Not Yet

Suppose a mad person
Hearing voices
Seeing hallucinations
Smelling corruption
Feeling anguish
Tasting nothing
Could suddenly
Control his madness

Apparitions three
Appeared before me
Resulting in poetry
And many a story

Destructive criticism
Transformed into
A search for meaning
Manic visions
Into inspiration
Smells of deceit
Into a healthy detachment
Anguish
Into a breathing exercise
Taste of the Abyss
Into a safe exploration

Depths to explore
Robe to stay steady
Crows to… I don’t know yet
Perhaps to lift me to the sky?
A change of perspective?
A new realm of the inner mind?

Controlling madness
Turning my weakness into strength
Could be the way
To getting out of my pit
Traumas confronted
In the recesses of my mind
Which is slowly healing
My body just needs
To build up its muscles now
And climb

I have not walked the earth
For many years now
Soon it will be time
To put on my shoes
Take a stroll outside
And confront the world of man
…
But not yet

(I’ve made a promise. I’ll start walking outside after my body reaches a certain level of fitness. If all goes as planned, I’ll be at my physical prime when I finish, since I’ve quit smoking… three months now. The fear of the outdoors has left me confined for too long. Anyway, I’m going to go draw. Don’t know when my next post will come out, so consider this a short hiatus notice. )

Such a Lonely Pantoum

The cosmos dances on my palm
The Universe sparks into being
Galaxies spinning,  slow and calm
For him I can hear three bells ring

The Universe sparks into being
The story of a lonely man
For him I can hear three bells ring
I had much greater ambition

The story of a lonely man
They said I needed hard labour
I had much greater ambition
Though there was peace I could savour

They said I needed hard labour
The king threw me to his blacksmiths
Though there was peace I could savour
They couldn’t purify my myths

The king threw me to his blacksmiths
They hammered me for three decades
They couldn’t purify my myths
I was jailed by the Ace of Spades

They hammered me for three decades
I’m all squashed and bent out of shape
I was jailed by the Ace of Spades
But I’ve found a way to escape

I’m all squashed and bent out of shape
I’m abandoned in a black hole
But I’ve found a way to escape
A primal cry comes from my soul

I’m abandoned in a black hole
Galaxies spinning, slow and calm
A primal cry comes from my soul
The cosmos dances on my palm

(This week’s POW, Punam, for the W3 challenge hosted by David on the Skeptic’s Kaddish, she has asked us to write a pantoum on the theme of abandonment. I wrote this backwards… seemed easier.)

Her Divine Tattoos

I see a beautiful woman
With such quick, nimble fingers
Lying up there on her side
My sight can’t help linger
On her tattooed right hand
Strumming her instrument
Long, wooden, with sixteen strings
And such a range of accents
One would think she’s an angel
If not for her wicked smile
And that twinkle in her eye
That brings war to plains and isle
She’s lying there in the air
Up above the world so high
My natural nemesis
Playing her music of lies
I see the divine in her
It’s there even in demons
She cannot get rid of it
Those chains tattooed on her skin

(I took a break from drawing, and then Crow showed up. I wanted to see where our collaboration would go, so the last three poems were an exploration of sorts. Each of the ladies requires a different approach. The Lady of the Robe is a difficult one to incorporate into a fusion poem with all the others, but I’m going to try, sometime later. I imagine that it would read like three separate poems written on a single theme. That might not work so well. I’ll try it once anyway. I still prefer the Depths. )

Thus Spake Tanmay (ustra?)

Whoa! I can feel things
Does this mean I’m human?
Then why am I afraid
To display emotion?
Stifle it up inside?
Stiff upper lip?
Not when I’m writing
I can’t give my muses the slip
Here I can roar
Let my feelings soar
Lose my readers more and more?
Who am I writing for?
I don’t really know
For me? For you?
Perhaps for them?

