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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Related quotes
A Web of Bridges
The moon broods upon her phosphors
and wove her lasso to concatenate
the sundered dispositions basked indulgently
on the filths of self-desolating defeat
and in her reflection upon the moiré undulations
I confabulated with my own flamboyant charade
inside the shallow shelves of this den
where saints knelt before burning bridges
gnarled in a prayer for vindication - I am a gargoyle
scornful and bemused upon the illusion
deferentially succumbing to a feigned oblivion
The latticing shadows of the bridges
overlaps in a consummate web of darkness
where I caught myself in the juxtaposition
of the squalid morose in our superfluous transitions
waiting for the monarchial jeopardy
while the pillars wobbled and toppled
leaving me in the taciturn propinquity
of absolute confusion, deterred absolution,
and there upon the shadows' grave
and the flickering of a kindled flame
I knew better than to make a wish
upon a star's failingly bereaved trail
Lonelier than alone, darker than the night
crystalline pangs of glacial demise gnawing
upon the prancing fountain in your very eyes
not a song have sang, not an eye had bat
fort the mishap flummoxing of the aeons
and the conduit of our tacit realms
As I stood on a collapsing bridge
it will be no better talking to the sea
so I break upon this fall -
just breaking for never more.
poem by Norman Santos
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Invisible Strings
(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting In The Wings
(andy hill/pete sinfield)
I need you like freedom
I feel you like rain
I see you like silver rails across an endless plain
And I know there are moments
You feel as I do
Thats why Im waiting for you
This time around I wont push for an answer
Both of us need to be sure
To be strong
When the moment comes
Ill be your dancer
Ill be your singer
And your song
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
Waiting in the wings
A natural dreamer
A maverick soul
How close can I be to you
And still not lose control?
And as close as the ocean
As near as the sky
As near as the tears I dont cry
Maybe a fool has been drowned in a vision
Hung up to dry in the teeth of the wind
Believing in the truth of your decisions
Thats all there is until the end
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting. Ill be waiting
Waiting in the wings
Ill be waiting
Ill be waiting
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anatomy of Rue
The far flung tirade bellowed
into the gray reflection
and the resistance knelt
before its banquet of rue
but sleep was neglected
by the sullen eyes,
and tales were still narrated
into the frosted-glass
fearfully staring daggers
like a hysteric pistol
crying at point blank
knowing well that the only eyes
it can look into are the mirror's
The seasons passed hurriedly
but solace never came with
the showering yellow petals
and the breadth of trepidation
grew like a feral bush of ivies
and its thorns instilled
false-hopes in waiting futilely
for the sound of keys
unlocking my ajar doors
And here, in the decapitation
of my cloud's phantom-musing
I fell into a monastic languor -
limbs falling like yarns
untangled from the web of life
and in the wanton silence
I listened to the veracious absence
of pliant footsteps chasing
the setting of my red cooling star
It gave way for oscillating sequins
of the night to enthuse aeons
to go back to their weaving
of nostalgic poisons and
the monsoon beat like wings
escaping the hunter's net
Obdurately, the bridges held strong
even when the constitutions are burned,
I remember you as who you are
with a stark pang of grandiose
and remembering is no different
than breaking bones just
to prove that you are still alive
And as death sieges my garrison
with myriad auguries sifting through
the spurious altering lights
outside my cellared window,
the casted shadows on my walls
can only bring a cloak of life
into this steel-cold self-incarceration.
poem by Norman Santos
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Dragonfly
Id rather live than just imagine
Dont think there is a way around
And if I fail Ill still be standing
With my feet firmly on the ground.
Through my window from the sky
Flows a lullaby
Someomes waiting in my dream
Taking me to places Ive never seen.
If I had some wings then I could fly (dragonfly)
In my dreams
I am the the dragonfly (dragonfly)
I guess I always will be searching
I live and learn from my mistakes
And all the love that Im expecting
Is equal to the love I make.
Little dreamer when evening falls. shadows fall
Bring some honey for my soul
Take me to the places Ive never been.
If I had some wings then I could fly (dragonfly)
In my dreams I am the dragonfly (dragonfly).
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dragonfly
Id rather live than just imagine
Dont think there is a way around
And if I fail Ill still be standing
With my feet firmly on the ground.
Through my window from the sky
Flows a lullaby
Someomes waiting in my dream
Taking me to places Ive never seen.
