Whispers of Monsoon

Like a soft

whisper, they drop

down on 

me. Little tears

falling, one by
one; I feel them,
on my
cheeks, my neck,
nose, lips,
tongue,
my hair.
Soft kisses from
heaven. The wondrous
lightning crackles, and
snares, like musical
fireworks. The clouds
roll and bark, like
fluffy little
puppies. Raindrops
like satin kisses,
plummeting through leaves,
roofs, into chocolaty
puddles, splashing.
I breathe in
the smell of wet
grass, mud,
the smell of fresh rain.
Everything is brown
and green,
washed,
rinsed,
cleansed and laundered
by the soft
pattering of the
mourning monsoons.

Left, and right

This is for Mylo :)

Once to the
left, then to the
right. Again
and again, repeating
that hug as
you shake that little
furry tail.

Soft red sun
sinks into your gentle
brown eyes, wet
and big.
Your legs on
mine, sharp nails
digging into blue,
tough denim.
Thick blobs of grey
drool,
dripping from your
white fangs.
You smile, full of
teeth and black gums.
Tongue hanging,
tail wagging,
ears flapping like
blonde ringlets of
rosy cheeked maiden.

Little bundle of
blood,
and love,
and bones,
and friendship,
and teeth, and
bones, and flesh
and loyalty,
and licks and tails
and a furry little mane.

Your bark, like
sharp peals of
laughter
at my two legs
with no tail.

You run, all over
my little guardian angels
of soft, white snow.

And you lick,
soft,
wet,
happy.
And it moves,
left and right,
left
and right.

Rigor Mortis

Momento Mori - Remember you will die.
A poem I wrote for my English class, again. The topic was Momento Mori.

Rigor Mortis

A streak of brown coffee,
Harshly vandalising a
Pure expanse of creamy
white porcelain;
I wash it, scrub it,
Chemical white foam
On a rough grey sponge.
Scrub, rub,
Gnaw away at that
Little brown streak.
And it fades

Into streams of steaming,
metallic water.
Into the drain,
Away to the sea,
Lost in those gentle
Risings of salty water
Swept by violent wind
To dissolve with
Mute, lovesick mermaids.

Much like this life.

Born as milk and beans.
Ripened by warm
Sunlight, soil.
Blended, stirred
Into a rich concoction
And swept away
Into the cold,
Dark sea, and
Lost to nature.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

Come Closer

My favourite spoken word poem.
He's so powerful and engaging. I get chills every time I watch him.
Credits: Joy Geisinger.
You should watch it :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATC5OGh3adg

Storybook Eyes

First
there is that
choke.
Slowly burning
at the bottom
of that soft throat.
Slowly it
floats up,
through your chin,
those soft,
fleshy mounds
of your lips,
the gentle cave
that leads up
to your
nose,
and it goes up
up and up,
over that straight
right angle
and splits.

One to
the right,
to the left.
To those
swirling,
trembling,
treacherous pools
of milk
and wood
with soft flecks of sunlight
engulfing a deep
black hole.

That black and white text of your soul.
Your storybook eyes.

Swirling.
Trembling.
Treacherous
pools.
Sinking,
pulling,
throwing
out
words,
one
by
one.

It seeps into
your eyes.
And they burn.
They singe.
They sizzle.
They tear.
They scream.
They yell.
They hurt.
They cry...
And out it spills.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

Drip.

Onto the nose.
Onto the
soft cleft between
your nose and lips.
Into the opening
between your lips.
They dive off
your chin.
Into the colourful
exuberance
of the soft fabric
Made in India.
Wash in cold water.
Tumble dry.
Do not iron.
Treat with care.

Tear It Up

Sometimes,
Sometimes, you
Just need to forget.
Forget it all,
throw it all,
burn it
mash it
tear it apart
use your beautiful fingers
that flesh, bone
and rip it.
Hold it,
caress it and
then tear it.
Into
tiny
little
bits
and then,
blow.
Blow them away
with one breath,
far away,
from you,
from your life,
from that desperate hollow you call your soul.
Tear it into little bits.
And watch them flutter,
dancing a slow
waltz,
swaying from
side
to side
in that dreamy, blue wind.

All that fear
that angst, that anger
the desperation, regrets.
All of your hurt,
your pain,
sorrow,
That feeling
hollowing you
Like a dark sculptor
whisking away
those edges of you
those soft curves
and carving them
to his fleeting mind.
carving,
Whisking
Shaving
chipping
you off.
Tear them up
and watch them
hovering in that
cold listlessness
like soft sunflower pollen.

All that pain.
Let it away.

And breathe.

The cool wafts,
Smelling of hope.
Those little drops,
Like conversations of flowers.
Of shiny white daisies.
Like a harp,
a flute,
river of guitars,
violins,
cellos,
ukuleles
singing the same
harmony
of your life.
Listen to them.
And let those birds burst from you.
Open up
and let them flow.
Let them fly
Circling you,
Enveloping you.
And
Smile.
And
Breathe.