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The Fogheld Oak Tree
Poem
A poem floats
Like a fogheld oak tree
On and by the Thames Path
Where the invisible City Monster
Nestles the fog of noises
That hooms relentlessly
Hoooooom! Hoooooom! Hoooooom!
Under the fog we swim
Ignoring the background fog
The monster ensures
We do not forget
That it is there
Right on the water and over the land
Fed by speed boats and shipturants
Police Patrol and traffic
Machines and men married
In an unholy conjecture
The horrible wedding songs
Beat our hearing to half death
We found our motion
On our feet that crawl
Antlike scared of eggs of noises
Hatching like sound snakes
That drown our voices
Like leaves on a whirlpool
Walking along I gather
Voices talking
Ignoring the monster’s hooming
That rises up like smoke and curls
Around our body and ears
That feel hard pressed
Yet we try to drown the hooming
And we walk and talk
“It’s a male thing.”
She said on the phone
And I wonder what that was
So much so a male thing
That the female talking
Felt so passionate about
As if it’s a sharp stone
In the sock’s stomach
Eaten by the shoe.
Voices rose like the way
The air rose in a balloon
I look up opening my ears
As though a bucket to hold
Anything that falls
German and French
Portuguese and Lithuanian
And lot more other tongues
I do not understand
Snowflakelike they fall
On the spring morning
And they melt away
In the heat of the monster’s hooming
And here I gladly catch
“She is twenty.”
Two young ladies talking by
I stop to think.
Who is twenty?
How does her appearance
Puzzles people around
Within which she lives
I would never know who
Was holding twenty springs
In a sprung up conversational ring
Of two friends talking
“Day before yesterday I went to..”
I heard this voice disappeared fast
Before I could catch the rest
And the questions drop
Silently in the mouth of the monster
That continues hooming
Hoooooom! Hoooooom! Hoooooom!
“I think,” says one and the other guy
Said: “I love fish.”
To his companion lady! Pointing
At the river as though he could see
The fishes and his finger pointed
Resemble a chiselled out iron
Why can’t you say:
“I love thee. For God’s sake man!
You are walking by the Globe!
No, he being a man, would love
Fish not to keep but eat
And cannot say anything else but fish
“He’s risking taking Dianne with him.”
A tiny story pokes its tiny head
Before my eyes
And I would never know who
Dianne was and what was the risk
Was she terribly ill?
Has she been taken on by the twin sister
Of the city monster?
I will never know
“No toilets,” said another desperate
Voice helplessly looking about
While I heard another
“In the mean time,”
But never find the time
To seek what came of the mean time!
While another proposed
“Let’s go to..”
And never let me get the place
Where they were to go?
Voices rise up like vines
Falling onto the fog of the monster
Hooming and groaning
And I carry on walking
Enlisting my thrill of words
Gathering like dust diamonds
“Then I walked in and said,”
I cannot hear any more
And the inquisitive angle
Of my ears gets bent
Wonder might work
Elsewhere but I would
Never know where he had
Walked in and what was said.
“Look at that!” I hear a child
Exclaim pointing a boat
His pointer shone like a ray of light
His voice held the thrill
As though the sun
Was shooting out of the Thames
“Don’t you like mine?”
Another little girl’s voice
Melts into a question
While my ears busily
Catch by the London Eye
“I don’t know how much they charge for those?”
“City Bank” pops up
In a little conversational loop
And hear I manage to do
“£400 quids on train fares!”
I wonder who has spent
All those creamy quids
That gave a fright to someone’s
Already beaten down heart
By the weight of the debt and bills
Part of an instruction flows in
“And then walk through”
While a man makes a statement
About some core:
“I think the core principle is---“
But never I manage to hear
That melon of the mighty principle
Ripped open before the listener
And still wonder what that core
Thing was that was at the core
Of the semi serious talk on walk
“I don’t know what the problem is.”
I hear one says followed by a
“Where?” and there
By the bridge getting up
I hear “Sounds like fun.”