It’s a primal urge
To roar
I do it with written words
And try to make them soar

(A repeat rhyme

I know…I know)

Meditation
Slow my breathing
Feel something kindling
In my abdomen
I twitch
A petit mal seizure?
It lasts for a few seconds
And I feel pleasure?
Happens every time
Like an orgasm, I suppose
But not of the flesh
It tingles from my spine
All the way to my head
That’s the way
The Lady of Crows
Would have me write
I pray before the Depths
I study before the Robe
And do some freaky meditation
(Kundalini?
Houdini?
Spaghetti)
Before the Crow
Wtf is happening to me?

Terror, pleasure
Joy, suffering
A real mixed bag
When the three start singing

A long introduction
For a short poem
Here we go

Through the eyes
Of the Lady of Crows
Which took me some effort
To control

I see clouds
Floating like driftwood
A rainbow
Light-show
Drawing them in
I see an ent
Conducting an orchestra
Of wind and colour
He thinks he’s in charge
But he’s just moving his arms
In a frantic effort
To keep up to the dance
Of the Universe
He’s constrained by the form
Imposed on him
By the spirit of this age
Who will not allow him to be free

Now
The afterword…
I’m not trying to sound mystical
Okay,  maybe just a little
It felt like squeezing a lime
Salt and sugar for the rhyme
I only lack soda
Won’t get it in the coda
I guess water will have to do
So boring… boo hoo
There was that whale thing in Fantasia
That felt like anesthesia
Was it Sibelius? I’ve forgotten
Middle age memory… rotten
The point is…
I’m finally getting to it…
I am just a guy
Making a beverage
And giving you a taste
In exchange
For the possibility
Of a like and a comment
And perhaps I also feel the satisfaction
No,  the delusion,
Of creating something new

The Lady Said, “Caw”

The Lady of the Crows
Where did she come from?
I don’t really know
And in such a strange form

Why are my apparitions all ladies?
My sub conscious mind
With its roots in Hades
Should be more gender neutral?

But it just doesn’t work
‘The Lord of the Crows’
Lords sound like jerks
Jerking off to the public’s woes

Victims of stereotyping (they)
Deep within my scary mind?
I don’t know,  I’m just swiping
away at a keyboard of some kind

Anyway,  there’s a Crow Lady now
Along with a Robe Lady, and a Depths Lady
I don’t where they came from,  why or how
This whole phenomenon seems quite shady

The Lady of the Crows
Just stares at me
Creepily
While I hear a giggle
From the Depths
Scary?
It should be
But it isn’t
Didn’t
I already see the face of Rahu?
Nothing is scarier than that
You can take my word for that
A ten banana score on acute fright
A scale measuring neither left nor right
Though I did try and fight
I woke up from that nightmare
And I was really pissed off
Even angrier than when
The Snake Queen  stole my chastity
Or when the witches tried to find my locality
It’s all bloody crazy
Now there’s a third Lady
And they give me strength (maybe)
She came to me during Lent
Is this some significant event?
Will my poetry be filled with caws?
Will a murder descend from the sky?
Literary murder
Not literal murder
And not a flock either
Caw caw caw
My psyche raw
My persona in the draw
Safely locked away
Taken out only for parties
I get it now
The Depths bring clarity
It’s easier to see the surface of light
When I’m drowning in darkness

Dainty Lady of the Robe
Her  geometric abode
Is a feast for my brain lobes
Easily accessed by road

Caw caw caw
Breaking the law
Seeing on the saw
Revealing all my flaws

Where is my soul?
I only see a hole?
Is it still whole
When my thoughts are divided?

Dissonance,  resonating
With consonance
“But they’re assonating
Boyo”
I can hear one of them
Whisper

Whispers of the universe
That I can no longer hear
I know that they are there
It really sucks that I’m aware
But I can’t get any closer
To hearing them

A real Shem
Stuck on an ark
And then busy
Reproducing
But ten bananas
For the plot pacing
His heart was racing
After all that sailing?

Dark night of the soul
Or eternal damnation?
I’ve got three ladies for company
A lady’s man of perdition
My inner search for meaning
Just a meaningless shag
After a ragtime dance
In a cantina that needs cleaning???

