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Situational
Situations open themselves
before you
Like openings of books and you become
The space between the facing pages.
They have maps, routes, characters and stories
And you are drawn onto them like a chosen character
An areal reporter you dutifully offer your reportage
Of reality's unfolding as you form your sense
Situational are poems that are
gathered through a living
In situations letting things touch like the way raindrops
Touch the ocean surface and your response to the touch
And your viewpoint without further enactment
Or furtherance of the moments in any forms
No expectations to rise or fall
Let the leaves of situations fall on your autumnal ground
And touch you with their enriched textures and tones
You gather golden hair
Memories of a lightning smile
Or laughter that falls on flooding you with its jubilation
A handshake warm as the glowing fire
A possibility that may not form its foundation
All in your areal aquarium falling floating swimming
Eventually all join in this
exuberance of life
In word-paint-landscape painting
That floats as a photo in liquid
That quivers in the rippling wind
Of the music that accompanies the joy
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Her golden hair in a ribbon's
rose
In my front sits the young
woman
With her golden hair in a ribbon's rose
Her reflection on glass in
front looks at me
Blue eyes hold distant thoughts. Face at
Thirty five degree left towards the window
Her right cheek shines through the glass
As though a live photo floating on clear water
On her red shirt sits her cream
coat
Opening her face as the focus
At times our eyes meet unacknowledged
We move them away
Her Clinton's bag held by her
palm
On which she places the other hand
Crossed they stay disciplined
I wonder what those distant thoughts
That hold her distant somewhere
She yawns while the right hand
Instinctively lids her mouth
She sneezes
'Bless you.'
I say in silence
On the noise vibrates the air
Where I sit and sip the time
Where her golden hair stays in ribbon's rose
She presses the ring
I take a last a last look
To fathom her face for the last time
She gets off and walks towards the day
I look out to acquire a last snap
Of the young woman letting me have this poem
'Thank you.' I say in silence
As the bus moves away towards the day ahead
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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
|
Pearl-Fire-Flower
Bus on wait at the bus stop.
Busy traffic
Suddenly spelled a respite on the road
As a brief lift of clouds allowing a window
Through which I witnessed the
way a girl
Could literally bloom into a flower in a light up
Space. In love she was, faced up with the man
Who stood in front of her: atuned and alost
In her charm: eighteen she must have been.
By the road at the opposite bus
stand they were
Her light-shone dark face shimmered in the space
That seemed thinner than air and she smiled
Putting a pearl-fire-flower
onto her face that
Looked up as a pure white sun flower towards
Him. The whole space became almost infected
By the brilliance of her smile and he shone in
Dissolving a smile towards her. Time froze.
My bus moved away towards the
city where
Busy people do busy business all day busily.
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Aphrodite in Radiant
Black
On a Saturday park-walk in
Southwark Park
Day seemed rather mildly-dressed, breezy-toned,
Speaking with a crow-filled field of grass;
Sun sunk, clouds-clasped, though lights still
Carried on smiling through the mild wind.
At the children's playground
she was the play!
Aphrodite! There she was! An event-breathtaking!
Aphrodite in radiant black with a burning red
Bag and pair of similar gloves! Brown-gold hair
Made her scarlet-wind-flown face appear like
The shining moon through branches allowing
A space to become almost a tangible flower.
Beautifully held up in the hold
of discipline
Her youthful face shone like lights on life,
Where her glistening lips pulsate the air
Like high-tide waves on a full-blown river.
She spoke in a tongue
intoxicate and played
With the nephew, ran and had-a-go-swing
She rode beside him. Her hands held the coffee
That she sipped in no hurry. Time stood in awe
While she sat and took her glove off to touch
The phone and talked as though she was nowhere
Mindfully materialised. Her voice caught air-fire.
She walked in her
black-radiance-ripe dress
That covered her youth that vibrated in the air.
She was the play! Aphrodite in the park, playing!
Care there was none, hurry, too, was immaterial:
She was and in the moment she bloomed: a space.
Life appeared in her shape, tongue and laughter.
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The Glory Shines of Life
A space sprung up this magical
exposure
Essentially made of a scarf that shone
In its pure velvet orange on a January morning
Where lights hid behind the mask of fog
She appeared on the road where
last night's
Memories of shower and cold murmured silence
Shimmering black surface reflected a dazed out sky
She stood beneath her dark hair as a flower plant
She opened her bag and with the
touch of her hand
Like a magician she got a pure velvet orange scarf out
And threw it round her neck walking softly along
Transforming herself into a flower with black petals
Flowing down meeting the pure
velvet orange scarf
Having done the magic on her shape and space
She walked on hurry's escalator fast and gone
Leaving a memory of her in the space behind
There were no before and after
of her but that
At a point of being at a juncture of time she was
A dot and no more or nothing less than what it was
A magic been shone and gone as the glory shines of life
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
|