Elevation Poems

Alone, perched upon the precipice, The Thinker, swathed in Olympian bliss, Thought thoughts of Truth and Power. The din to his ears did not rise, He did not witness Mankind’s demise From his lofty ivory tower. He fashioned fantastical fancies,

Far away from mankind and society, far I wandered. Through bleak plains and screeching drums, Dragging along my body, weary from the residues of development, My eyes are sore from enduring all this mortal architecture that’s slowly diminishing in my rear

You feel you have conquered it all. Your big ego still feels small Look man … The mountain still stands tall. You blast your way up to the top But you know not now … Where to stop The hill

Lighter than a feather, when weighed on you though, never heavier, Rain in the storm, blown away I’m torn, open up, it’s not like the norm Adored but not shown, praises that become worn, Show me the love, where’s the

So cold But so still Will my well Begin to kill my Own selfish ways Or should I just stay Frozen in order to decay In the mist of the bay May I fly to die? Or soar to become

I approach the 160° turn to the left, The public toilets, still there. Those strange, Striped warning poles and a sign in Old engineering font (like London Underground, but rusted) saying ‘STOP WHEN BELL RINGS’. Up its gentle elevation to

Her severed head she carries, from the Sant’ Angelo Bridge, surrounded features bring her near, so small in comparison, drawn to the Tempietto, she’s associated with this reminder overheard, from my conversation with Paul from the ceiling, conveyance from scripture,

A look past the glass I can see my past Now freed from the disbelieve One can start to relive Though what can I gain? Still I am in pain Maybe with just a wish I’d change my accomplished dish

Last week I went to see the big game. And everyone was there. The N’gina family from 2 doors down, The Cheng family from across the street, The guys I see going to the mosque sometimes, The ladies who always

The sun seemed to lose its warmth and The Clouds grey and white, were busy Occupying places all over, adjusting Themselves like a piece on a puzzle board. A season, I tell you, it was a season of departures. A

Was it hard to die, Arjun, So very hard to die! No songs of battle to soothe your nerves, No memory of dearest love of Krishna and her sons. Breeze blew soft from south sea against morn’s cheeks, conch shells

Oh what a tragedy my own soul is mad at me but who can blame her after all I made her endure I may have created a soul eating disease for which there is no cure she tells me she

Let’s look together, in the tight, dark corners. Look in the tough, raw twilight– Once, I thought I found a bed, under a dome of stars. I tried to sleep. The world is always fresh. Everyone is always looking for

As the sun dives into the beguiling sky And the darkness is about to smear the vault of heaven. The mind, then wanders the lonesome places. The moment , when the mollified region is filled with despondency. The night, then

There was a matter to write about, A minute ago, mass of words were Filling up my mind I should pen this, that and other My head was overflowing with Powerful words and emotions To an extent, that I lost

You speak ill of my name Onto you, shall bring much shame Your actions should make you feel ashamed The finger points to you in blame Take my name off your tongue Don’t waste the energy from your lungs Instead

I don’t have everything, for once I have nothing; But a dream for a better day, and for you to help me find my way… I am a man, sure to make mistakes, but to keep you, I’ll do all

The wind swept trees stand tall like Hercules with all his strength, for here in this place lies the dead and dying of mankind. Here in this turmoil we also see God. Within the desert the winds are stirring again

Sit next to me Pawpaw A small voice commands. Read to me Pawpaw. Read it again Pawpaw, A small voice commands. Do not skip a word. Chase me Pawpaw, A small voice commands. Lord, I’m tired. Snack time Pawpaw A

As I see the reddish blue of this setting sun, I’m suddenly brought back to a memory, of me and Liv driving down the road.  Her talking and me listening and driving towards the setting sun. I remember the colors,

I left that red rose in her dressing desk But found in the evening as untouched but dried Tho’ I reminded not to forget among her other task Unable to control emotions, my soul too cried I just asked her

I want to walk the land meets its animals and learn their songs. Snakes there must be and gators hook-billed birds stalking the verge of lakes and rainfall ponds, candy-colored eyes rolling within wrinkled leather sockets. It would be easy

When he comes, he visits her at night. Entering her personal space, uninvited but nonetheless welcome. She does not know his schedule; dreadful expectation. Absences unexplained. Too wary to search for answers, prepared to forgive for shared moments. His silent

Time capsule in gangrene foot. It was madness of the legs. There were no sins in the ghetto. Only illicit distillation and girls changing the beds. It stinks when he says he was god. What was the ism of the

A fancy tale of fairies and wings, white worlds, blue stars, and cabbages and kings. Red dust, grey planet of quintessential beings, where the deaf hear melodies and the dumb man speaks. On fine wines, the fellows dine. All sass,

Roaring engines blow sand from the shoulder of a broken mirror, They scream into the night. Candy coats capture passing glances, The shine dances with a golden streetlight, Casting gilded dust over newly discovered worlds, Toledo and Boston, Chicago and

The knock on the dooor was all To be heard in the silent house The news had come About her distant spouse The was unexpected At least by a week If only it had been the plumber About the blasted

I can not find meaning of love without the beating heart It’s like made of stone Fragile thing that’s torn us apart they see what I won’t they lose the beat of the love I want it at all cost

Like every morning, he has just returned from his office and is right in-front of one of his roommate and so called friend’s lappy’; Going through all previous messages sent by her on Facebook. No doubt, his life has been

One of those days No way can I stay Like this Many ways in But no way clear The edge of the knife Is ever near Life in it’s place A two sided face Which one to choose For the

Ahead of time, the hammer sounds for you; The shattered realm around our hearts comes into view. We are broken in two by the lies you told; The reaper has come to collect your soul. You’re feeling shattered, your body

Photo by The Cleveland Kid I must admit, I have a good life. I go to a good college, I have pretty good grades, And every day I can look forward To socialising with my many friends, Talking about whatever

My second chance is bristling in a fire but you were here you could have changed the conversation, you could have given me your touch, but it dissolved into yesterday, and a furnace I’m a dead man, heart locked away

Spring flowers bloom, Bringing cheer to you and me, This cheer is happiness, Leaves fall, new come, Here comes a sprout and a new wild plum; Happiness comes, Happiness goes, How sweetly it flows; One road treads to happiness, The

The shift to vernal tone starts a standoff with eyelashes. A sickle moon begins harpooning the stars. The unorthodox microlove brings out a ciliated canon of faithless interior. The gods were going to become weary of snowfall. Punctuating the silence,

I walk these halls all day and night, I do not frown nor shed a tear. It took all of my inner might, To strike down that which I did fear. I was afraid to take a chance, And ask

Every night, a fire burns bright Inside the cave. The one-eyed snake Comes crawling Drawn by the promise of warmth That emanates from the leaping flames. Its forked tongue struts in and out Like lightning. Its limp agile body Tightens,

Sparks Flying Scarred Inside Orange,Red,And Yellow It Lights Up The Night Upon their porches scared eyes watch the fires still burning to this night

Can we pretend that Reality is what we make it Can we begin to imagine that We hold the power to Shaping Our decisions that form the very thing We call lifestyle Stop And Think for a split second That

Dear Self Harm, I know we’ve had this conversation before, But this time I’m throwing you out the door, I tried in the past but didn’t want to be rude, For after all you had done me such good. I