Resolutions

I will cut the swath
Of feral caginess
And emancipate
From a spectral warden
Of my shadows,
And blossom from
The inert impalement
With flaccid petals
But not from withering
Rather, stooping to be stroked

I will keep my escape routes
But penetrate more rooms
And suffocate myself
With munificent tentacles
Of the Owl,
And the Duck,
And all the faceless voices
And I will coagulate
A more resolute desire

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poem by Norman Santos
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Critical Mass

Arriving in boats
Black hooded coats
Tormentors climbed into my room
I crawled under my bed
Covered my head
But theyre flushin me out with a broom
The leades, shes small
Pinned my ass to the wall
For my seeds or shed be losin her past
Time after time
Shed be readin my mind
Celebrate, celebrate, celebrate it
This is critcal mass
So far, so good
I heard the other say
So good, so far
Theyre takin me away
I drink to you, your mind, her ass
Well take a drink and break the glass
Celebrate, celebrate, celebrake it

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song performed by Aerosmith
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Vibration

I've been doing this for so long.
It seems longer than I am old.
Some now grasping the importance of this...
Might have an inkling,
Of the sacrifice connected to it.
It's more than just having an ability to do it.
There is a cosmic connection made.
Something surrealistic...
That makes this seem simplistic.
Well it ain't!
It does what it does without restraint.
Some may complain what some say is utterly insane.
At times I feel that way myself.
Until I read something I know is deeply felt.
And there I recognize a true soul unfold.
Immediately that appeals to me!
Since I know these 'old' souls...
Are 'assigned' to this reality,
To assist those to grow.
Since many minds have been conditioned,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shadows Of Twentieth Century Dictatorships

At last at last finally sinister purges are passing past.
Shadow legacy of twentieth century absolute dictators
decades on last totalitarian governments passing past.
Lands where the ruling party is only old party allowed.
The dictator of Tunisia has already people opposed fled.
President of Yemen unpopular promised power to shed.
Dictator of Egypt has again soiled bloodied ruling hands.
Just question of time before tyranny is driven from sands.

surrealist cartoon: thug supporters of lame duck Egyptian
president Mubarak caused an ugly scene with clubs stones
troops did not intervene how obscene as donkeys mounted
on camels and horses charged into Tahrir Square hoping to
do gang victory laps after prison releases to beat up crowds
of innocent trapped peaceful anti-mubarak protesters as all
spectator Egyptian military soldiers stood back did nothing
but watch watch watch fighting rise up around them unable

to do their job fighting to protect civilians thus pro-Mubarak
forces advanced beyond line military trucks throwing stones

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Seize the Autumn Mist

Amidst a horizon of sporadic seasons, stood
A wayward gambler of sangfroid optimism
Wreaking of departure in the eyes of an interlude
Cascading with a wintry streak of a prism
A rapine of the grandiosity banishing all subdued
Words that vessels emotions in taut surrealism

The aftermath of golden deluge and sullen drought
Fore the wintry rape and frosted cellars bolt
A beautiful shedding, the mist of copper hair brought
Comported in a poise deeming the sun a harlot
For corrupting the radiance it spun and wrought
Undeserving of abduction; a beautiful fault

Hoping for amends but the more it is changing
The more the season of withering remains mundane
With aloofness of untainted bliss, tethering
A tatterdemalion vagabond in a flee too profane
Erred and flawed hands can't carry the bosom of the writhing
Season of falling a gambler can never abstain

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poem by Norman Santos
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Paris,1912

I was born a hundred years ago;
Made it to the Mecca of art
For art's sake;
Picasso's circle constituted by poets,
Mainly;
Gathered in outdoor cafes
We came up with modernism
By slamming the door on the old
And inviting in the new:
'If the artist says it's art,
Then it's art.'