If I had some wings then I could fly (dragonfly)
In my dreams
I am the the dragonfly (dragonfly)
I guess I always will be searching
I live and learn from my mistakes
And all the love that Im expecting
Is equal to the love I make.
Little dreamer when evening falls. shadows fall
Bring some honey for my soul
Take me to the places Ive never been.
If I had some wings then I could fly (dragonfly)
In my dreams I am the dragonfly (dragonfly).
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stare
a stare is like a stair
it has steps
and there are feet
walking,
and leaving,
you stare at me,
and i see stairs, where you walk
and climb and stop at the middle
and then take the stairs layer by layer
that is what you like to do, to look at me
as though i am this room where you build the stairs
and you want to go inside my room and lock me up
and take all of me with your tongue and hands and
mouth. You mouth me. And i receive the life you have.
and then your stare subsides. the stair is gone.
the room vanishes. I am free. And you are inside me
your stare has become the memory lingering inside me.
i become a bird and you are inside my wings.
Your stairs become my feathers. Your stare
becomes my eyes.
in love, we make the stairs leading to a house.
and there we feast, and live and sleep.
yes, there are wings and windows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Six Strings
Clock hits twelve, hit the switch.
Turn on the bass, feel it lift.
Yeah, turn it up, today's long gone,
But you can't keep us down!
Plectrum hits six strings,
Feel the soul grow some wings.
Up far away from this misery,
Lift up into the galaxy.
Shake to the beat inside,
What's cooped up, let it outside.
Let your body sway to the bass,
Feel your body float into space.
Who cares if you don't have a voice,
Tonight we gonna make some noise.
Blood thudding in your veins,
Stuck in a world of grey, let's change.
Though I'm low, I'm feeling high,
Lift my fingers, gonna touch the sky.
Plectrum hits six strings,
Feeling my soul grow some wings.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Almost Heartless
The paper is incarcerated
In the redolence of tobacco
Yet, I brave the spangling wine
Running down the temples
To pull a marionette
Inebriated by the bedlam
Shackled in these pillars
Of security where I curl up
Like a marred moth
And lazily putrefy,
Haplessly flapping wings,
Ripping the gilded strings
And becoming a garden
For perfidious butterflies
And I vied, tried, groveled
Swallowing the soldering pride
Dispensing the heart
And claiming the magnitude
Of this quake, of a mistake
A heart breaks,
Another gamble lost
As the cards burned
Before my fingers.
poem by Norman Santos
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Garden Of Drudgery
My vicious skies disengaging the exiguous quasars
To thaw the soldering frost-mourn aloft inside
And the maudlin with a frozen brook in a jar
Drowned with shriveled legs from the labyrinthine stride
Now, above head is a mirror of the vast sea
Of people feigning their sedative bliss for agonies
And abortive sorrows propelled in the chalcedony
Sinking everything in a valley of roses and drudgery
Come, lay with me and muse as the albino sun
Scull its superfluous fingers to sine the parliament
Of hostile macabre breaths debauching the wan
And pointless toiling to own or keep the firmament
In the brambly floor of this frowned vale
We shall lacerate to bleed out the vying soul
Until our skin can feel no more, our bones so frail
Shall not break no more, and we will be the lips of the hole
In this garden of drudgery, fluttering with the plucked petals
Everything is painted with the darkest golderfloes
The nadirs are preempted fluent in stains of the vestal
And walls are mightier than the bridges' tows
For the plethora of flowers brew a puissant redolence
That vexes the quintessence of a mystified vagabond
The strings of aromatic auspicious few is now in valence
With treacherous taste of cyanide flaming to abscond
poem by Norman Santos
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Metaphors
Your hills poised with intimate enigma -
A looming sphinx counting riddles
that remains unwritten, unspoken
and it can only ardently neglect
the ululations of the mountain bison
or the petulant howling wind-cuts
proposed by vagrant eagles
festering your sun's golden horns
because yonder the taut distance
your cerulean sea slumbers soundly
placid with her sober serenades -
A desolation more saccharine as
a lost nymph's silent enthralls
and the florid falsettos from your
sharp beliefs and frail constitutions
and the yearning sighs of your lips
can only touch her soft breaths
riding her foamy waves, while you
measure her immensity and
undo the multitude of niceties
revolving with the dusts of time
Thus, matters not your prolix eyes
upon the fastidious reckons
and futile will be the endeavor
when the saline wind picks up
and spread the ether flames
on the cradles of your forlorn forest,
You are but a sanguine tale
riveted in amicably fictive lines
zithering a red string in my mind
to make believe your obsequious unreality
that I have always pried behind
your bulwark barricades of pride
hoping to seize the lost melody
the sea once sang to me -
the marigold's tinkering when she
bows before the wind's whispers -
and even your avalanche of
mellifluous promises and white lies
My mouth full of rain and fire,
my eyes replaced by a quagmire
fastening every metaphors
together in ethereal times
because this is where we are
or where we were, at least.
