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Billboards
and Boglands
Here you come on
the red tape's wings
On a bed in need of some compassion
In a room where space is strangled: zero mercy
Here you are
devoured with the scent of the air
That died and continues to rot, robbing you away;
Walk through the tired doors and lethargic corridors
People there get paid seeing the pound notes on your face
Each day they
tolerate you in the hope that
By tomorrow you are yesterday's news
And they tire-talk with half asleep eyes
As though still they are capable of being kind to you
They are still here and serving although they
Skip out the bit where your ought to read
That your misery makes them honeyed money
Here in kitchens
things and nothing blend in
One absolute stink that ferries the space
Bathrooms' sticky maps stile out a stomach soar;
Toilets need not toil for you are out of options
Here it might
appear dry but it stands on thin bogland
Bed, breakfast cereal and milk seem nearly nought
People coming or going as reluctant prisoners
Pass through as though in transit at an airport
They do not know
whether they are coming or going
Yet a sense that they want to go somewhere else
That is like the island under water still developing
Although still out of sight beyond the haze of hope
This billboard
place that says stay or go does not matter
Bogland boils down in the anacondic non care
Barely one manages to breathe and wait for that
Under water island to hurry on appearing
A transitory
trapedium, tired, tedious and tough
Carelessness scoops up the air and shares a dryness
A dryness that feels like dead winter's rough skin
And you long to disappear somewhere else sooner
The bogland where big and small equals the same
Go
to Top
Violet
A violet
In the touch of rain
Virtuoso
Stands
Radiating
An opening
Invites
In an arresting
Respite
The raindrops
Appear pearlike
On the lips of space
Violet
An opening
Invites
In an arresting
Respite
Aha! Violet
My wet arresting violet
My window to dive in
Deeper than the shallow
That surrounds us in our
Tedious daily waffles
Go
to Top
To Read the
Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry
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Foliage of
Our Sweating
On night river
bridges hold the vigil of togetherness
Under the guard of little winter lights
People on vehicles
and buses half way between
Warmth and cold think home where destiny's comforts lie
Warmth is the
state where warm blooded long to be
Yet there it gets spiky and prowling
Time leans on
silence as though it does not give a damn
About the time of things or state of things
November night
readies her radiating cold outfit
To call it a night and go to bed soon to be snoring
While the homeless
under the bridges wonder
How the myth of bounty spreads outward and stay stuck
In the cold on
Southwark Street that is steel sore
With still memories of shooting and serves people
People that are
still there in the cold cul-de-sac
In need of a space to walk and clear their head of fear
Night neighs
towards her bed we head towards ours
Cryptic castles enduring the endless daily debacles
Sleeping only
serves our biological clock that ticks tocks
Tomorrow awaits as another unfolding of the deck chair
On the beach
pebbled or sandy or muddy matters not
Hourly surely rate hollows out foliage of our sweating
Go
to Top
Our Figurine Safety
Safety surely sojourns out sleek and serene
In surveillance tapes from cctvs' tails
And shadows our insular walls
Where moss of our
once upon a time
In dire dehydration wishes wet touch and
Writes up local anesthetic and its working out
In a map of
hibberdy gibberdy hide outs
Where our figurine aesthetic files up
All misfired materials damping out
There in this
secure area of sure shot
Our occupied walled space punctuates
The shuttered and shattered selves
We are the surely
safe in the water
That can no longer wet us
For it has died in our material entrapment
For water
forgetting the rule of law
Flowing slowly lowly downhill or spreading
Outbound with its life in the liquoring current
Is surely dead yet
we have hired an obvious
Octopus to recite us the regulation of oblivion
So that the fact equates fiction and we fail
Absolutely to
notice that rivers were and no more
And that the rectangular and shut machine eyes
Are our hollowed once upon a time expressions
Go
to Top
To Read the
Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry
|