(I look at the streets now,
A hundred years later,
And am griefstricken how
The gasoline engine has
Singlehandedly reduced
The role of poetry in young lives;
I am so sorry I thing rap music is neither
Poetry nor music;

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poem by Stan Petrovich
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0322 Globetrotting Snails

a great title for a rock group but
from this week, fact or at least
truthish. species have been found
to travel many thousands of miles
across land and sea
and don’t you wonder how and
aren’t you that little bit envious?
nature’s aerial hitchhiker-backpacker-caravanner
wow

se ems they (they? how did the word
get around? snail-mail?)
learned (learned?) this trick
of sneaking into the wing-feathers
of migrating birds. and anyway the birds in this
symbiotic relationship are thought
to tuck them in there (which came first,
the chicken or the snail?) as an
inflight snack, though evidently
missing one or two who

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Echoing Green

he shares his dream
with his friends;
the trees, birds,
blooms and sea
in shades of blue,
red, green and brown
he carries his dream
from place to place
always with a song
a poem in his heart
come rain or shine
the breeze brings out
his dream in strange ways
splashes, splotches,
points, dots, surrealism,
inspiration trails his soul
he lets go of his dream
like a breeze
amid the sparkles,
glitters of the sea

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Portrait of the Desperate

You can stab me with the paint brush
With your initial impressions
Condemning me as a cliché
In the gulag Guggenheim
Posting travesty appraisals
Like fishing hat khaki tourist
Whose idea of high culture
Is a Big Mac at MacDonald's
Enjoy reducing my existence
To sacrosanct banalities
Pontificating irreverent techniques
Of vindictive enmities
Now just adjust me on the meat hook
In your cauterized exhibit
Posting slaughterhouse celebrations
Where the brain police pollution
Egregious diuretic polemics
Under sanguine lit fluorescence
The skin hides peal the canvas
On the phlegmatic eczema easels

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Jar of Origami Cranes

In rooftops, in trellises
People strut like an alley cat
Gyrating their flamboyance
And trying hard to enthuse
The blasé of the spectators below

In gardens, in sea shores
People will prod for a gazebo
And conceal their precious jewels
Screen them from the thorns and tides
And from the sweltering sight of the sun

In planes, ships, or trains
People would doze in the expedition
And rest their lethargic heads
To miss the motion picture
Playing outside their windows

In bedrooms, in churches
People would utter a prayer

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poem by Norman Santos
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Summer song - Childhood faith in Childhood Man

If I were to pray now, it would be for garden
under the comfort of tall hedges, from the shade to be gaurded
from the torrents of relations and acrimony of strangers
Press ganged in green velvet where Paradise is never later

And I would make myself comfort to the roof of bright emeralds
Showering me in light rays past of painted leafs umbrella
Castaway deep in the trunk of an elk's ancient thrown
Falling through its ancient roots of withered arms that I call home
Never dreaming more then what I dare now only take
In this bright enchanted day, for which I pay the sun its name

And I would lie as a child from memories now stolen
Wondering where I had gone from the lost road of pages
That has been simply ages since I saw the next chapter
Informing me of my mission down fields of endless choices
While befallen in the spell of the scent of orchids nectar
Holding on to the rays of springs immaculate potion
Laughing tall under gold leafs, while quickly passing the phases
Into this surrealistic ocean wondering this dreams epilogue

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Sick Judgements

There is nothing that says
People have to prove they have no clue
As to what they are doing.

There is nothing to get them jailed,
For playing the roll of idiot overtime.

How they land in positions of decision making,
Should break all of our hearts.

Surrealistic 'realities' are becoming the norm!
Freaks, geeks and weirdness has become mainstream.
Children can now download porno on a phone that buzzes...
Or rings,
Or plays loud music that makes some want to scream!
And some old man sitting alone in a convalescent home,
Staring out the window...
Will declare these years we now live as the good years,
When flashbacking to these times!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Galaxies Filled with War

Free from the green ghosts of city
Greed with shallow mausoleums
Stellar fences of black raven pity
Relish your pain saved in museums
Plunder the poor with holidays
Guard the golden hollow groves
Candles by the oppressor’s grave
Invisible world watches and knows

