I thought I’d try something different, like actually post something instead of being lazy and…never mind. I put up a few short poems instead of one long poem this time.
Let me know what you think.
Please enjoy.
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Category Archives: Poetry
Erunioni
Blog people, hello. As is usual with me my last post before this one was years ago (6months? I think), and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to write more poems and post more frequently. This poem has been on my mind since December last year, it shouldn’t have taken so long to write it, actually it didn’t…it just took me a long ass time to start. About the post, I hope you understand it more than you like it but not as much as I hope it remains in your minds for a little while after you’re done reading, and if there’s nothing in the poem for you to understand I hope there’s something in you for the poem to stimulate.
It is the ultimate hope of writers, consciously or unconsciously, to influence with their pieces…and I hope this influences you, one way or the other.
“I know you all, I have seen you, in your dreams, in your minds, in all you do that makes you human, I see you, I know you…but you do not know me and I don’t know why” – Someone important, but no longer alive.
It is a fever.
The poet
They found the poet outside the park
His steps spoke many words of wine
His upper half seemed half asleep
And his feet walked a crooked line
His arms were spread as if to fly
His lips apart as though to speak
The telltale flush of liquid joy
Told tales of rum from cheek to cheek
The night herself caroused with him
Drunk on sadness, drunk on care
And drink they drank, the weary lovers
Setting wine against despair
The bonds of reason, broken down
His mind amok, and absent sense
The world in woe, the world in glory
Lay before his presidence
And it was then they walked to him
Rudely rousing man from dream
Casting eye on village bard
Taking man as man would seem
“Sing for us again, o bard
Cast your words at senses keen”
This was why they broke his peace
Winters twice his summers seen
“Sing for us again o bard
Spin sweet words from bitter truth
Stir the embers of your heart
Dig through elder years to youth. And
Let the fountain spring with might!!
Showering us with wisdom earned
Showing us the link in hand
Of teachers harsh and lessons learned
Free yourself from wine’s embrace!
We would hear a tale or two”
Turns to them, a wizened face
“Ask not man, but what is due.”
Graying eyes regard the gathered
Moving on, from face to face
“The world whirls in the hands of time
And yet all things remain in place”
“As yet all men remain the same
The board reset a dozen times
Pi-eces unaltered, so is game
Though rearranged, the given lines
You come to me as bank to debtor
You plague me with unbridled want
Says at last, man to tormentor
‘Cease at once your unjust haunt”"
It is a fever
“It is not a gift so given
It is not a boon bestowed
Nor is sight beheld as blessing
When the eyes have overflowed
With the sorrows of existence
Pain cavorts with all men born
Know the price of your persistence
Hear the words of man forlorn
What is loss compared to weakness?
What is pain compared to need?
When the soul suffers from sickness
To give blood to those who bleed
O for those suffering in secret
O for hidden scars concealed
Know a secret’s mark of secrets
Is in wounds that never healed
The world at large, and I remain
Numb in spirit, numb of mind
My inner coldness feed by pain
Reaped from years left far behind
It is a fever that I have
It is an illness I possess
It is a symptom that you worship
It is a sign that you profess
To love, to need, to love to hear
While I remain diseased of soul
You chant and clap then disappear
Then falls to me, each telling’s toll
It is a sadness that I feel
It is madness that I suffer
When the muses offer gifts
Turn your backs and run for cover
Talent has a price, and paid
This price I have, each passing day
Rise to cup and rise to can
Drink my fill then come what may
All my masters come before me
Warned me of the poet’s curse
Know you all of Byron’s story
Know you all that Poe’s was worse
Happiness is bound to beauty
Joy to all that beauty, see
But for those that birth said beauty
All is pain and tragedy
Listen to my fading voice, now
Listen to my silent plea
Know the doom of every poet
And ask of this, no more from me
I will fellowship with Bacchus
Gimlets of the finest sort
Rise to can and drunken glory
Fall to pleasure and cavort
Now my night bids me return
Wine is all that shields from sorrow
Sets me free from all concern
Trouble enough, will be tomorrow”
His soul unburdened, back unbent
All is caught in a lengthy pause
He turns to go, the air is rent
With sounds of cheer, and of applause
Now lowering balding head to ground
“Man may speak but none may hear
Sing for us again o Bard,
Has now become a thing to fear”
First post this year. There will be more. Someone important is no longer here and because of that I’ve decided to quote some lines from Death, Be Not Proud by John Donne :
…From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
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Contemplation and all his friends
So I wrote again. This took longer than it should have. Only fair to warn you, this is a long one.
