Unfettered Kite
Permit the effervescence of the wind
To don on your dishabille glacial shoulders
And take you in a sailing apt for your besieging
To an island heaving of palm trees
Swaying and combing of forking possibilities
Chances are, well, ineffable they are
And I cannot paint it with words
Because my palette is dull and eroded
But I know and I submit to believing
That chance will guide you in, by your elbow
To a promenade, a cavalcade, or a castle
Where no eyes had ever been to musing
Not even conception can even pry in
So leave this undulant slumber
And sear past the poignant clouds
Because you cannot be tethered in a ground
In the semblance of an effulgent specter
Invisible, lingering and malingering
To twine and string your unfathomable fate
And as you submit and remit
The jewels that shall permit
A key towards emanation
Of greater chances, in greater grounds
I shall heave you back difficultly
When I stare back at your backward glances
Yet I will endure and pull your emollient string
So you would only set off farther
Yonder the aptitude of your strings
Past the inclement horizon
Floundering past my aqueous vision
And I shall unstring you willingly,
My unfettered kite
And sedate myself with vicarious oblivion
As I muse upon the turgid azure skies
That you dominated like an adroit bird
With the aroma of yuletide breeze
And pantomimic carols tinkering
On the rustling and toppling leaves
Of the gyratory December, the last 31st
Of the first last year, and I will be,
Myself, an unfettered kite
As I lay in solitude and jealousy
Unfettered from the very start
And when the wind blows upon my spine
With no hands to pull back my strings,
No one to point the nonexistent escape door,
Fended by blithe despondent fingers
Of another egotistic specter in a ballet
Beneath the melody of her own canopy
I am left with no other submission
But be taken to my bereavement
And not to the island of chances
For I am a hapless, flightless,
Unfettered kite.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Flying High
My oh my!
What a gorgeous day to fly
Let's release that puffer kite
High in the crystal clear blue sky
We're running out of string
Send that kid on his bike
To the hobby shop to get more
What do you mean, what for?
Why, to fly that kite
Beyond the clouds, earth and universe
The wind is perfect today
We can do this beyond the moon and stars
oops! string broke over passing cars
Where is it now?
Where the past kite fliers now fly
My, oh my!
How high, this kite did, fly
poem by Matt Mondschein
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The Kite The Wind Took As If A Poem
You bought the kit,
couldn’t wait for Mum to clear the table
to spread its bits and pieces out
didn’t your Dad help you? Yes, of course –
those were the good times..
‘your Dad’… do we ever really realise
they had a life of their own,
not merely extras in the drama
of your life?
the wooden struts cut to length,
the careful, don’t hurry Michael cotton wound
around the glue, and then more glue,
put the top back on again Michael
or you’ll be sorry when you come to use it again…
what’s again, in a boy’s life? …
that special waterproofed paper
finally in place; Mum’s hair-dryer
cautiously used to tauten
the bright kite’s sail
not too near Michael,
read the instructions…
it’s alive now, the kite,
the two of you waiting
to learn about wind, even
what you thought a mere light breeze…
what strength! on that first outing
on the beach or in the park;
the mere light breeze
which as your kite sailed up there in the sky,
dipping, soaring around the other kites
like a half learned, half graceful dance
which the wind wrote
but you did not listen fully to:
a sudden pull of wind, a parting
somewhere between string and kite…
no longer your kite; now
it’s the wind’s kite
sailing off into the blue
to meet the clouds perhaps
was it your Dad, after
he too had been silent-sad,
or was it Mum as she wiped your face who said
the wind, the sky, loved it too much
to give it back
and so with poems.
Throw away the box and stuff
but keep the glue, it may, like memory,
come in useful
next time
and so with poems.
The wind, the sky,
deserve them for their own;
they can go further, faster, they’re more strong
than you;
let go the string, now, as it falls to earth;
watch the bright kite
till it's out of sight;
was it ever yours?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Kite
Come up and be a kite
Beelzebub is aching in my belly-o.
My feet are heavy and Im rooted in my wellios.