Watch the plagues of Egypt come
The ancient czar plans an attack
Hearts hardened and sensually numb
Magicians rise from the dark cracks
The prophetic cockcrows thrice
Cadence of history and Roman fire
Another day to roll the pagan dice
Bogotá burning with praetorian liars

Fall in love with the vilest of men
Invaded with hordes of dead sages

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Lambasted Deferral Of My Puissant Muse

In this world of odes
Every whisper is a trap
Rummaging for preys
A lascivious answer
Where hunger feeds on
Another a hunger;
An ouroboros inscribed
Without a concatenation
To fill in the famished lapses

In this clandestine world
A flaccid orb of gas
From the cigarette parting
Your thin veneered lips
And streams from gutters
Of your slicing eyes,
The land, fertile for the dead,
In your taut skin of white
The odes, traipsed in
The wrinkles nonexistent to the eye

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poem by Norman Santos
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Was It All Worth It

Words and music by queen
What is there left for me to do in this life
Did I achieve what I had set in my sights
Am I a happy man or is this sinking sand
Was it all worth it was it all worth it
Yeah now hear my story let me tell you about it
We bought a drum kit blew my own trumpet
Played the circuit thought we were perfect
Was it all worth it
Giving all my heart and soul and staying up all night
Was it all worth it
Living breathing rocknroll a godforsaken life
Was it all worth it was it all worth it all these years
Put down our money without counting the cost
It didnt matter if we won if we lost
Yes we were vicious yes we could kill
Yes we were hungry yes we were brill
We served a purpose like a bloody circus
We were so dandy we love you madly
Was it all worth it

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song performed by Queen
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~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~

~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
23 November 2010

Into ~ After reading several comments I humbly give backdropp of this poem.

In poetry much experimentation are going on and critiques are categorizing in various ways like Realism Surrealism Modernism Romanticism etc.

To be honest no poetry can be canopied under one canvas and there will be pits where other flavors fill up.

Here I’ve used Satire Rasa [please Google for meaning] in anxious canvas ~ niv

Is Poetry
Frame n’ fill
Or
Fill n’ frame
Or both or none

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poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Fata Organa

Shopping—
small store (cashier standing)
I approach (hoping purchases
[make {awkward}
conversation {sweating
palms, conservative social
situation: standard;
no response} enjambment-
laden,
soaked in neritic {subconsciously}
turf where
pelagic shorelines
{surf} crest in my muddled
mind, and why?
{analog dialog scrambled
in the digital
culture's cellophane:
mellowing stasis,
static, pigeonholed
in the first impression,

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poem by Tim Stensloff
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature

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poem by Shalom Freedman
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Mother's eyes

Telugu original: Mahe Jabeen
English Translation: Ch J Satyananda Kumar

(Amma Kallu)

jeevita saMbaMdhaM tegipOyaaka
baMdhaalannee baMdhanaalae

kalala Saaluva kappukoni
naannatoe aeDaDugulu naDacinappuDu
ammakaLLu svapna nikshaepaalu

chekkiLLaloe valapu vasaMtaalu paMDiMchi
doesiLLatoe amRtaanni vaDDiMchae
ammakaLLU pikaasoe varNachitraalu

moggalu vicchukunae
rahasyaanni choosina arudaina kshaNaallaa
ammakaLLu adbhutavalayaalu

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poem by Ch J Satyananda Kumar
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Amsterdam Brownies

There not my mother's specials
Though they'd give her quite a kicker
It packs a punch when you're a starter
Or an invalid, with Amish liver
Initiates I would administer
Biscuits with a pinch of hash
Than work towards the ganja cake
Which no conscience can pretend to fake
We'll strip the layers of black and white
To transcend colors of a mental flight
A first class ticket to a surrealist dance
Just bite your tongue if you must scream

Because you will be arriving into Eden

Upon the fjords up a river,
Were bicycles, are not much quicker.
Go down the Singel; a charming canal
That flows like champagne inside a well
Spot the antiques from old Orange days

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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