I Look At The Glamorous Sky In Amazement.
i look at the glamorous sky in amazement
and look at myself in the same breath in shame
the nature in endless enthusiasm
with a restless brush in perennial flow
in matchless varieties through endless ages
creates patterns in myriad colours and shades
all throbbing with life and energy-
no two moments are the same;
and what it fancies, it erases the moment next
with no symptoms of regret-
bereft of imagination on a piece of canvas
i try at times to imitate a moment of creation;
i miserably fail to even remotely gain the grace of a moment;
yet preserve the rag for years
imprisoning it beneath a majestic frame
trumpeting my talent in front of everyone
as if it is the master creation to last for eternity!
i deeply meditate and my vain pride commits suicide
and i am reborn into a pious humility!
o master! wherever i turn
i see in wonder your inimitable works -
painted skies, sculptured mountains, laughing rivers,
roaring seas, relaxing plains, mysterious forests,
burning spheres, creations of macrocosms and microcosms -
o master poet! my prostrations at thy holy feet
bless me with a speck of an atom of thy immense power!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Am I a master
I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.
I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.
No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Imagination's Field
Within its bounds, naked canvas stretched.
Before the display, the lad stood.
Adorning the wall, ornate frame hangs.
In concentration, young man observes the void.
Forced by curiosity's command.
for the source of his deliberation.
I searched sans satisfaction,
In despair, I queried the youth.
“Sir, within empty frame you survey,
what do you perceive? ”
Without addressing me, responded.
“I see tall mountains, endless restless seas.”
“I see naught, for this frame's canvas is empty.
How might you see these sights? ”
He turned, facing me and remarked.
“Sir, within the frame, a great deal I see”
Sans the luxury of explanation, pointed at the title plate.
Upon small brass plaque,
beneath the frame, inscribed.
“Imagination’s Field”
29Oct10
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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The language of silence of the eyes.!
O God!
The craftsman par excellence!
Two eyes you have gifted us
Wonder what a creation it is!
What two lips and a tongue miserably fail
To achieve in endless action
They accomplish with the least fuss!
Cutting aross every barrier-
Manmade and nature crafted-
With great impact their intent express
All in divine silence!
Spectrums of emotions
In all their subtleties and majesties
In these skies are in display!
Cute expressions in millions on millions
This pair streams out in endless cascades
All in a trice and in unison!
O the language of silence of the eyes
Has more vocabulary and music
Than all the languages of the world
Could gather in their folds over the ages!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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A Speck Of A Speck Am I!
a speck of a speck am i!
&
a speck of a speck am i
underneath this vast dome of sky-
no millionth of a second
without changes around me;
activities incessant, both silent and noisy-
every moment new, every moment fresh;
to one who has searching senses
and penetrating vision
no end to wonder, no way to boredom-
the clouds speak in silence
the blue hugs you close
the green kisses the cheeks
the flowers communicate in colours-
endless arrays of universes
shout at their high-pitched silences
crying for our ears and attention
through mind-boggling distances-
o man, be alert and tune yourself
to the unheard voices
and keep your spirit ever in joy!
&
chandra kalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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I Know What My Master Does
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
My Master is available whenever I call.
My Master is everything and to me my all.
My Master has seen me stumble and fall,
To get up off my knees to again walk tall.
And if it wasn't for my Master I'd be left to crawl.
I am aware ot this.
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
I know what my Master does,
Can do...
And has done for me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The canvas empty and expecting
The canvas empty and expecting
Awaits the stroke of colours pastel in their shades.
Through Improvisation we compose through intuition
Through Improvisation we allow Imagination a realm
Within which she may rule.
Her boundaries marked with borders
Outstretched within a frame
She seeks to refrain from desire.
She seeks to construct her sanity.
Yet with every breathe we fulfil the will to live,
Every time we respire we tire more so of the past
As we desire more so each day the moment to last.
To know we are alive and to appreciate the moment
And to appreciate each other it’s all we can ask of ourselves.
poem by David Lacey
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Kindness
Just one moment is all it took for me
to fall in love forever,
forever and a day.
And what is a moment
in the minutes that you love?