The city monster continues hooming
And voices continue to float, fly and drown
But I put the fogheld oak tree of a poem
In my pocket
Thinking of the tapestry of words
That we create
Only to realise
Children are the ones
That ask questions
And provide wonder and exclaim
Enthusiasm dies in adults
Even sounds like fun
Sounds rather tired and dull
Coming back to
“It’s a male thing”
May be it is that
Makes a man talk about
Love of eating fish to a lady
Who has better things to hear
Than fishes
By the river bank
The city monster hooms
Drowning our voices
I walk back home
Carrying the pitchers of wonder
Bloom of questions and exclaim
Of the children
And here I give you
This fogheld oak tree poem
The tapestry of words
Where stories unfold
Leaving characters exposed
With brief windows and short walks
Yet a life that defies to be drowned
In the fog of the hooming city monster
I see life’s conjectured face putting its signature
On all these faces producing voices and sounds connecting
Painting out the inner commonness of our minds
All Light Luminous and
Free
If water were to be
solidified it would be grains of sands
Would not be held on the palms always dances away down hill
Leaving footmarks wrapped in tickles on the skin and a
Sense of life and motion in a running playfulness dry-wet
If solids were to be
liquidified it would be like the balls of mercury
Would not stand still on surfaces always shies away down hill
Wrapping itself round pulling itself in like a wet hedgehog and a
Sense of play and fun in mischievous realm left chasing its memories
If things were to be reborn
in a state of nothingness they would be air
Would not be circled in with anything but itself a prime runner
spreading
Leaving velocity and fun blending in music vibrant non material and a
Sense of infinite becomes viable for there is no end of space where it
can go
If we were to get out of our
bodies and into invisibility we would be music
Would not take shapes sizes or colours yet rise up in unfathomable forms
Leaving a sparkling rain pouring and a soaring rainbow rising and a
Sense of being without a body swimming all light luminous and free
Go
to Top
Oxygenated Liquor
of Lights
Let the walls that mirror
each other in twos fall
Flat on the thin invisible back of space
That carries on elaborating eternity's wings
Let the floor and ceiling be
mirroring opposites
One being Aladdin's Magic Carpet on your feet
And the other mimicking the angelic luminescence
At a momentous dawn or
maddening evening
Let all this just fall and you stand on with stretched arms
As though the cocoon has collapsed onto a butterfly
Let one silicon of a moment
hatch out into a life
Vast enough to let you just float on that opened up boat
And you keep inhaling the oxygenated liquor of lights
Let all of us de-absolute our
absoluted castles
Imprisoned by walls ceilings and floors and just fly and float
And simply devour the liberty like a monumental humming bird
Go
to Top
Happy New Year
Never failing the Earth
rotates on its rein
Making music of motion orbiting
Unfolding the geography of time
In which our dreams germinate joys
Catching their sparkles let
us wish
A happy closure and a sound opening
May the timean tide bring us together
In joy's vineyard where sun and shadow kiss
Go
to Top
Falling in Love
Let us ignite the granite of
love
And cut through our cynic heart
That only looks towards the oasis of greed
Let us talk about falling in
love
Luxurious silk feeling lures us into the web
Where the spider waits us with the kiss
Even when falling in love we
calculate
The composition of our grains of gains
We therefore forecast our harvest before we fall
Let us talk about falling in
love
And take a look at the metaphor
That lurks behind the longing phrase
Falling in love when people say
What exactly are they saying?
That our senses are holding us
As though we are megalithic mad
And eager just to be edge bound ready
To jump out and fall foul of our cage
When they say falling in love
Are people saying love is a ditch
And you are down right to the bottom of it?
Or that it is the space out and
beyond the world
Where we fall deep in space
As in riding onto cloud nine's space craft?