And I want to get away and go
From all these mirror windows.
I look at eye level, it isnt good enough.
And then I find it out when I take a good look up.
Theres a hole in the sky with a big eyeball
Calling me:
Come up and be a kite,
On a diamond flight!
A diamond kite, a diamond kite.
Ooh, what a diamond!
A diamond kite
On a diamond flight.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the moon, over the moon!
I feel a rush along my body, like a bullet.
Im 2-d after a push-and-pull feeling.
And I want to get back to safe home:
I love the homeland dome.*
I got no limbs, Im like a feather on the wind.
Well, Im not sure if I want to be up here, at all.
And Id like to be back on the ground,
But I dont know how to get down--down--down!
Come up and be a kite,
On a diamond flight!
A diamond kite, a diamond kite.
Ooh, what a diamond!
A diamond kite
On a diamond flight.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the moon, over the moon!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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018 ~ Like A Kite
a robust south wind blew today
caught my baggy clothes
from behind, the arms
of my sweater and pants legs
flailed briskly in the breeze
closing my eyes, I felt like a kite
putting hands in my pockets,
I let go of my body
and went to that child
in my subconscious
the wind in my hair,
rocking back and forth
in my shoes,
I was floating above everything
soaring not to see or be seen
but to catch more wind,
surf the skies, escape
a wide smile on my face
as the wind died down
gliding gently down
back to earth
like a kite
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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The Kiteflier
And as I heave these strings
closer into my stagnancy
the more they break away
and set off farther from
my cold and distant musing
I watched their ponderous flight
as I mar my fingers in trying
to hold their vestiges together
but all is sullen into futility
As they drive past the clouds -
leave the fringes of my horizon
and unyeild to all my veerings
I am enthused to take flight
and let go of all reveries
But now that I lost them,
these mangled hand is empty
I am taxxed with derision
and blame is upon these fear
enshrouding my entity
When the kiteflier managed
to make all his kites fly
to the point of unfettering them
that he lost all his kites,
then who remains of him?
and when can he break the strings
that kept him tethered to the grounds?
poem by Norman Santos
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Kite Song
I flew a kite, I held on tight to its string.
Each time I go anywhere, I held on tight.
In the middle of the night I woke up in fright,
Thinking maybe in my dream I let go of my kite.
When I was in a restaurant, talking to my friends,
Watching their mouths move faster and faster.
I thought of the kite that was flying in the sky
And made sure that my hand was holding the string.
That was a long time ago,
Many skies went by since then.
Now my hands stopped holding anything
And Ive learnt to take a walk instead.
Then one day in the evening light,
I saw something strange shining bright.
The sky was dark, with swarms of larks,
And in the midst of it all, yes, it was my kite.
How did the kite get there, Ill never know,
Floating away among the clouds to where nobody knows.
I held my gun with both my hands,
Slowly aiming at the shining dot.
The shot went off, the dot blew off,
Since then Ive never seen the kite again.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And For All My Questions My Friend Has An Answer
you have seen the kite flying in the air
and you believe it
you have not seen the wind but you feel it just the same and you name it
as the wind
and you accept it as the wind that exists in reality
because it lifts the kite
i feel God like the wind, i see myself like the kite
there is this divinity that sticks on the stick and string and paper
lifting me up
like a child to the skies above
i do not have power
it is the wind which has it and the wind has it because the owner of the wind
has bestowed up it the power
yes the wind that you do not see but you just feel
my friend, i am not ashamed to tell you about angels
neither am i ashamed to tell you about the existence of the owner of the angels
He is our God and He loves us
why do you insist on flying away like a bird?
why?
believe and be loved
love and learn to love some more, and be a believer forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kite Fight
Kite to kite
Fly the sky...
Suddenly
Kite to kite
Fight the sky...
One kite cut
Another kite...
with out nife...
One kite flying
Another kite...
Pass away to fly...