poem by Norman Santos
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Into Your Harried Night I Break In Silence
The cicadas beat their metallic wings to compensate
the vehicles lying asleep in the oil-black road
without a trifle of noise - away with the moon
in a peripatetic espionage for the myriad
of faults swimming through the abysmal horizon
and here, in the glacial nooks of darkness, I trample
to a wistful invitation - to pain and its bride
unveiled from the lustrous gilt and the castigations
unraveled from the knotted tapestry its frangible
and haplessly finagling heart - still and alone tonight
This silence sojourned to listen to you
as your world subsides with all the aeons
slithering into me with an impertinent pang
and I break for you, like a lifeless eye upfront
a motionless gloaming succumbing to its demise
And to break for you - your tides beating the shore
and the praying boulders on its shoulder, is all I can do
after ousting my sparrow-breaths on your mornings
or my tacit poems docked on your cigarette smoke,
I do not intend to come back like a smothering whiff
in the midst of your sudden toppling and heaving
I break upon you, like a fist hurled at the sky
though I would never shatter the fastidious heavens
and though your hills loomed with secret legends,
but in my slivering, asunder from yours, I fold
like a sibilant knife dreading the patina of blood
I hope for your vitriol to whet itself as it rolled
upon the seething lions under the flames
What a farcical charade has this life become
that I can only exhibit the shadows of our dusk
and its acquiescent pedagogy, for tonight, you break
like how my world of stones and graves began
The art of war is etched in your palms and maps
Come back to your open window and lighted lamp
when the night hearkens your lacerating cries
stronger than the infernal demise that you will break
in the larceny of sounds in this transatlantic night
poem by Norman Santos
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Dragonfly
There's a droning alarm
that sinks into the ennui
that perch on every grass,
every exposed skin
browning prematurely
It beats its paper wings
against the languid gust
and sporadic breeze
faster than the afternoon,
slower than a waxing moon
It skip points and niceties
like a pristine rivet
in this sea of brown and gray
drowning quintessence
and quelling fervors
It rovers around a cattail,
circumnavigated the hill of hay,
its metallic sheen flailing
to paint the rising lethargy
and engulfing into synergy
When shifting eyes
is a sound waste of energy,
and chasing time
is only a nurtured malady
a dragonfly beats a separate wind
But where is you corrosive flame?
In this pillaged summer
our souls linger elsewhere
searching for the sound of keys
with dragonfly-contingency
Anywhere is away but here.
poem by Norman Santos
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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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Do Not Confront Me With My Abrasions
Pry upon this open wound
and sift through this desiccation,
unravel the broken bones
under this cobwebbed mausoleum
because I stride without perditions
when I leave my deaths alone
and I tend to sunder my vision
amidst the parliament of diversions
Exhume the bereaved words
trapped inside the diffidence and
misconstrued for the feigned confidence
reconnoiter my seas and abysses and
calculate my metronome's mendaciloquence
because in this fringeless chasm,
I walk away in squalor by becoming
one amongst the nondescript population
Oppressed by the savageness, scathed
in the veneer and the viscera,
my bleak surrender wallows through
the sanguinary banality and
painfully masquerades consciously
So if you'll ever find me here
and mar my perfect putrefaction
do not confront me with my abrasions
because I have not forgotten them
poem by Norman Santos
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O My Baby..Where Had You Gone ? [ Part -2 ]
[ Part-2 ]
With a longing i gaze at my belly
And caress fondly the place you lived so far;
I am traumatised by the hot tongues of lava
That lick to ashes all inside me...
The steam puffs up out of my eyes;
From nostrils two angry snakes hiss out;
All the ten months i dearly held the 'veenaa'
And on its golden strings
I wrote you ' my poem '!
