anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Oct 27 2013 : 7:46:01 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
The Hydrocephalic Life
(Well, it almost has "phallic" in it - happy?)
After oceans of tears both caused and shed
I found them all pooled up right here in my head!
Now every move is a dizzy cotillion
with hair set on end in a wildfire Tourbillion!
Marvels aswirl in my own privy Sea
a more commodious mind could just never be!
But when vaporously flush with fallacious success
in this maniacally public dream analysis
And fumes of fancy then bring a dull stupor
it's high time to clean out this sunken skull pooper
So quick pull my finger - no, the pen will address
my brimming bone-porcelain cranial egress!
(*giggle* Do you then find it charmin', my ticker tape Charmin?)
-Ananda T.
Errata:
Would you consider this a proper use of a person's limited time?
In contrast, as his room dimmed, Goethe's final words were: "Mehr Licht!"
I guess I take more after Mozart's scatological humor, sharing his Tourette's.
Hey, "Life's a Twitch!"
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 02 2013 09:38:59 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Oct 27 2013 : 8:18:03 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
American Diaspora
My sisters and brothers
the death rowers, the life without parole'ers
tribe of illimitable colors
buried lukewarm and halfway limber, soaked so long
in our echoing catacomb world of unquiet graves
our light-starved warren of kindred fallen
do we not share the same sap
the same blood, the same song
and even our dreams, which tho now lie crushed
were still dreamt once all the same?
Then I ask you (for you will always matter very much to me)
would you - if you could - still look up
to see a laughing sun unoccluded
by walls, chain link, and razors?
I think that I might - if I still recalled how
yes, and perhaps even laugh myself
oh - to be sure - till I cried.
We, a bruised and swollen American diaspora
Living far from our native clime
thrust from the warm hands of honeyed soft things
to cold concrete lands where even the very air rings rigid:
a moral sepulcher, separate and shaded from the light of reason
where fiction caulks gaps left by absence of fact
where malice masquerades as wholesome reproof -
and where tender-souled hope would be foolish to tread.
Yesterday's news, fond memory only to landfill worms
prosecutors, reporters, and politicians feeding on darkness:
shadows and scars of human sorrow stacked in tall tiers of
truth and lies, facts and innuendo, excess and minimization
all moldering in old tears, in ever-thickening silence
and it would be good to let even fitfully sleeping ghosts lie.
But that is never allowed in relentless America, nation of
professional necromancers, resurrectionists, and ghost-hunters
Who wolfed down heroes and villains like there's a famine coming
and the slightest scent of gain attracts tanker cars of
printer's ink to hydraulically disinter deep strata of pain
cutting the quiet countryside down to imaginary brimstone
and questionably true grime, pouring salt brine into faded
but now freshened wounds, and frantically fanning the flames
of the worst of human passions in even those never marked -
for nothing sells as well as hate to a populace that fears
eternal judgment but then happily hands it to others.
So it doesn't matter who we really were, will be, or are
we live in our legends, like mute bugs in glass jars
and whether leaping about or just staring out, it's all a moot distress
for those of our genus - the trophy menagerie of a loud pouting press -
and after endless entombment bleaches our worn features hueless
it's more feigned hatred that holds us, and less so the bars....
all the while life and the glass, in steady decay, flow slowly away
in this tight screw-capped grasp, right to our last gasp.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 05 2013 08:24:56 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Oct 31 2013 : 5:37:35 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Hold My Hand...?
The money is gone. I'll try to not get maudlin. But... would you hold my hand a little thru what comes next?
Unfortunately, it costs money for me to communicate too: a 15-min call is 38 cents, a letter costs 59 cents, and cutting a money order to me for those items costs like 60 cents at some places. As to amount, can you imagine what even $5 worth of human contact would mean to me, especially now? Then we could track my usage, and when it's gone you decide if it was worthwhile entertainment. Plus, it keeps me able to write.
Limit me as you want/need. Scheduling possible contact times are very important: time blocks, once a week? a month? Google Voice has built-in scheduling software and the number can be turned off when you're on vacation or gone onto other things in life. Otherwise just check caller ID and only accept when convenient.