SHANGRI-LA
Prologue
The village gates stood, like old men stand
Worn with age and bent by time
Rust had claimed each iron face
As had wrinkles done with mine
The iron giants stood apart
Shaking as the north wind blew
Creaking as their maker passed
I felt certain that they knew
I am leaving Wuling now
Gripped she by the throes of death
Touched she by the hands of time
Breathed she the last of her breath
Nature would not save Wuling
Famine leeched away her life
Pes-tilence claiming her people
Among them, my sons and wife
Pain speaks every language known
So I found when it found me
And while not all men know its tongue
I’ve come to speak it fluently
Hard times then were made much worse
My mind, seeking to reflect
Made my memories seem as curse
I, not master of pain yet
I was young, when youth prevailed
What held youth but sweeter days
And a certain frame of mind
That was bent on foolish ways?
We were fools ere wisdom came
We were glad to dream of heaven
Religion held our vices tame
Schooling us on sins of seven
We were glad and light of mind
Pleased with all our blind eyes saw
Joy, the birthright of mankind
Would dwell with us forevermore
We were young when youth prevailed
Nimble minds, and bodies strong
But the reign of youth was short
And we found that we were wrong
They came upon us sudddenly
The weeks of cold, the months of drought
A strange disease swallowing my people
Spitting shrunken corpses out
We had hoped but hoped in vain
I had prayed, it came to nought
I, once smith of a large village
Leaving it through gates I wrought
Shangri-la
Heaven having failed in hope
Hope itself found wanting
Having lost all I can lose
I am left with nothing…
I will go to find respite
Where the dreams of men collect
Where the signs of hard years fade
And the weary can forget
I will go to Shangri-la
Ease to soul and peace to mind
Strength to all those weak in body
All that man can hope to find
I am going to Shangri-la
South of God and north of men
West of every broken dream
East of those who hoped in them
Shangri-la, covered in snow
Dwelling there, the ageless Yeti
Older than the sons of men
Wiser than the stars are many
I am going to Shangri-la
Earth’s last sign of heaven touch
Hidden from the eye of man
Kept outside of evil’s watch
I am going to Shangri-la
Nature’s lastborn wrapped in ice
Whitened by freedom from taint
Holy mountain paradise
I am going to Shangri-la
Far beyond the reach of time
Far above the grasp of fate
Webs spun of it’s own design
Utopia will bring relief
Severing chains of desolation
Re-acquiantance with belief
By the aid of restoration
Let the past relent in chase
That the haunt of loss may cease
Gone sons, to a better place
Found wife, an eternal peace
Refuge be found in holy haven
Pain be lost on mystic land
Moved by change on tidal waters
As in castles made with sand
Shangri-la, a last resort
Sought by many, found by few
Hidden in the Himalayas
Shielded from external view
Shangri-la, paradise lost
Closed to all enslaved to vice
Seen by he whose need is most
Never found by one man twice
Shangri-la, the name brings warmth
Weathered face wrinkling to smile
I set on the road to rest
Which I know is marked with trial
Leaving all I know behind
That my pieces be made whole
I am going to Shangri-la
Peace to mind and ease to soul…
I first read of Shangri-la when I was a kid. Most people are familiar with the concept of a ‘happy place’, the reason being that reality isn’t always kind or all we would like it to be. Young minds usually try to escape their problems rather than deal with them. Understandable, in my own opinion. There’s nothing wrong with looking for respite when we need it and there’s nothing wrong with finding it when it isn’t there. Nothing wrong with finding solace in your imagination, it being the only thing we have absolute control over. Most of the time.
The Djinn
Once upon a…seat thee down!!
Think thou speakest to a clown?!!
I was a bard of great renown!