Or probably they mean breaking
out of one's
Comfort zone onto something unfathomably shapeless
Therefore compounding a nothingness where we fall
Let us talk about falling in
love
May be people are saying only love
Uproots us from the hard rock of our base
We finally become insane and natural
So that we decide to break the cocoon
Where we were enabling an eerie asphyxia
And tasting the sun and teasing
the air we
Fly out falling downhill into a sense of liberty
Of finally being in touch touching another soul
Where there are no needles of
need to bother us
To calculate or care but be it: the miracle
Falling in love is the longest of humanity we are
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
|
My England
My England takes off her land
embroidered dress
And goes swimming wild in style soft and swift
She touched round all corners
in watery craft
And is all sure and glow a gentle rock that holds
My England is bound in
voyage-vision's terms
Abound she spells the multiple in single rose
She is a poem written by green
moss on white cliffs
Serenaded by creamy summer's sun or April's showers
My England weaves magic beyond
man's limitations
Where we find living is as much as letting others live
She is a cuddled up baby in
water-mother's womb
And she speaks to me in moonsphorescent tongue
My England meets and greets our
mother with joy
In her palms she holds an all abound arcadia wrapped
My England takes off her land embroidered dress
And goes swimming wild in style soft and swift
Go
to Top
My Father Walking
My Father walking in his wooden
sandals
That separated him from the earth
A few inches taller he walked about
Examining things as though he was a tourist
His fingers going through the beads of the rosary
Fast at his back as if he was in hurry
His centre wherever it was
Always focussed beyond anything real
He walked spreading the sounds of his wooden sandals
That joined the beads of memories
That I hold as a rosary invisible
My father walking there at the
yard
Dry softly lit early autumn air and space
Stood still on the window
That is so bright
The wooden sandals go on dropping the stones of sounds
Into the well of my mind
So distant yet so reassuringly warm and near
My father walking in his wooden
sandals
At times drinking his hookah
That spiced up the thought-sky
That he carried in his head
Which could substantiate a few men at a time
Yet my father left the sounds of his wooden sandals
That rang his walk time and life time in mine
My father walking in his wooden
sandals
At times I hear his sounds
Into my disappearing footsteps
I stand back holding the rosary of sounds of memories
I remember his white beard and red snow white smile
Widening like the shine in a cloudy sky after rain
Go
to Top
Hibiscus Rosa Sinensis
Hibiscus rang sweet rosy echoes
In the young ears years after hearing
The word hibiscus rosa sinensis
Only the Chinese rose
But a calling
A calling of science dressed in words
Always ringing a melody
Showing a picture of a scarlet face
Over the mist of imagination
Hibiscus rosa sinensis
Youth becoming music rising
Smokelike into the mist of magic
Hibiscus rosa sinensis
Rang in the youth
Making science music
Making words a painting
Life a magic unfolding
Out of the book of mystic clouds
Hibiscus rosa sinensis
Youth becoming music rising
Smokelike into the mist of magic
Hibiscus rosa sinensis
The name of the Chinese rose
The colour of scarlet a face of dreams
Melodies spelt in words
Intoxicating blend of unknown plateau
Moist misty sphere of a savannah green
Melody music and magic three siblings
Getting together under the rain of words
Hibiscus rosa sinensis
Youth becoming music rising
Smokelike into the mist of magic
Go
to Top
Open Your Palm
Open your palm
Study the geography
The geometry taking shape
Shapes forming that just
Slides by the edge
Disappearing like the planes
In the horizon
Open your palm
Hold it there
As a leaf falling
On the palm of the wind
Feel it
Disappear like the dandelion flowers
Open your eyes
Open your eyes
As though it is a spectacle
Don't close it
And just devour what you can
Because things just slide by the edge
Disappearing like planes
In the horizon
Go
to Top
Under the Diazepam Sky
Under the diazepam sky
We stand with our frozen hearts
Made of cynicism's cold carbon
We stand and wait unwavering
We who are the children of chaos
Wearing no-faith's colourless coats
Under the diazepam sky
We stand and hurt
For our skin covered our
Glass hedgehog bodies
It cuts perpetually sharp
We wait and wail
Under the diazepam sky
Our dilated dire eyes put up cover
To hide us and we stand with the rosary
Connected to our selfial sarcophagus
Our wait crawls like an obese python
And it weighs a Himalaya on a spider's web
We stand lingering on misery's
glass platform
Our wait has no end as we carry no pitchers of hopes
Without which our wait joins the diazepam sky
That goes on forever as an infinite sphere
And we wait watching our selfial sarcophagus
Under the diazepam sky
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
|