Not for kite
Life also same...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Fly my lovely kite in the rain
wet cloth me in the night, dress me with a
mink that feather my skin; warm my day
with joy in the lucky sky, return the smooth
of the mouth that sweating my tongue of
the fresh dew lips i return as you
fly little kite in the rain, the tail that guide, hide
it with the wind, cut it short as it dance in the
turmoil breezing skies with dazzling wiggle; just
parting each part with the tearing tail it fall, come
wash out the waiting wet tail in the high above
the land it fly the night may fall, but the rain it
speed up in the tailing sky, as far in a distance
light beneath the horizon of a different
Heavenly skies
rain. rain; touch my tail in the body it fell, thread
lost as far it could stood, hold where nobody should
fold, in the string the wet kite brings, the neon of
fresh, steer me to find the genuine face where
everybody wish to tie my hand to stay goodbye
soar high my dear kite the sky is wide, easy to
fly, as you surf the heavenly sky, leave no one to
remember that the past has something to say
of how to make it easy, with a heavy tail in the air
weight balance my speed, in the wet it rise,
to the spectrum of the clouds, where you want stay
high......fly my kite, the wet tail seem it easy to
carry as the sky goes high
poem by Antonio Liao
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Maiden Flight
The wind on top of the mountain
Is just right for flying my kite.
No, it’s not a store bought item
I made it from old newspapers,
Elmer’s glue and old balsa wood
Spine and spar sticks from last years kite.
Now here I am again ready
To launch it on its maiden flight.
I hope the tail isn’t too long;
The bridle string is sufficient.
Well, here goes! Come on baby fly!
That’s it! You want more string? Up! Up!
Easy does it! Straighten out babe!
That’s it! That’s it! You’re on your own.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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String, Kite
i complete something today
dawn, there is dawn searching for
the door to morning
and it is closed
i look at an inspiration
it is not really good for me
but it completes me
this morning
the words that lay open and
never shut
to a conclusion
the one that makes me happier
to another day
there is something like a flesh
and it is pressed like a cloth between two iron sheets
there is heat
and it is not burned
there is a string in my hand
that holds a kite
i will cut it now and release
what all i had
to the air
it falls down
helpless to the ground
and no child ever
picks it up today
Monday, the second day of the year
the kite is free and it has no power to fly again in clear skies
separated from the string
nothing is noted to be significant
the way you see it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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to connect himself to God
to make this divine connection
from his human
ity
he writes a poem about a kite that a child makes
from sticks and paper
and some paste
to stick them in together
like a symbolism
of body and soul
and the child puts the paper tail
as rudder
of this kite and then he runs to the field
to find the wind to give his kite a lift
to the skies
high spirited like his soul
and his body
wanting to be with
God up there
after this i will ask him,
the child
(or the child in him)
or simply him the man who who writes a poem about a kite
lifting itself up with the wind of his beaufiful words:
do you feel something divine?
was there something divine in this poem about a kite?
did you feel God?
did you see him up in the skies above?
you tell me about angels, now tell me, my friend
about the presence of God
tell me more, about this kite this flight this wind
do not mention anything about power
i am always this suspicious believer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Adult and an unforgettable Summer
Gentle wind blows
And weak leaves fall
Autumn peeps overall.
He gazed at a far away kite
That idles in the Western sky.
Oh! It's like his bygone summer
Gone with the wind quicker.
The same wind comes again
And where do you want to take him now?
His grandson draws a red kite in a pale blue sky with pastels
While sitting on the threshold.
It's almost an unforgettable summer
And his faintly kite never seen forever.
* I humbly dedicate this poem to the 9/11 innocent victims and their weeping families.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Second Chance
Sometimes you never get a second chance
at anything you do.
If one day you do, embrace it
and never let it slip through your fingers
or it will never come to you again.
Now this is my story of the two second chances that I got
and how I embraced them without regret.
The story begins half a century ago when I was a teenager.
I was a very shy boy
and my friends were very few,
especially where the girls were concerned.
No friendships grew there
and all too soon they were gone
without me ever saying a word to them
as I left and set sail for a far distant shore.
Their faces remained with me
through the years in photographs.
The years slipped by so quickly
from teenager to adult hood,
but still those photographs
kept the past alive to me.