With words I lured great minds to sleep
Or brought forth memories from the deep
And caused the strongest hearts to weep
So judge not by the man you see
But by poetic mastery
If indeed what I was, I be
Now gather round and lend me ear
All ye afraid, cease to despair
That courage may be born of fear
For I come forth to tell a tale
That peace of mind may yet prevail
O’er a mind both old and frail
And to those young that crave uncouth
And twisted tales that please the youth
Forgive me for I have but truth
Which often brings a painful bite
To those that hide away from light
Let foolishness die by insight
A ballad of a young man’s pain
Man’s confounder, eternal bane
That stabs the pure heart yet again
For once there was a Troubadour
A wandering man, just searching for
In life’s weak less, something much more
And on his travels did he find
That pleased his eye and stirred his mind
An opal ring of curious kind
Besotted with the bejewelled ring
He cleaned it’s stone and while rubbing
Happened a most peculiar thing
With poof of dust and swoosh of air
In the strange dust-mist did appear
A little man with littler hair
“I hail thee master” (bows his head)
Our Troubadour finds his tongue dead
Ensnared by shock, he nods instead
“I am Bartimaeus, great Djinn
A god of gods and spirit-kin
Quite short without but tall within
To make succeed your every scheme
Infuse with life your every dream
Take as command your every whim
Be it riches, length of days
A golden throne, eternal praise
So is the way of djinn ways
So what dear master seekest thou?
A golden fleet, an ageless brow?
A force before which all will bow?”
Cried Troubadour (able to speak)
‘Alas! I find what all men seek
Comes strength at last to one made weak,
My good Bartimaeus, friend in name
I need nor fortune neither fame
Both lord and thrall are pawns in game
But give me light with which to see
For what is wealth or gold to me?
I would have cure for misery’
“But master, wantest thou not youth?
What use has thee for bitter truth?
That maims the mind I seek to soothe?
Look!!In this hand I hold the world
All nature’s mysteries unfurled
Desire, of mind and body quelled
In this, visions of what will be
Cast away all uncertainty
From fate and time, seize victory!”
‘My friend is yet to understand
The worth of life, however bland
Is in the death that stays unplanned
If knew I all about my fate
Or made I self regal and great
What need would I have left to sate?
I want joy born of peace with truth
As said by Mother in my youth
The strength of tree begins in root’
“But I offer Master peace, with gold
To buy all forms of pleasure sold
A warmth to warm your inner cold”
‘Bartimaeus…speak and tell me true
In a man drunk from bitter brew
Can you then gladness plant anew?’
“The truth leaks from behind my mask
With all the strength I have, you ask
Of me something too great a task
Heaven is no cure for hell
This my master knows too well
That all such fallen remain fell”
So ends my tale, no keep your gold
What use is coin to one so old?
Payment enough, telling of told
And to the young minds still unsure
I offer words from Troubadour
‘In life’s weak less is nothing more’.
Long as both poems are, I hope you enjoyed them. The second one was me fooling around with something I wrote a while ago. “From the height of contemplation, I see all the pain of men”, I read that somewhere. Same person wrote “Paradise itself is a form of hell, for those who have left it are doomed forever, to reminisce and long for it. But only longing, for paradise is cruel, allowing no re-entry”. Every poet and writer I know has written something about an ideal place of rest or their need for one. I remember an Emily Dickinson poem that ended with;
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell
Parting is all we know of heaven
And all we need of hell…
Escape is something we’ve all tried, some of us with more success than others. Some people run from situation to situation, unable to deal with reality, some people run from reality itself. I believe that part of why religion is so popular is because it promises us a better place (most religions anyway), they say optimists believe this is the best possible world while pessimists fear that it’s true. It’s a mark of humanity to hope in better places that may or may not exist, it’s also a mark of humanity to despair in the absence of better and long for it’s arrival.
Individuality sets in when the creative mind is made to express it’s hope or it’s despair, painting a picture that, dark or cheery, is always beautiful. Oscar Wilde said ‘all art is quite useless’, he himself being an artist. I understand what he meant though, art serves no practical purpose. It, however, distracts. Beauty draws attention to itself, sending all other thoughts away. God knows there are days I’d love to be distracted from my life, losing myself in a work of art for some time. Escapism, you’re guilty too. We all are. It’s a wonderful crime against reality, and I do it as often as I can.
