Six

The rings on my hands,
the ring on yours,
they turned my intentions
into a difficult question.
The isle is long,
not as long
as the years are wide.
A wide gap lies
between Nassau and the cape.

Poem d'Amour

My first love is love.
Of all my endeavors,
off all my systems,
love I love the most.

Rambling Poetry

Each morning the butterflies rise.

It’s a nauseous feeling caused by eyes.

She trots about, I’m awaiting the day,

Where once again she’ll come my way.

She’s refuses the coffee,

and insists on strawberry.

Our relations are made common

Like the rich man eats ramen.

The diverse coalescence of times,

In contrast it saves potential dimes.

Yet, money sings quietly above,

Since by my heart sings the biological dove.

Her title is one which suggests:

Perhaps I should pursue the person which pests.

The other of same name

Makes ripples in the pursuing frame.

She’s a picture that saved me the warm season

Now that looks like a wasted clover reason.

Shall I clench the soil

To only have it foiled?

Cut short by cinematic travel,

Should those without desire toss the first gravel?

I have it and will toss it.

Without the desire your freedom is grit,

An annoyance in spit.

Poetic evolution from heart to liberty,

Contrasts a question of stifling duality.

It will not do to choose a choice that chastens the spirit.

Better a leap into the dark, still why do we fear it?

Across the mountains and over the sea

Lies unimaginable possibility

To liven the spirit and fulfil the need.

It’s a result that’s desired with exacerbating speed.

In the meantime, remember to always have fun,

The path of life is a gushing run.

It turns and twists down valleys and gorges,

Cutting the rock, the mindset it forges.

I will find a love that is over that hill,

Leaving the choices, especially the shill.

The next chapter is a song and a reel,

Oh you butterflies, take the wheel!

Oh, Mr. Bagel: A poem

Potato chips are quite the crisp,

The tentacle opens the bag.

The driveway cat, oh Mr. Bagel

Lives his life in drag.

Can we put a date on it?

No, not even a stamp.

The oily glasses will tell you

That’s why the lady’s a tramp.

To pop the cork on luck,

Could be popping the bottle of poison.

Maybe more crisps than oyster crackers,

Hails the channel that the boy’s on.

Can you write upon the graph paper

To tear away its grid?

Don’t use that keystone rewards card,

Or you’ve already lost that bid.

Don’t erase your library slip,

If it sits upon the charter.

The old cellphone already died,

To save us the pain of barter.

Who will carry the sun peaking flag?

Or deal out each hand of magic?

To get this far without a context,

Would be a course that’s tragic.

Tempting thee to toss this page,

Back to the wailing seas,

Is to understand this dreadful poem

And not possess a disease!

This poem was inspired by the random things sitting on my desk.  Please tell me in the comments if you find any deeper meanings in this poem! Also, keep sharing the Bithiyan!

The Gazebo Party

Here is a poem I wrote last September for a university art class.  I was supposed to write a paragraph explaining my sculpture but rather I wrote an accompanying poem.  My inspirational context is I was anticipating the onset of fall and the coming of Halloween.  I was in a rather macabre mood, comme i…

The Gazebo Party

Every day and every night,

There is a party at the gazebo.

Its festivities reach near and far.

It is a party all must attend,

But some choose to attend freely.

Most throw away the invitation:

The one received at conception.

Every step is a roll of loaded dice

Until the un-RSVP-ed invitation

Is realized by the host

And comes to collect his party-goers.

There are people who are caught off guard and/or

Just accept the host’s ride.

Others run and deny their reality,

While the few of the few

Dart towards a beacon of whittled hope

Looking for their key

Or a rock to cling to.

For the party’s host has tendrils

To drag you to the gazebo.

They are the same entangling appendages

That also hold the hourglass

Which knows the precise time

You are due to arrive.

After the last grain of salt has fallen,

You begin to dance at the Gazebo.

You see all the skulls and bones

Of which the structure is built.

It’s all who have attended.

You sway with the host until you realize

You are now one of them.

Welcome to the Gazebo Party.