This Lady of the Crows
I don’t think I like her
But that just goes to show
I’m still far from being whole

Is she a part of me
That I’ve long repressed?
The thought leaves me depressed
I didn’t think I was this ugly

This poem makes sense
But perhaps only to me?
It might need a disclaimer
So that’s just what you’ll see

Ahem ahem

The contents of this poem
Are subjective
Any interpretation
Should be made with caution

Steam of consciousness
Rising from the bath tub
And in there three ladies
So much innuendo, hubba hub…

But all symbolic
They are fully clothed
PG13
One even covered by a black veil
Hail, Hail,Hail
Lady of the Crows
Welcome to the team

My Time in Hades

For the longest time
I slept like the dead
The longest journey
In the caravan of Dream
Death taught me things
I used to be filled with rage
At the world
Now,  I just yearn to Live
And find Truth
Discernment
Is a precious gift
Taken for granted
Until it is lost

For the longest time
I slept like the dead
The longest journey
In the caravan of Dream
Death taught me things
I did not drink
Of the waters of Lethe
Every second of my past
Was revealed to me
Breaking free of Chronos
And his cycle of pain
Was the only thing
That mattered

For the longest time
I slept like the dead
The longest journey
In the caravan of Dream
Death taught me things
Had I been possessed
When I ODd on prescription meds
To end this pain?
Every moment since then
Was a haunted house of horrors
I ‘live’ now in stark terror
Of still being ‘alive’
And losing the little I have left

…

Responsibility
Too heavy on my weak shoulders
No talent,  no drive,  no future
Everything I touch withers
Will I live in pain forever
Damned for eternity
In this hell I’ve created?
No friends,  no tribe, no people
I shut myself off, to dream
Safe within a foetal embrace
Too ill to Live, too guilty to die
Too scared to cause pain to the few
Who still love me

…

I dream of Life
But I’ve not forgotten
The lessons of death
Specks of dust, souls divine
Goodbye
To all the plans that we made
No contracts
I’m free to do as I may
No hunger
No sleep except to dream
Mild and warm
Safe from all harm
Calm

Can I use these lessons to live again?

My persona is slowly crumbling

My ambitions, my goals…

Good riddance

Voices in my Head

There’s a voice in my head
That keeps questioning me
Why did you do this?
Why did you feel that?
Why did you think that?
Is that the right thing to do?
How do you think he/ she feels?

I don’t know if everyone has it
And it is not always there
Is it part of humanity’s toolkit?
Are some people just not aware?

Or am I a freak
And this delusion?
This voice’s critique
A mere illusion?

Is my mind fractured?
Divided within
A strange new structure
Hidden by my skin?

Then there’s the Lady
Another apparition
She might seem shady
But she helps with my condition

Sometimes the two become one
Answers become imperative
And after it is done
My mind forms a narrative

Of how I should behave
Of how I should act
When my reason is in tune
With my spirit

Samurai Cowboy on Arrakis

He rode on the wrong lane

And ended up on a desert planet

A passing sand worm went insane

But he didn’t panic

…

Cool as a cucumber

He spat out his cigarette

Put away his lighter

Now, he was nearly set

…

He unsheathed his katana

And took out his gun

Hummed a riff by Santana

And then prepared to run

…

Screaming, “What the fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccckkkkkkk!”

(Psychologically conditioned to fight, he couldn’t stop himself from looking badass, until reality hit him. That’s the poem in a nutshell.)

I wanted to do something really nice, since it has been a month since I started drawing, but I got frustrated when everything I thought of was far too advanced for my current level. So, I just copied this character, who seemed simple to draw and colour, and then drew my own simple background. I like his pose and the perspective. I think I did better with the values (light/dark) on this one, compared to my others. I was not aware of checking for this before. The worm is supposed be coming out of the ground, throwing sand everywhere in a gigantic cloud. I do not think I conveyed what I had in mind all that well. I can probably do better. There is a lot of sloppiness, but (1) I lost interest in this picture after I reached this point and (2) I wanted to post this before 1 month was officially over. I would like to take more time and care with my future artwork, but there are some things I just want to end quickly. I have to change my attitude, and finish things properly. That is a big change. I will try.

I do not know if I am progressing slowly or quickly. I have no yardstick… Anyway, I shouldn’t let that bother me… is what I keep telling myself.