Found an interesting description of what a poet is by Soren Kierkegaard, who some consider to be the world’s first existentialist. He said;
“A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music…and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: “Sing for us soon again”, that is as much as to say “may new sufferings torment your.”"
Dude obviously had issues. Till next time then.
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The gray side of things
It’s been too long…my fault, I guess. I have many excuses for my absence from dancil but that’s all they are; excuses. It took me a while to write this, wasn’t sure about what to put in it. In the end I just decided to go with the flow, seeing as I’ve never been good at controlling it. The gray side of things, you’re probably wondering what I’m talking about, it’s pretty simple.
The colour gray stands for many things; old age, gloom, wisdom, sadness, desolation…etc. Whenever I hear the word ‘gray’ said, whenever I see it written, I think of sentience and intelligence, primates and cetaceans, artificial intelligence with all it’s potential glory and potential danger. It defines us, gray, if you can think, if you can wonder and imagine then you can feel, and if you can feel then you have patches of gray on you. Everything worth having comes with a price or more importantly, a change…a change in the form of something taken or, the worse of the two if you ask me, something added. And so it is that with wisdom gained from lessons learned, something is added to us, a thing that no one I know of or have ever read of is entirely glad of receiving.
You are sentient, you wonder, you dream, you feel…that’s why as you read this, I imagine you’re trying to understand, trying to figure out what I’m talking about, and if you already have, I imagine your eyes widening because somewhere in the abysmal depths of your mind you have thought this thought, you have seen this picture and if you’re anything like me, I imagine that you’re glad, glad that it’s not just you, glad that you’re not alone. Intelligence always thinks it’s alone. So my point; every blessing has it’s curse just as every man has a shadow. To me, it is the shadow that completes the definition. Wisdom comes hand in hand with sobriety, just as sentience always travels with sentiment. Not all emotions are negative, this is true, but all our emotions are powerful, potent and it is the gray ones that leave the longer-lasting effects.
As your hair slowly turns gray while you age, so you turn gray on the inside as you learn, as you lose your naivety. With insight and learning comes disillusionment, the colour is bleached from us, in patches for many and in entirety for some. Continue Reading →
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No one talks like this anymore…
When I was younger, I sometimes worried that my compulsive reading habits would make me end up in some random rehab program for book addicts, Bookaholics anonymous or something, now I’m convinced that it’s going to happen. No need to worry. I like books, especially old ones, in fact the older the better. Nowadays, book-lovers are thought of as ‘deep’, ‘nerdy’, ‘cerebral’ etc. Makes me laugh. I wonder what the great writers of the past would think if they saw what modern language has become. Voltaire would hang himself. What about Shakespeare? He’d probably cry (not that he’s a sissy or anything…but the dude did wear tights). The literary masters of old would be disappointed to see beautiful words replaced with unnecessary abbreviations. Lol? HBD? come on people!!
It seems that art-wise, humanity peaked a long time ago, sad. It looks like we’re on the downward slope to blandness, to expressive ineptness…imagination seems to be nearing defeat. In my own opinion, a world without abstract art, without artful literature is a world not worth living in. Continue Reading →
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Something, something darkside.
GRIM
Onslaught they call me
Foreman of death
Hated by all the sons of eve
Evil they think me
Those who by birth
Are chained to what they will not believe
I am as they say
I do as I’m told
I come to take that which they hold dear
I am as they say
The hangman of old
I come, I reap and I disappear
Now go on, despise me
Flee from my face
Run my dear ones!! for I am your end
So go on and curse me
Spit on my face
Though if I could…I’d die in your stead
Please hide!!! though I’ll find you
Now run!!! while you may
Delay what you know you will never evade
Now cry!!! for I see you
Now beg ‘let me stay’
I can not my dear one, for all men must fade… Continue Reading →
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Sappy in all the right ways; correcting a false impression.