I played poet Bharathi's 'chinnanj chiru kiliyae '
And fed you with the tasty 'Tamizh' through 'veenaa ';
Intoxicated in its melody
Did you fall into irretrievable sleep?
No one henceforth write this tune
On the strings of the 'veenaa';
This song may get buried in me
Along with my baby...
My birdie.had winged away
I know not where..
Why it flew away even before
The budding of smile of tiny wings..?
Why it mingled with the wind
Even before the blooming of eyes?
Even before my sore uterus convalesced
My heart had become a victim of burns.
Even now your small tiny kicks
Ceaselessly wander in my belly;
How I wished to have its million hits
Right on my bosom, O my dear!
Is it perhaps you crossed life itself
With your feet as tiny oars? .
I sculptured you meticulously
Wishing you to be the procession deity
But the earth, alas, had locked you in its womb...
After losing you fully to injustice
My mind has no strength
Even to listen to the prattle of a child..
Whenever I see any child
The inescapable thought of.
'If alone my child were to be'
Haunts my heart with violent pangs...
My mind stubbornly refuses to accept
That you are no more amidst;
Like the separate sounds of
A plucked string of ' veenaa'
The pain tortures me
And plunges sharp spears into my heart...
O ' Kannaa '..
Dreaming that you would skate
On my chest as flowery- craft
I spread dream runways in me
But where did you nose-dive
Without a touch-down in your mom's heart?
How eagerly i awaited your arrival
By breaking minute after minute;
But you, deceiving me,
Where had you gone?
O..w.h.e.r.e h.a.d y.o.u g.o n.e.?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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And his poems have other poems
And his poems have other poems
Hidden, camouflaged inside them, as through the holocaust
Men hid within other men's homes, and workplaces,
And women within other women's closets, and dressing rooms
As a woman would hide her babe
First within her womb, and then inside her very heart
So his heart-poems reside and procreate in darkness, in hiding,
Spin their souls together to weave the spiders tale, and into
The famished strings of singing wormholes, which orbit
The always living, and the once-quickened dead;
From whence one day the spirit shall stride out; spin out
At his soft call, to take the percolating universe
By latent storm of surprise, and do a souls-token worth of battle
Only in silken strings of love's long-suffering silence.
poem by Patti Masterman
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If I Had Wings
Open inside something about this pain
Theres something about this sweet refrain
Reminds me that youre not there
And if I could care theres something about this curse
Like a needle inside a silken purse
Reminds me of all that youd bring
If I had wings
Im still standing
Blue mountain high
Only the fables get to fly
Without these words theres no reason why
It reminds me of all that you bring
If I had wings
Would like to teach myself
If I had wings
Would learn to stir myself
If I had wings
Strapped inside wont be denied
Nightmare brings
All that you said
And if I could fly
Long time saviour
Thats the sinners crime
Well without such trust
I know that I can never find
Never find - never find - never find
If I had wings
If I had wings
Im still standing
Never find - never find - never find
Open inside something about this pain
Theres something about this sweet refrain
Reminds me that youre not there
And if I could care theres something about this curse
Like a needle inside a silken purse
Reminds me of all that youd bring
If I had wings
If I had wings
If I had wings
If I had wings
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Puppet
Puppet
By: Adam M. Snow
I am a puppet to those who use me;
for they know not what my curse may be.
All I want is for my strings to be cut;
but instead my eyes are sealed shut.
I'm hanging by strings for their entertainment;
for I am evermore bound in containment.
Who am I to be called their puppet;
though my essence cannot forget.
Day by day these strings grow tight;
day by day I try not to fight.
Although I'm stuck and cannot move;
now there's nothing else for me to prove.
I am a puppet;
yet I can't deny it.
Although I have become one with these strings;
all I wish is to spread my wings.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Inside Of Me
Morse, Walsh)
--------------
The fire's inside me- the bridges burn
Love is the lesson but love never learns
And if it's all up to me in a matter of time
All these memories will return
Try to run a little faster-- try to reach for the sky
Try to come a little closer; even if I lose I gotta try
Inside of me, is a man that I knew
Who could rattle these chains- who could shake these cages
Inside of you is a dream that I see
And the echoes of voices are calling
Inside of Me
Inside of me
I've captured the nightmares that burst in your bed
I've run with the horses inside your head
But as I turned to walk away, I never heard you say
"We are hanging by a thread!"
So I skated in circles over cracks in the ice
And I stand in the shadows; now my heart must pay the price
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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