaths,
a candle on our tilled grave.
poem by Norman Santos
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All Things Being Constant
all things being constant,
there will still be hope.
or even just you, since i
have changed and swerved
on another curve
without you.
you being constant
and i coming back, carrying with
me
a handful of 'i am sorry'
' i will be good this time'
'forgive me'
and i kneel before your feet
pleading.
with you being constant
as the star of this house,
this shattered home,
these broken window glasses
and dirtied carpets
and muddy floors because
my shoes brought them in,
with you being constant,
like mother,
i too, can be, myself again,
i, too, can say,
damn, i am lucky, to have
mother in you,
damn, i am lucky,
like daddy.
i am really sorry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Awaken
With the clouts hurled behind
your sanguine impositions
I have awaken completely
from the dream that you people
injected into the antics of
my ponderous comatose, but
those knuckles can only bleed
and break against the steadfast
concrete wall of my quiescence
accepting your jabbing filth
like how I had always been
before your star crossed
my misanthropic detachment.
poem by Norman Santos
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Exhuming The Bones Of Naivety
I was another orphan
from the gravid collections
cloyed by jealousy,
drifting past the irony
I watched it dance -
the usurped splendor
once basked in the innocent eyes -
with the waning dust motes
with a vehemence of a sleeper
Felled from the platoon,
unrifled and guised with a
perfunctory smile,
hiding amidst the enviable insularity
of the rain's iron curtains
complacence is my confidant
my citadel against
my own destructive measures
And when the crooked hands
of the clock unsheathed
its vengeful fusillade
not a shadow flailed,
not a soul squandered,
everything was as still
as an obsidian memory
as if the wanton silence speaks
a mirror of harangue
against the enemy inside
the eyes of naivety.
poem by Norman Santos
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Submergence
When along the pavement,
Palpitating flames of life,
People flicker round me,
I forget my bereavement,
The gap in the great constellation,
The place where a star used to be.
Nay, though the pole-star
Is blown out like a candle,
And all the heavens are wandering in disarray,
Yet when pleiads of people are
Deployed around me, and I see
The street’s long outstretched Milky Way,
When people flicker down the pavement,
I forget my bereavement.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Names of the Constellations
All visible stars contained
within eighty-eight Constellations
- the Author claimed
names that intrigue
my Wandering but Meeting-bound Mind:
the Tarantula Nebula is in Dorado, the Goldfish
Hydra, the Water Snake is the largest constellation
while Crux, the Southern Cross is the smallest one
– a word of explanation:
the stars in Constellation have no relations
only sharing proximity in the sky
as seen from earth -
the brightest star is called Sirius
Canis Major, the Great Dog
the brightest star, the shining Lucida
in Orion, the Hunter, Rigel is called
while the brightest star in Carina, the Ship’s Keel
is known as Canopus -
with the names of the Constellations
I might just write my Magnum Opus!
poem by Margaret Alice
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Usurped Eternal Frame
Your vines crawling upon my constitutions -
a glove to the empty hands of my
insufficient quintessence decapitates
the imposition with a severe abandon
In a not so subtle larceny of flames,
I foisted an intrepid whuthering
equipoise my defeated brawls
slowly stone-freezing in naivety
Because this loquacious tableau
still jousts with your nonplus propositions
adhering to the mellifluous conflagrations
by the hands of your phantom's exodus
And still, the furnace of your skies
shears the shadows of your manifold nets
like a storm-troubled sunny day
passing with an undecipherable augury
And like a murder of crows
I malingered on your adamant frame
pensively waiting for an aeon to fluctuate
and succumb to your succinct eternity
The searchlights pried behind curtains
and the sieves of the persiennes
its vindictive glare snide on my face
when it caught my sullen stares
The intrepid percolation inveigles
the beleaguered privacy to submission
but why are the supercilious rifles aimed
with stifling danger on my chest?
And the jabbing of your trifle attention
scathes my assuaging beacons, and
I donned more metal, more ignorance
descried out of safety and out of bliss
So I rocked slowly in this limbo and
the cadence of saudade serenades,
obstinately waiting for the an iota of change
to dance in a binary rhythmic pulse
Because in this eternal frame -
a bad case of impassable musing
reality grew visions and they are
usurping my delusions ever more.
poem by Norman Santos
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Frame II
The frame was best supporting act,
and held the ego high and proud.