Always hoping one day,
I would be able to see them over again.
More years slipped by
and the chances of that happening
became just as remote as could be,
or so I thought.
Then on the 15 December 2006,
I had an internal message on classmates.com
and that is where the first of my two second chances began.
The second came shortly afterwards
when this classmate introduced me to her friend,
whose encouraging words made me take
the second of my second chances
and on the 19th January 2007 I lifted my pen to paper
after six or seven years
and never looked back since then.
Since that date, I have written
one thousand four hundred and twenty eight poems,
a novel and published my first book.
All because of the second chances, I got.
If you are given a second chance
at anything at all,
grasp them with all your might,
never letting them go
because you will probably never get them again.
22-23 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Fish Without A Bone....
way back
he had always been
good, the emulated
god
way back, back to his
old ways,
he had catered to
all the needs
and codes
of conducts invented
by those who had long
been dead
and cruel, way back
his thoughts are
copying machines
now
when their consciences
and lives
are gone to the
beyond
he is left with
an empty mind
a fish without a bone
a kite with a wire for
a string
a puppet whose strings
are cut
now lying
inanimate on the
wooden floor
their mistakes
he is a duck
this willing target
for the terrors
about
to come
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Talk to Me
Talk to me..
Why can't you
Just
Talk to me..
Taking ten steps back
It's what I do
When I don't know
What else
I can do
Shutting down
It's just
Preservation
I feel like a kite
Being pulled by a string
You let go for a length
Then
Want to pull me back
But
I've never stopped you
From trying to
Talk to me
Really
Talk to me
The way I see it
Miscommunication
And
Misunderstandings
Are bound to happen
When people don't
Just
Sit
Face to Face
And
Talk
Confusion occurs
But,
I've never stopped you
From asking questions
And
Getting
The answers
You may wish to seek
All I'm saying
Is
If you're serious
Then you should find some time
To
Really
Sit and
Talk to me
Before I tug
Before I pull
Before
I really
Set myself free
For now
I'm here
Being tugged on
And pulled on
By the string
In your grasp
But
It's up to you
To talk to me.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Hows Chances?
When I want to see the boys
I know where to find the boys
I dont go through a club or two
I just find you and there are the boys
To get you alone I strive
You ask me to tea at five
I find you then with other men
And wonder when my chance will arrive
Hows chances, say, how are the chances
Of making you love me the way I love you
How many young men must I fight with
To be in right with
In right with you
Hows chances for one of those glances
A glimpse of the heaven Im longing to see
Hows chances to end all your romances
And start taking your chances with me
[alternate bridge:]
My castle will need some restoring
Ceiling and flooring
Furniture, too
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hows Chances?
When I want to see the boys
I know where to find the boys
I dont go through a club or two
I just find you and there are the boys
To get you alone I strive
You ask me to tea at five
I find you then with other men
And wonder when my chance will arrive
Hows chances, say, how are the chances
Of making you love me the way I love you
How many young men must I fight with
To be in right with
In right with you
Hows chances for one of those glances
A glimpse of the heaven Im longing to see
Hows chances to end all your romances
And start taking your chances with me
[alternate bridge:]
My castle will need some restoring
Ceiling and flooring
Furniture, too
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beneath The Heights...
Beneath the heights
Flying along the tracks of floating rain clouds
My kite flies not caring for me ever.
Behind the kite my thread trails.
My hands hold it ever.
When the clouds begin to rain my kite sways
But as the sky clears he smiles.
I am not seen by him still.
Beneath my kite my thread shudders.
My hands hold it ever.
Above the heaven`s zenith
He flies, he alone flies.
Far down in the earth`s nadir
I stand alone holding my thread.
Beneath me the tremor begins...
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Patanjali - for Alison
The boy Patanjali,
flying his kite in the breezy Thiramurti hills
one day cut the thread; the kite
sailed over the hills upon the wind;
asked why he had done that,
the child had no answer;
only his future life
and yoga sutras.
The kite was silent, dancing in its joy;
we, that joyful kite.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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