I suppose that it should be much darker on his left. I am slowly learning to see these things. There’s probably a secondary light source there, something red, but I wasn’t able to convey it well.

My Art Rating: 0.5 Bananas 😭

I wanted to do something special
Something big,  something beautiful
For my month iversary (with digital art)
And all I had was a digital canvas
Filled with a substandard copy
And chaotic brush strokes
I wanted to break something
But those days of rage
Were long behind me
Weary acceptance now
…
Then the Lady appeared
“Why so glum
Why so mum
Say something
Anything
Even about nothing
Like you sometimes do”
If I rated my drawings in bananas
I told her
I was sure
It would be half a small one
An underripe and damaged one
“You may not manage one
Now”
She said
In my head
“Transcendent paintings
Are de rigeur
Sure
But they take time
And a special sort of inspiration
Don’t force it
I’ll still endorse it
Your new found purpose
You’re very earnest
And now you know
That grey has a thousand shades”
I had never read the book
Or seen the movie
BDSM was not my thing
I wouldn’t play that game
Even for someone wearing my ring
“I meant real colour, silly
Look at where your mind wanders
Next you’ll tattoo a fleur de lily
And claim to be Molly Flanders”
Who was Flanders, Molly
And why would I engage in such folly?
Was she the Marchioness of Flowers
That most mystical place
Filled with artistic grace
Where the muses sang
And the timbrils rang
And the lyres laid
With violins and made
Stringed babies
…
Violence and lies
Bad pun
…
Never mind
…
Anyway,
Where the muses sang
In time
Always in time
These were no maenads
But my muse seemed quite mad
Maybe she was half and half?
“Don’t worship the golden calf”
She said
“Muses and fuses,  mere tools
Use, misuse, abuse,  refuse
But don’t let them control you
Or you’ll end up  at war
With your psyche
And without electricity”
It was then that I realized
That I needed to back everything up
And stop sipping from the cup
Of laziness
My craziness
Was a tool too
That could be used,  abused,  misused But not refused
Every part of me was a tool
I just needed an instruction manual
Are we dual?
Did my boot contain a window to Ubuntu?
You and I
I asked the Lady
Two in I? II Roman style?
My mind was focussed on advaita
But I needed more data
To make a reasonable hypothesis
On my life’s purpose
The Lady blew a raspberry… pi
“Remember the porpoise?”

I remembered
My first poem of chaos
Where I had to choose
Between a fish and a gun
But got jailed for contempt
When I grew unhappy
At the settlement
Was all of this
Really nonsense?

“Chaos, my dear’
She stroked my cheek
“Apeiron, the unknown, the deeps
Where discoveries sleep
You need to dive down
And almost drown
In madness
To escape the blandness
Of safety and sanity
If you want to be
Pioneer
Discoverer
Inventor
Dreamer

The ers kept coming
Like pleasant humming
I listened to her sing
And no longer felt the sting
Of my horrible artwork
With its stupid lighting
And toddler level anatomy
Colour blind shading
And clueless values

“There you go again!”
The Lady stamped her feet (cute)
And disappeared

Tears on my Hanky

Hey there! On this week’s W3 challenge hosted by David on the Skeptic’s Kaddish, the poet of the week, Michelle , has asked us to write an ode to our handkerchiefs. Here is my attempt.

You were once a fluffy boll of cotton
But then, something magical!
Carded, spun, spooled, warped, slashed, drawn, woven and sent to the mill
Kiered , bleached, mercerised, dyed and cut
And later on, an embroidered chestnut

Desdemona’s tears stain your fair face
Oh, how I wish I could wipe them away
I wish I could wipe out her every trace
But the stains of our pain still stay
How can I be in love with a symbol?

Oh beloved hanky, symbol of fidelity
Symbol of all I’ve loved, all that I’ve lost
Symbol of joy, symbol of pain
Symbol of everything that I crave
Gently caressing my wet cheeks

(I have never written an ode before. I may not have done this right. I did not understand the guidelines for the meter or all that strophe stuff…. Tomorrow will be a month since I started drawing. I want to create something special. Not sure I’ll be able to pull it off.)