He never moaned or groaned or spat,
just hung there, all chilled out.
Of course he would have liked acclaim,
a little lime light and a name,
although a painting with no frame
would look a little dull and tame.
The painting lapped up all attention,
with its enigmatic grin,
often feeling quite ecstatic
to be held with such esteem.
and so the frame in show biz style
put a brave face on and a smiled,
stoical in holding back
ambitions to be the star act.
The frame all low and down at heel
resigned himself as second bill
for after all it wouldn't do
if he were narcissistic too.
poem by Ruth Walters
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My Zithers Sang No Melody
Like an arachnid, I constantly weave a web
as I swing across transatlantic roofs and trellises
to catch little mildews and a menagerie on the latticework,
I knit the metallic sheen of their wings and armors -
these little quasars of my sundered oceans
and the nebulous framework creates the quintessence
of every single thread I veer and embroider from drudgery
Like how a marionette is played by strings, I tethered myself
into these lissome rivulets running behind our old hills
but when these bridges are toppled from the constitutions
all these filament enshrouds my void, flimsy frame
like a folder of daggers puncturing the tiny vessels of the blood
that shall deluge me from the inside to suffocation
Without these manifold stairs of escalation, I remain
riveted into a seamless sea - a glacial rock standing amidst
the turbulent lashing of the waves, washed by setting suns,
all the muses assailed into a furtive sculling away from me
Without these laconic multitude, I am small, I am little,
a little notch in the fringeless world of shadows
zithering myriad of strings that sang for nobody
I capitulate before these inverted bastion where inside
I incarcerated myself, bereaved of the network
that extends my breath into your mornings and
sent forth my frothing eyes upon your breaking,
and like a dragonfly in a drying quagmire
my wings hurriedly beat on to reconnoiter
the drought of the air as you slowly dissipate from me
and I shall not halt, for I have none to lose,
until I am finally suspended in my own famished cord.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Ten Stars
In the motion of the universe,
The rotation of planets,
The conjuction of the wind,
There my sight witnesses,
The opposition of stars
Rare but wonderfully made
I count the stars and make my wish,
My summit shall i reach,
With her in poverty i'm rich
Im a happy man,
I saw ten stars
Star number one,
Besides you let there be none,
Star number two,
To love you more, never a few,
Star number three,
My love unto you for free
Star number four,
The love we built to never fall,
Star number five,
Wish all things but mostly life
How wonderful are they, ten stars
In this lonely night my heart beats faster,
I make wishes, but they are not my master,
I point the stars and make wishes,
How beautiful are they, ten stars
Star number six,
So shall our foes fall by the axe
Star number seven,
Against all odds we remain even
Star number eight,
We shall so grow above heights,
Star number nine,
Of course, , to remain mine
Star number ten
I wish to make hundred wishes per day
How beautiful are they, ten stars
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Monads Anthem
One is the ever blazing star
Sword of the immortal world
And highest light
Yes, this is our star.
Out star is ever rising
Borm of the eternal lamp
And holy fire
Mighty burning mountain
The everlasting love of one is
One is one is one is one is one is
One is the ever kindling star
King of the immortal spark
In heavens eye
Yes, this is our star.
Yes, this is our star.
Our star our star.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Revolving Doors
There was not a single stain in the horizon
When the svelte shadow of the dusk climbed,
Bulged, wrinkled and fulminated in a cloud
Shedding the unwanted downpour and
Feigning an ostensible slumber
And in this sedated quiescence, eyes opened
Eyes opened - to the cry of a thirsty child,
To the drifting lucid voices wafting with bodies,
To the chasing taillights and streetlamps,
To the maladroitly dangling pendulums,
To the unanchored claws of crows and doves,
To the final page written with ink blots;
Eyes opened to the myriad reasons
Why doors opened and closed -
For the undoing and departing
For consigning and contriving
To the earthly gods and beacons
That girdled us with hopeful unrealities
Eyes opened to accommodate the coming
Batted an eyelash to find them departing,
Curled softly then bloomed like a moonflower
Riveted in the unclosed door with chaste hopes
Eyes opened to these trivial veracities:
In these calloused world where the hinges
Are the only ones that stays in its place
We will meet again, caught in revolving doors
And eyes will open to second chances
And close to sleep with disappointments and regrets.