It's as big as an ocean
and the skies up above.
It can be elongated into an eternity
which has no end.
It can consume every breath you take
and can always mend
every separation that eventually
comes along.
Just that one moment is filled with song.
It sings in the heart of me
and fills me with delight.
There's always that one moment
I remember day and night.
A moment of recognition,
a moment of joy
a moment of acceptance
for me to employ
all of my wiles to keep you content,
All of my attempts to keep you spent
as you lay your head upon my breast
and know that we have been so blessed
by just one moment.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Miracle of a Moment
A week?
A day?
An hour?
Time enough
For excellence
A moment?
Too little!
Too swift!
Too short!
Too brief!
Not so
Not right
Not true
A moment?
It’s enough!
Pregnant with possibilities
A moment
Overflowing with opportunities
A Moment
Saturated with significance
A moment
Rich with reality
A moment
Bursting with beauty
A moment
Loaded with life
A moment
Encoded with eternity
A moment
Maximize every moment
poem by Howard Simon
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One Mirror Too Many
From the moment you see
The moment you breath
The moment I touch you
From the moment you crawl
The moment you fall
The instant I loved you again
From the moment of darkness
The moment of light
The second I kissed you
From the moment I enter
The moment I leave
In this moment of rapture
Chorus
One mirror to many gonna tie you up
A life forever empty has got to be tough
To many starless night gonna leave you blind
Can never make it right
From the moment you stumble
The moment you run
In your presence I crumble
From the moment it happens
The moment you know
Theres no life without you
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who creates re-creates himself
for René Passeron
You may not grow old too soon
if
Things you have known will come back to you again
No revision nor recall need put them back in place
Time was when you knew the time
the place the face
Even the scarce women in prized moments gone in pain
Who would care nor what would it matter
in which life upon what water
you have trailed your fingers
upon waves of papers
Let your mind brush
some canvas in a rush
Left your mark
upon some bark
Wed some wanton women
spawned wholesome omens
Made as if the artier your words
held some moment in a perennial frame
Never to be banged away by fading suns
collapsing quasars
asteroid storms
puncturing galaxies
usurping black holes
Can this act of writing seize the moment
Or is it your way of saying
What else is there to be done?
Let the unknowable undermine the unknown
Here on this planet
we have made our sinuous conventions
stick to paper and canvas
stone and sound
And words that are haloed
by the sickness of the poet
though all is not lost for the pen
whose blood will
possess
anchor
expose
our futile justifications
explications
ratiocinations
doctoral dissertations
And generations will tremulously grant him
The right to unravel the eternities
For one who dared capture the moment
In the capsule of a poem
Dedicated to René Passeron
(©: T.Wignesan 1987 April 12,1987 [from the collection: back to background material,1993] Pub. in T. Wignesan. Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008. 'Poem of the Month' at Alongstoryshort site, April 2012.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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0207 Hover Fly
The hover fly
that's just demonstrated
that it's one of the Creation's greatest
and smallest, most compact miracles of lawful
imagination (imagine flying, then stopping
quite still in the air, no slowing down,
just, zap, like that, dead steady,
and it's smaller (!) than a helicopter, wow)
right here in front of me in silhouette, but
illuminated on one wing by the PC screen,
and pausing for a freeze-frame moment of eternity
as if to tell me something
(illumination, too?) -
all this, and yet it
doesn't know I'm writing about it.
Presumably.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Duck that Stays so Still
daily food for me
right in front of me
come rain or shine
oh master
for your love
i would die for you
anytime, this passion
in me that
runs high as the mountains
my loving master
such a friend to me
yes, i would die
for my master
the duck stays so still
for the knife to go into him one day
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Master Painter
The master painter unfolds his palette
Strokes generously with his brush,
The sky explodes with images of delight,
An inspiration, for the mind, and heart.
Turner would be envious of such a canvas.
But all too soon the inspiration fades
The light extinguishes and darkness comes
For just moments you painted with your mind
Flew with the eagles into the soaring beauty
Escaped the everyday for the world of imagination
poem by James Tipp
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A Great Master Poet Wrote
A great master poet told
how nature interceded
and interrupted a architect’s design
and made it’s own adjustments in time
but that the master designing artist’s eye,
his mind, comprehended
the difference and from it found
a brilliant answer to where
the problems were
and yet a man of the book
took it upon himself
to declare the designers work
as a copy of strokes
made by the hand of God
which lead to the ruination
of that master architect.