Caminae
Caminae, I write again
Though this might be the last
You may yet find my speech plain
Unlike twas in the past
Sirenia, joy immeasurable
Sweetness encompassing
Beauty ineffable
And smile everlasting
I seek not to flatter
But speak only with truth
For to whom it may matter
Much joy you bring this youth
I feel as one made new
I smile as one just blessed
And so I must thank you
O bringer of my rest
Psyche, the fairest of fair
Caminae, confounder eternal
My deliverance from despair
And all that is infernal
Aurora, the soul of depth
Face of glorious wonder
For which I would suffer death
Or be cast asunder
Laurana, smiter of soul
And slayer of all bane
The winged joy that comes and goes
My pleasure and my pain
A muse all-inspiring
Focus of all thought
Flower made undying
Sweet forget-me-not
I’m lit alight with fervour
I stand aflame with love
My words betray my ardour
And all my heart thinks of
Though be not swayed by letters
Dig through to that within
I feel as one in fetters
But this is far from sin
I am one bound to freedom
Chained to what set me free
I’ll stay imprisoned forever
Unto perpetuity
For those in heaven want no more
Utopia holds nought back
I wake to sleep in deep love-lore
Content, I know no lack
So calypso, a song in name
Repose in flesh and blood
Forever young, ever untame
Bowing to no man’s sword
Come, let us walk along the shore
And sink our toes in sand
With Zephyr’s breath about your face
A sight that I hold grand
Look, let us try and count the stars
Jewels woven in deep blue
Like venus ever stands by mars
Abide beside me too
Come let us run into the fields
Me panting for my breath
We’ll take all this sweet hour yields
And have no thoughts of death
Joy, let us plunge into the deep
Like when I fell for you
When thoughts of you enter my sleep
I wish my dreams come true
You try my flesh, you chill my bone
You force my mind to roam
Heart, mine no more but yours alone
It’s found a better home.
I hoped you enjoyed reading this, most of the names are from greek mythology but the others are mostly made up. I wrote this poem to tell someone how I felt about her but now I’m posting it to prove a point…just because it’s from the heart doesn’t mean it’s mushy, sappy, corny tripe and just because it’s poetry doesn’t mean it’s about love but most of all; just because it’s about love doesn’t mean it’s weak or to be laughed. Shakespeare used to my least favorite of all the literary masters but I started to understand him and his work when I started to feel as he felt and think as he thought then.
If you want to understand someone, you need to walk a mile in their shoes. The best way into a writer’s mind is through his emotions. I don’t normally write on the more lofty emotions like love and joy but I don’t look down on those that do. Love is a feeling for the bravest to feel, it’s a mark they wear proudly on their chests but then again I’ve never claimed to be brave, it’s like Tennyson said;
Her loveliness with shame and with surprise
Froze my swift speech; she turning on my face
The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes
Spoke slowly in her place
‘I had great beauty: ask thou not my name
No one can be more wise than destiny
Many drew swords and died. Wherever I came
I brought calamity’.
There so much in this world that came be made more beautiful when touched with a little art and the arts are not just for those studying them, take me for example; I’m a medical student. I hope I’ve made my point now, shying away from wonderful pieces of literature just because they’re on ‘sappy’ stuff is in truth just ignorance. Sappy isn’t always corny, soft isn’t always weak. Thank you, till next time.
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The bounds of freedom grow wider yet.
It’s been too long guys but that’s my fault of course…anyway now I’m back, well mostly…, with many answers to questions nobody asked and questions on feelings nobody has. Pretty useful stuff. I’m not going to post a poem today, just wanted to explain something that I felt wasn’t clear.
Why write poems? why twist words? why paint moving pictures with fancy English? The answer I guess is pretty obvious, I like to think of the five senses as five special receptacles given to us to take in the world, both seen and unseen, both verbal and visual, both logical and abstract, but the thing is… Continue Reading →
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Nujabes Tribute (One year Remembrance)
Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of Japanese Hip -Hop producer Nujabes. I wrote a tribute to him a while back, you should read it
Rest in Peace Nujabes
Coming in at Number 3 is Aurarian Dance by Nujabes. Pronounced new-jah-bes
Nujabes is a Japanese hip-hop producer. Now let me clear up any confusion you might have, I know the only exposure most of people might have to the Japanese Hip hop industry is the song “Tokyo Drift” by Teriyaki Boys from the Movie Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift but I’m here to tell you, don’t judge Nujabes on that (admittedly awesome) song. He doesn’t actually rap, he makes beats. I’m not trying to justify this mans talents, I’m just clearing up any confusions or misconceptions anyone might have.
