Memories

image- self

The heights often scare me
collapsing: with celestial bodies
galvanizing, molesting only my skin
crooked tree trunks, molten rocks,
reside in the outer rim of my stomach
The rituals die here each day, epileptic seizures,
the concrete blood vessels begin to spit,
spit and strive,
my narrow palm opening begins to feel,
spawling and missing.
At this point, I am a soaked kidney bean of hope.
The heights still succumb me.
I remember how I drew paintings of that daisy from my lawn
I remember a lot now for memories rest like an atlas inside me.
And memories also teach the momentum,
the possibilities of reading a pale tanned leaf.
Like a beaming flicker, a corrosive Sestina.

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Teenagers in the 1950's much more elegant than teenagers now...
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Circulation of stars was more familiar during
those sincere days when our bodies felt the lust,
the smitten rose kiss, the dandelion slaps
on our naked, yellow tongues.
Telephones were intriguing, for addiction kills.
Fingernails did not chap, broken things did mend.
Inside the tubes of bars, ladies enjoyed
with a brew of solace and poised wise.
My teeth crack to see the irony today,
humanity dies, numbing the skies.
Sometimes when I walk on moist roads,
The oak and the cactus pigments my impeccable skin,
slapping mud onto my thighs, making me realise a sigh!
For life's revenge is time,
And nothing binds the state of time.


My latest work published on Duane's Poetree.
-My Valiant Soul

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Three Children and Wagon c. 1930s #history             WOW the first sweet picture I have seen with Black and White children.

Some people I see these days are like
broken paragraphs of my poetry
with a missing meter and inconsistent gravity
Detonation of disgust pits and addition of volatile
vodka stammers my insipid vision.
Half moon, half-blood, half mouth covered,
like a decomposition of the great Odyssey.
Some people these days are like
Vintage tributes( but unfamiliar, surreptitious).
With a bumblebee of summery sky,
they bite your pure coltish recently built home
Some people these days exists like this
till they tangle your knots into miseries.

 

-My valiant soul

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A naked Observation

 

London, 1908.
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Forbid me from not inviting you to the dinner tonight,

The reservations are kept clean and precise

We shall make Spaghetti Arrabiata and will murmur talks.

Talks about new locality, a lamenting voice of new priests doing exorcism

Surrounding my pesky air, claps and thunder shall be mixed in your wine

A charcoal dust will caress your cheekbones, piquant games of truth and dare

A memoir, a brandishing clamour of naked bodies will dance

Time teaches time about the modals of life

and human bites time again and again.

I scream inch by inch like the wing of sparrow (Hush, hush, hush)

Needles revolve, this golden sundial stands frozen

Some say the truth, others are clowns well decorated in their own pits.

Forbid me from not inviting you to the dinner tonight.

 

-My Valiant Soul

Evolution

Alcohol on my newly-born skin,
Do you see the patterns and the checks, the spotted wings?
I lick this ferocious almond scales on my skin, counting the pores
And I measure the breadth and length, obtaining details of details.

The oak tree knows the dents and paints
in the surreal landscape, where people romance
The lavender fields twist in its imperfection,
it sees black, grey, black, grey.

We travel and remorse like a soaked cotton ball in hallucinations,
We learn and emancipate, we gulp metamorphosis
and stack our bodies with memories, rub eyelids to breathe.
We survive and smoke, smoke till the moon spits anger, guilt to our innocence if any.
We are a floating wax of titanium spirits yet we fear cravings. Solivagant in dreams.

I suck the sand, the colourful dust and lips of my lover
I suck the galaxy of you and me.
I know, this arithmetic of us and time. We will evolve too.


©My Valiant Soul

Scissors and Thorns

 

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Penumbra, walls of construction, destruction
black coherent cathartic squalid eyes
numb crooked vertebrae floating
in the liquid air, my body becomes a coffin.
Enfeeble basket of black roses resides in my cracking eyes.

I take a pause, and visit the old creaking house,
haunted and mahogany drooling
over my burning piquant skin,
I feel a co-existence between
the supernatural and the living
Dents of loose threads of hope
circulate, biting my skin, biting my tongue,
biting my amorphous vapours of sick solitude.

I want to weep today, scarring my acidic eye
the hypocrisy, the swollen balls of abhorrence scar me.
I am a vexatious taboo.
How is sustenance a need?
Even the sky dies at night.
I evaporate, disintegrate, amalgamate
only to be a broken piece of an elongated lie.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Things I crave

 

 

Serge Ivanoff
image credits- Pinterest

 

I sit beneath this concave moonlit and put my ink on my naked body tonight.
I count the loses and the victories I have had, the outnumbered lips of kisses and the bottles of venom. I draw a map to the moon, I draw stars to my breasts.
I crave the branches of this grapevine romancing with the blueberries.
I crave my frosty lips sucking the zeal out of the chilled beer.

This place, this soft breeze benedicts the wisdom. It teaches about multiplication and deduction. A topology of human indeed is dust. The slick fingers often do not regenerate and the countless stars are only to make your skin sullen and eyes full of baked memories. Winters are the unsaid words from your beautiful carbon mouth. Thousands of Aurora skin glitter around your geometrical waist.

I crave the poetry of your eyes. I crave the potion, religion, purity from your skin. I crave words. I crave flowers dancing on a hillside.
I crave horrendous veracity from your writings.

The world shall seem mystical, where the peacocks might sing the 80’s song. Hilarious gloomy nights often teach you the truth of your life. “Nothing is forever”

I crave the smell of daffodils. I crave the sultry nights of desiccated romance from my veins and the continuous burning smell of my cigars.
I crave wisdom, I crave wilderness.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Electric

 

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The protrusion of sultry roads
chokes my unborn laughter.
my teeth dropping off the tiniest molecule of red wires
sharp, electric, bizarre.
I doubt your tongue, human!
For chills are deceptive often.

Summons of thunder on my pale lips
now your sturdy words,
collide, oh human!
Your tricks are electric.
Your tricks are deceptive.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Self-Portals


My skin coloured umbrella texture,
A polaris to inhuman substance
Extending in the North,
Like that shining star.

My red lip, like a stolen piece of a gem.
The duality of mermaid fins,
Stumbling, swimming, breathing.
I see it all.

Who am I?

The eccentric waves of ocean,
Inside my oceanic soul,
Flutters the depth of my eyelid
Narrowing my eyesight, blurry smoke.
And there exists a vast fountain of charcoal visions.
Unknown, insatiable flower petals
Choking on dead soil.

-My Valiant Soul.

Time is Me

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Needles in my mouth, poking the sustenance of time
with a swab of cotton dipped in grey pause
A pause from the rigorous living and the dead,
beyond the veil, a harmony exists, a topology of Stardust
covering my naked breast.
A musical building devouring me with lust
sprinkling some on the nape of my neck,
Beyond this, precision exists forming clouds,
resembling my black locks elongating the path,
to travel the unfathomable soil,
the colour is not Auburn, it burns
it burns on my arms, it burns on my wet tongue,
twisting in forward steps,
each moment time moves, I stay here to glean the patterns,
to play hide and seek with the mirage, a shadow.
I draw curtains, performing segments to watch
the porcelain body of time’s shadow,
drawing paintings on the cerulean sky and I see,
a fragile moment of reflection
swallowing the colossal truth of me
Time is Me.