poem by Norman Santos
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Star Gazing with You
as a child
later as an adult
in the wild hills
swooping down
the distant sea
star-spangled nights
choked me
by their
profusion
this city, grayed
by smoke
smitten by
festival crackers
shut its skies
to me
till you named
each star
their constellation
their myriad colours
mysteries…
with smoke rings
swiveling up the sky
I was a star gazer,
no longer alone
poem by Babitha Marina Justin
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Suitcases
I reckon in vivid pangs
like a salient entropy,
the pedagogy gnawing
in the sorry eyes
and the train arrives
confronting me with
my failures and losses
The first of the months
the weakening sanctum,
the constant rumination,
how we've been each other's asylum
now the suitcase's lock is defunct
and it is all spilling out -
I cannot hold it back
The arch your spine made
as you lower your head
on ponderous nimbuses
I was always at your back
but you never looked back
as your klutz feet escapes
from your past, your present
My sinewy hands percolating
amongst the fumbling words
your nimble silence still
knows how to decipher it all
and this belying gold
underneath the mud and stones
reminds me that we are
made of the same dreams and bones
And you, your hands behind the sun
I remember it like my own
the ashen pallor unmasked
by the summer's penumbra
How they tread what we all fear
stroking palettes, caressing words
you are a furtive cavalcade
I remember you hands
like how I remember your smile,
there were blue rivulets in them,
the tips are naked crimson
reaching past the mirage
but didn't cast a shadow
Like the bony moon transpiring
between day and night light
you reconnoiter my abysses -
a gilded debauchery
tarrying the train's clockwork oars
because the suitcase remained
broken, opened, larcenously swallowing.
poem by Norman Santos
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A Moth Slow Dancing In Flames
After dark
a solitary moth
clad in lackluster
traipsed across the humid air
circumnavigating dismal filigrees
like an ominous message
conveying the petrichor
It weathered the tedium
of its own gust
crumbling slivered dusts
and tread the astray thread
of light and warmth
to find a candle
weep floridly bright
Like hands reaching out -
hands shaped into
a house with an open hearth
it melted and undressed
while its sartorial flame
remain unscathed
The moth basked
in this unprecedented heraldry,
this munificent beauty
like how the wine
feign resplendence under
the moon's gentle bliss
and the moth spewed
the colours it eschewed
The saudade warmth
embraced the moth's cape
of shame and pride
and became its asylum
and gilded heaven
Slowly dancing in flames
because to burn out
is better than to fade away
poem by Norman Santos
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Knock em Dead Kid
In the heat of the night
You went and blackened my eyes
Well now Im back
Im back
Im back
And Im coming your way
Well now Im supercharged
Might just explode in your face
Im black
Im black
Im black
And Im primed for hate
(chorus)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
The blade is red, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
Knock em dead
A star-spangled fight
Heard a steel-belted scream
Now Im black, Im black, Im black
Another sidewalks bloody dream
I heard the sirens whine
My blood turned to freeze
Youll see the red in my eyes
As you take my disease
(chorus)(solo)(chorus)
Knock em knock em knock em
Dead...(scream)
Knock em dead kid
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainbow Of Promise
In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled,
And the storm-clouds have shut out its light;
But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,
And the universe thrills at the sight.
Tis the flag of our Union, the red, white, and blue,
Our Star-spangled Banner-our pride;
Fair symbol of all that is noble and true,
Flung out over continents wide.
Flung out in its glory o'er land and o'er sea,
With a message from God in each star;
And a glorious promise of peace yet to be
In the fluttering folds of each bar.
A Rainbow of Promise, bright emblem of hope,
Fair flag of each cause that is just;
No longer in doubt or in darkness we grope-
In the Star-spangled Banner we trust.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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