Sparring Partners | Roger Still
We are two
shadows who have
barely met, yet
somehow aware of
each other,
We tangle in the dark
of our minds.
We are two
shadows who have
barely met, yet
somehow aware of
each other,
We tangle in the dark
of our minds.
During the periods of stipulated flashbacks
Memories may not always be smooth or soothing
The pages of the wary calendars
Under the color of my melancholy ink
May not forget nor forgive the pain
Yet I would love to be alone again.
My heart will never burst into laughter
Nor will cry in rain
Flashbacks of the scenes may not survive
With all the clocks in my hand,
For they are the silent warriors
Dead, but fought in vain.
The next day is always so crucial
Fighting against all the odds
Yet the motion seldom walks along
With our dreams or feel at home in accord.
If you think you win or it is a defeat for me,
All the days are numb, crying silently
Morning brings nothing but wary nights
Passions grow old from everyday fights,
Let me put it straight for ages to come;
Not time but moments may matter to some.
With fingers
made of children’s
dreams
a face like a dark
half moon
a voice like Stevie Nicks
she’s either
a talented beggar lady
or a mystical being
weaving spells.
Old Madame Mystery
makes another concoction
bubbling brew
not unlike a pale ale.
The last bottle turned
a herd of sailors into
swine.
What will this one do
once we’ve gulped it?
I enter world of Gods
Caucasian, Roman they stare
the world of myths swirl
I plumb the depths into seas
torpedoed by time, ancient artillery and chariots crossing. Nowhere
are demons. The suntanned world of Roman and Greek Gods, plunging
into history
and books I read as a child.
A world agog with excitement of times.
—–
Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong, a small hill town in North East
India. He did his Masters in English and doctoral on the novels of
William Golding. He has been writing and publishing his poetry for
over thirty years. His works have appeared in Art Arena, Other Voices, Muse India, Kritya, Up The Stair Case, Odd Ball Magazine, 1947 Journal, Dead Snakes, UFO Gigolo, Scarlet Review, TigerShark, Post Colonial Text, Poetry, Life And Times, The Commonline Journal, Gloom Cupboard among a host of others. He writes book reviews, articles on education, distance education and vocational education. He is currently a Regional Director in India’s Indira Gandhi National Open University.
I love my walls,
I usually build them
without doors,
it makes them harder to get into.
Why didn’t Alice fit through the door,
was she too big or the door too little?
The reality is,
if I do as you ask and knock down the walls,
the roof will fall on my head and kill me.
And if you have gotten through the shrunken door,
You, might die with me.
More at http://tamsengrace.com.
When is enough
enough
When do we grow tired
of the wall-building
of boundaries to push each
other away
When we begin to listen
and learn again
Embracing our own
inner power to reason.
I love the words
that work on a page
but I rarely read them
twice
I have rain-drenched
lovely memories
of many classics
So the second time
I begin my read
is the highest compliment
I can manage.
Rugged, ragged,
thread bare, shocking,
We all have these
Unmentionables hidden
in our lives.
Everyone just tries
to pretend they are made
of pure unblemished silk.