Acoustic folk rock band
in the park
Summer night, twilight then dusk
Locals only, no tourists
Free concert, perfect weather
Our community, our brethren
90 minutes of perfection
Taking it all in
Grateful
Knowing autumn is suddenly
around the corner
Breathe deep
Catch the vibe
Close your eyes
Photograph the moments
Save
Oh no…!! Not to accuse him I write this
My story this is, the tragedy of my life
I was in hell; I knew it when he showed
The better beauty of life
He took my hand and showed
How fast the human heart can beat for another
That magnetic and fiery thunder
Produced when two beings are together
The beauty of human feeling
The hidden desires of my heart
He then thought we had gone too far
Loosened my hand
I fell back into my personal hell
Once I thought it was the right heaven for me
A mere place with dull and motionless life
The worst thing was the realization of the truth
My physique lies here, yet my heart lies elsewhere
In a better place with warmth and extreme life
“I loosen your hand for good” he said
How good can this feeling be
The knowledge that my life is lifeless
This, the tragedy of my life
The house that has a library in it has a soul.
– Falsely attributed to Plato.
My house is full of spirits, haunting specters
Bound in books, each with their own
Unique appearance, smells and textures.
So many souls speaking on the shelves
Texts in translation- ephemeral selves
In stories, plays, poems and essays.
A home filled with such ambitions —
Is like phantom psychokinesis.
These literary apparitions permit us
To intone: Abitus sed non oblitus.
Author’s Note: The last line in Latin translates as: “Gone but not
forgotten.”
More at http://about.me/dklawitter.
Hear the sea lapping against the shore
The lanterns held in the hands sway
To and fro
The way
My heart swings tonight
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart sings a little rhyme
At last, at last
After two decades.
A little star is shining in the sky
Oh! It’s a lantern held in another hand
Hear the sound of my feeble feet
Painfully trudging along the beach
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart murmurs a little prayer
A little star appears in the sky
Making the cloudless night clear
My life secretly slithers behind my feet
I have to hold it from its collar to keep it
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart chants a little curse
In the hard ring of life
mortal and immortal challenge each other
in a wrestling contest
from morning to night,
select the favorite one between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’-
to be used by a confused life.
Indeed, it’s a got up match,
featured by uniformed rivals,
ensnared supporters encircling the ring
and a fixed and separate winning hours
for both mortal and immortal.
The golden time- hot and luminous,
from late morning to early evening,
bestows mortal with invincibility
over everything- material and immaterial.
But frosty and dark is the rest time-
from early evening to next early morning,
enough for mortal to be scared
and sheltered behind immortal-
quite awaken and mighty as a winner
and a line of discipline is set in the game of life.
Nevertheless, life is to be ill-efficient and disturbed
in choosing between Yes and No,
surprised at the interference of mortal and immortal
in each other’s jurisdiction at wrong time-
making life full of confusions and hesitations.
I can hit the fastball
But I really want to hit the slider
Same thing in writing verse
The erotic comes easy
But my own core emotions
Always leave me wanting more
From myself
So, no erotic poems this morning
Going back to the basics
My need to write
I hope you will let me in
Even though I have been hard on you
I’m not a bad guy
And I don’t spit too much
When I’m at the plate
A got-up video game-
played on the screen of reality
where every click may not be responded
and every level may not be crossed over,
yet clicking is always unabated.
A babbling bunny-
selected as a super hero,
openly by the tumultuous kids
but secretly by an invisible adult,
for the game to win.
Slowly but steadily,
powers are obtained step by step,
villains are defeated one by one
and doors are opened level by level.
In the climax, only two doors-
almost twins and adjacent to each other,
remaining to be opened to win the game,
the left- for the kids
and the right- for the invisible.
The blockhead kids-
quite blissful in reaching the left door,
hopeful for winning the game
and prompt to press the click.
Alas! The hero is irresponsive to the click
but spontaneous to reach
and open the right door in no time.
A roar of laughter reverberates in the air,
makes the kids astonished and disappointed too.
So it seems to the profound
that love grows upward from the ground,
as slowly as that ice thaws, but then
mid closed buds, the odd one open
that tries to rush the spring,
or so it seems to touch the heart,
as if risking it’s life to greet me,
and how it tugs my tendril spirit
fearing the sun, too weak to save it
and all the rest, the waiting wise
or so it seemed to my surprise,
along the old track to the mere
with Wordsworth, singing in my ear.
More at roykaustin.weebly.com.
I’m driven by lust
But defined by love
Power and fury
Flowers and sweetness
The mansion is wide, long and high,
Its whiteness makes it a mammoth recess,
Where we are expected to live
In eternal comfort.
The little girl is frustrated.
She yearns for a change of air.
We sit together at a square table,
And look through the curtain,
She tells me about her friends’ boyfriends,
I warn her,
About how disgraceful it is to love,
to touch
And to be touched
‘It is the animal pleasure’
I tell her.
Thus the daytime
Wastes in our mansion.
The aunty gets angry
For every trite slip
Her body is wasted,
A mass of saggy muscles
She is both the mother and the father
Of the mansion
Who am i?
I am another woman in the feminine mansion
The emblem of purity,
The untouched petal,
A chaste Mary!
We pass our day and night.
Yearning for rain.
Constantly licking
Our parched lips
‘It is raining!’
One day she shouts.
Both of us run to the vast terrace garden,
Only to find it is only teasing,
With a drop or two.
‘It’s not going to rain
Let’s get indoors’
I tell her.
That night
When I’m lying alone on my single bed,
I hear the inviting rain,
But I choose to sleep on.