Now if we follow this argument
every poem, even every thought,
every painting
about nature’s splendour
or even the beauty of the human being
or whatever,
you could connect to God or His creation,
even when we sing words, paint pictures
and create art
it does not belong to the author
but to the Lord God and his church.
l’Envoi
If you take the artist away
from designs, verses, paintings, music
(from whatever art)
it will not be there
and it will not exist,
which leaves me to conclude
that some men of the holy book
do claim in the name of the divine
that which does not belong to them
or their church.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Creation's Power
Creation's Power.
How Christ revealedthe power of His Creation's,
We all be lyeing and not worshiping the Supreme Creator,
These are the taste's,
They all be in Disguise,
For the Chaneph (Hypocrate's) ,
gave us lot's of suffering,
They all profane Creation's,
They be lyeing to the Saint's,
Letting them get the lie? ,
Why sleep Oh saint's of mine? ,
We allbe lyeing that Christ not the Saviour,
I need Creation's to reveal power by Prayer,
Let's Worship the Beauty of Creation's in Christ Love,
Let's Love one another,
We saint's we be on top on earth,
Why force and fight,
Can't you see that we never share the animal Kingdom,
The earthly Kingdom,
The Natural Kingdom,
We be not living freely with any of their reflexes,
We be at the wrong place when we lie,
Let's trust the Supreme Master of time and event's,
Wake up lest you be put to shame by His Infinite Power.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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A Deformed Angel
Sometimes life gives us severe shock,
Undermines the plans and does block,
The ways of wisdom leading ahead,
Reveals the hands that secretly mock.
An artist thought to paint an angel,
To use the brush for the masterpiece,
But could not conceptualize the image,
Beauty combining innocence, purity.
One morn, at last, he luckily found,
A child playing on the grassy ground,
Having angelic countenance and grace,
Incarnation he was of sublime serenity.
Painted he the angel with skill utmost,
And earned he the world wide fame.
And he after three full fleeting decades,
Thought for the second master-sketch,
Now not of an angel, but of a devil.
He sought for the image far and wide,
But could not find corresponding one,
Fate then led him amid the prison walls,
There inside met he a young wretch man,
With a devilish nature, face and frame.
The master revealed his intent to paint,
Tears came in eyes of the devil formed,
Said he, “Oh! Master it is a matter of woe,
You sketched me an angel thirty years ago.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Each pebble wants to ripple
The world classics had been out of print.
Award winning works went out of shelf.
Nobel Prize literatures are pigeon holed.
Yet sprout umpteen works, though petty
As each pebble make a ripple in chain.
A creation of the known is
Dearer than any other master creation.
08.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Introducing A New Day
I awoke to the sound
Of the birds singing in the morn
As I unzipped my tent
The sight was one to behold
The sun was just rising
Over the waves
Its flecks of rays
Introducing a new day
The hues of colours
Were subtle with shades
Of colours that were painted
From the creators pallet of paints
So just for a moment
The majestic beauty I saw
Was one that caught my breath?
In dismay
Contentedly I watched
The stirrings of life
As a brand new day
Imprinted its beauty
Of my memories of the day
poem by Kaila George
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Truth...
Those without imagination wander through life,
They prostrate themselves at the feet of delusion.
They must honour him, praise his name,
They live to serve, a desperate need to be reborn.
Deceitful claws sunk deep into the flesh of man,
Joyless and lifeless ceremonies in his name.
Endless defeat reborn in the belly of all eternity,
Yet I have seen the truth so heed my words.
Birth hurls us swiftly towards death,
Clutch onto every precious moment as you fall.
For each bit of existence is a cherished memory,
Live not for a lie but for the joy of love.
Wrench your soul from the clutches of deceit,
For we are but a minuscule part of life's cycle.
And though birth hurls us swiftly towards death,
In death we shall become reborn of all things...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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