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No Matter What It Does

It is there.
Staring.
Rejected and glaring.
Still...
No matter what it does,
Truth is difficult to accept.
And people would rather have it go away.
But to where?

It is there.
Staring.
Rejected and glaring.
Still...
No matter what it does,
Truth is difficult to accept.
And people would rather have it go away.
But to where?

It is there.
Staring.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I’m just running

So cool so provoking wind blowing up my face
As if trying to wake me up
But I’m just running along with the train
Blinking and glaring outside not to find anyone
Just glaring

Different stations are passing
Different sellers selling their merchandise
Caring nothing; just glaring
But still trying to find someone
No not but yes, maybe

In return getting nothing but a pinch of delight
Accumulating it just running
So fast so slow sometimes
Breathtaking landscapes, rivers, mountains
Just wonderful

Falling down sun giving me nothing
But a note of unknown happiness

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poem by Farooq Hussain
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The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Third

What wonder therefore, since the indearing ties
Of passion link the universal kind
Of man so close, what wonder if to search
This common nature through the various change
Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame
Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind
With unresisted charms? The spacious west,
And all the teeming regions of the south
Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight
Of knowledge, half so tempting or so fair,
As man to man. Nor only where the smiles
Of love invite; nor only where the applause
Of cordial honour turns the attentive eye
On virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course
Of things external acts in different ways
On human apprehensions, as the hand
Of nature temper'd to a different frame.
Peculiar minds; so haply where the powers
Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge
The images of things, but paint in all

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poem by Mark Akenside
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Magic of your eyes (armik)

There is magic in your eyes

I melt like ice
When you look at me

You look at me some
More

A stare
A glaring stare

I become gaseous
I am invisible

I float
I feel as though
I am nothing

I am lost
But that would not be enough for me

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Are Images Created For?

The answers to questions,
Are there.
The answers have always been there.
Impatiently glaring.

But what has been absent...
Is a quitting to dispense,
The distribution of pretentions...
Of those defining who is qualified,
With credentials certified...
That impresses with appearances,
Images relied upon...
That those knowledgeable oppose.
And refuse to masquerade to disguise.

The answers to questions,
Are there.
The answers have always been there.
Impatiently glaring.
But those who stare...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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More Confetti Please!

They would like it,
With cream and berries
Topped with a lollipop!

They wish it to be...
Scented with lilac.
And glaring with a rainbow,
Nonstop!

And with Robins and Morning doves,
To sing.
With a Sun beaming on a clear horizon.
They...
Want it all.
And cushy.
As cushy as a tush can be!
They want a life that's free...
Of rain.

'More confetti please! '

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Redeeming Mercy

dazzling mercy please descend on me
I'm walking in the paths where eyes cannot see
My feet has been kicking huddles far too long
It is wearing and the road seems too wrong
I want to try other way but i'm barricade by un seen walls
I have tried to shout but may mouth seems to be sending dumb calls
Glaring mercy please come dwell in me
You are the only thing I aught to have for free
Since I came to compete in this endless race
I have have been offer nothing free to embrace
The keeper of mercy, please do a favore for me
I have been working in my hamlet so honestly
My brothers with perverted ways seem to be dancing in your gift
Did they steal it? No, no one had ever been on that lift
Dear GOD, I know you will give me your mercy
I will be patient. That's all you want from me
Dazzling, glaring mercy come redeemed me
The globe is dark, everyone is deaf and we can't see

poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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The Seventy Two

The secret hands removed the lids,
Curtains between the vision and the eyes,
And made a show of eternal reality.

The rectangular cloud-like substance,
Extended from the East to the North,
Stretched in the sky in thousands of acres,
Incredibly white, and glaring bright,
The most appealing to the parched hearts,
Cast celestial delight, pleasing to recall.
Though thousands of miles was far away,
Yet beheld I the spectacle vividly,
The phenomenon hidden to the eyes carnal.

I saw the Seventy Two clad,
In the bright gaily dresses, radiant costumes,
Riding on the white swift flying horses,
In cheerfulness unknown to the temporal world,
In the glaring brilliance the seemed merged,
Like a reflection in the huge mirror,

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Speed

To exaggerate is not the work of man,
I tell you fact, neither more or less
What incredible feelingly I did behold,
When my ethereal self was returning,
From the journey long, during the flight
Rested a while in front of a mansion,
Entered straight into it and saw,
The secret diligent hands busy at work,
The young servants unaware of indolence,
Preparing the records on the scrolls.

In the very spacious hall was a heap
Of books with crippled pages, brown and old,
As the rains had spoiled them all.
Took then I a few to read the lines,
But the ancient words made them mysterious,
And I could not make out a word single.

Then one who seemed to be the master of house,
Looked with displeasure, I put them down;

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Trivia; or the Art of Walking the Streets of London: Book I.

Of the Implements for Walking the Streets,
and Signs of the Weather.

Through winter streets to steer your courses aright,
How to walk clean by day, and safe by night,
How jostling crowds, with prudence to decline,
When to assert the wall, and when resign,
I sing: thou, Trivia, goddess, aid my song,
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard along;
By thee transported, I securely stray
Where winding alleys lead the doubtful way,
The silent court, and opening square explore,
And long perplexing lanes untrod before.
To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken ways,
Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays;
For thee, the sturdy paver thumps the ground,
Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs resound;
For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide
Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt subside,
My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame.

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poem by John Gay
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