Nujabes was born Jun Seba. He frequently collaborated with many American and Japanese underground hip hop acts. His beats are regarded as cutting edge and very out of the box. He channels some jazz influences in his work. Continue Reading →
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Musings of a bard, the thoughts that we all share.
The wheels of thought turn once again but they turn slowly…at a time when speed is of utmost importance.
So I’m back, sorry it took so long. If you’re wondering about the title, don’t, the meaning is pretty simple. We all think(at least most of us), we have sad thoughts, happy thoughts, dark thoughts and cheery ones too, depending on the kind of person that you are. But there are things that we all think about because there are experiences that we all share, shows that we all watched, songs that we all listen to and things that every single one of us have seen. I’m more of a sombre, mellow type of guy(no shit), I think about big things, the big picture and basically I ask a lot of questions no one can answer and find answers to questions no one asked. Ever experienced winter(in another country of course)? I haven’t, but I’ve thought about it and well, let me show you what was born from one random thought. Enjoy.
Winter
Autumn turns its back on us
A season I will miss
And winter oh so infamous 
Presents an eager kiss
Summer has long since flown away
Fast on the heels of spring
The woodland creatures cease to play
The songbirds cease to sing
The mighty oaks now fall asleep
With branches wrapped in snow
The whales wonder about the deep
But have nowhere to go
The mountain peaks are wrapped in ice
Their caverns cold and chill
If this year’s gifts did not suffice
I’m sure that next year’s will
All the friendly creatures fall to frost
And the strongest of them die
And although I’m told that all is lost
I know it is a lie
The snow queen has come to take
That which she won’t return
Leaving sadness in her wake
Before her forced sojourn
I’ll miss my friends, we had good times
Though nothing’s made to last
The halcyon days have now become
Just memories of the past
So this year dies as another comes
Only to pass away
And the yesternight slowly becomes
The dawn of a new day…
I believe that in the dark corners of every mind is something worth expressing. Thought-provoking thoughts are the best way to get across to people, to show them who you are and what you’re about. So next time you have an epiphany or a receive spontaneous insight, use it, add to yourself and add to others. As for me, who I am is summed up in two words; I think.
Zanaku, grey wolf
He walks at night
It sleeps by day
Basking in the moonlight
Or so they say
With the form of a wolf
And the soul of a man
With a tale that can move
And a mind that can plan
With a coat of grey hair
And eyes always crying
People seem to care
People are always lying
He howls at the moon
So desolate, so sad
Good times go too soon
As did all that he had
Living in the woods
So far from redemption
Plagued by dark thoughts
Too many to mention
The grey wolf walks alone
Carrying his past
All he called his own
Found it hard to last
Staring at the clouds
And standing in their rain
Finding no relief
From his constant pain
Such a doleful look
Calls on the heart to bleed
Life gave then it took
All that he came to need
So he rises to go
Lonely, though no one cares
As if they didn’t know
Lone wolves don’t come in pairs…
Detanfy probably recognises the name, well I thought it was fitting so I borrowed it. I leave you with a note from my journal.
‘I have seen by some miracle of thought, the remains of my past sanctuary. Nostalgia comes in gentle waves, everything I used to believe in, everything was so much simpler then. I ask myself, why must they be difficult now? There is no reason, truly the child’s heart is greater than the man’s, his perspective wider. Single-mindedness was my greatest blessing, I have lost that…but it must not stay lost, I will reclaim what was given me. With all the songs in my ears, with all the voices in my head, with a heart brimful of memories and a decided mind, I must press on. Imagination knows on defeat’. In this life there is no such thing as ordinary, I ask that every time a moment comes upon you or every time you get an epiphany or you see something in a very enlightening way, dont shrug it off and keep walking…please stop every once in a while, please stare a little. Till next time. 
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