There is an alternative way to help me. This is a rough world and I will eventually lose my books - a frightening prospect. If a gift account could be established at like Amazon, it would be ready for when I need it. Can multiple people put small donations into such things? A mind is a terrible thing to ungrace. Help!
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 05 2013 08:26:21 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Oct 31 2013 : 5:51:24 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Time
Atop a soaring bluff of gneiss
perched a boulder, fissure-scored
dropped by ancient flow of ice
to live its days on lofty sward.
Gazing upon that mottled throne
I felt a curious notion
to sit on high and all alone
so partook of upward motion.
Against the lichened cliff I climbed
past stunted shrub and broken rock
to find on top a single pine
as the boulder's alpenstock.
My eyrie wore a lace of lichen
on top and sun-kissed side
while in the shade a moss was driven
as if it meant to hide.
The tree was massive, old and scarred
and had sifted down a threadbare turf
on barren ground all life looked hard
but long this mast had held its berth.
The zephyred tree then began to talk
and it spoke to me of scales of time
that my speeding blood could only balk
at the pace of a different race than mine.
It's been many years since I met that pine
but I never forgot the lesson
with longer eyes do I now view time
and with human import lessened.
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Oct 31 2013 : 6:29:42 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Radharani
(Sent to one -- meant for all)
The last time you spoke to me I tried to msg you back, but perhaps it didn't make it. But you touched me deeply then too, as does everyone here. I wish I had direct communicative contact with gobs of good people like you - especially verbal contact - for Lord knows I sure could use the practice. I pray you pause in your bright-winged flight and speak to me, bee to bee.
So you might try to read thru it all, huh? Yikes! - lots of embarrassing stuff in there, I'm sure. I wonder if you're going back to front, or front to back. I think I recognize the exact point you struck the exploding metaphor, the lotus-land mine that lifted your hands and mind to those smiling keyboard ivories that then so melodically linked our little soul-spiders together across the Web. (Sorry!)
In general, tho, everyone soon knows my writing better than I do, for I'm actually dreaming - even now. Yes, EEG tests show a constant theta background in my brainwaves, like lucid dreaming. Mostly lucid, anyway - you know how dreams are. My cellie took to calling my circuitous trips around the dayspace "sleepwalking" and said that it looked like I'm walking thru a cinema of dreams but then bonking into more substantial images now and that others do not see (but that knock me back a little). Yuppers. And I just keep reeling the images in and pasting them down on paper. So I'm more a colagist than a writer by far, even repasting my own stuff either because I remember so little or because I fall too much in love with certain images.
I realize that taste in anything is subjective, but think I go too far in things sometimes, just letting my pen have its head. So I always wonder what sorts of things I do right when I do them. For example, in your view, what constitutes "exquisite poetry"? Gee, I think I might like to write some of that! In the attempt to do so, I joined a writing class to gain a tutor, but then immediately got thrown in seg for showing up in school 5 mins too early, all excited to share a poem on love, of all things.
I caution you that any time my writing is praised, although I absolutely love the kindness and contact, there's a nagging concern that it may be done somewhat out of pity. I want to do better, if I can, but am almost afraid to probe further into my rights and wrongs for fear it might burst my little bubble. Perhaps my confusion over praise is that it lies in such strong contrast with the rest of my life. Outside this community, I've never known praise before. All I can say is, geez, keep it up when its merited, but corrlink.com me private spankings when you think I'm touching hot stoves or wandering into the street!
It sounds as if you are terribly busy simply surviving. Tho I have my own struggles, your experience reminds me that physical "freedom" is not the Promised Land, certainly not when all I want is a small writing life and a small income to support it. In fact, I'd be perfectly happy in this cell if I didn't have to worry about keeping the lights on and health care. I'm sure you have your own sort of "short list" - a final line of defense you'd fight like hell to hold. You see me at mine, and I don't see the outside world as presenting clear-cut advantages in that regard. But what do I know?
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 05 2013 08:28:36 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 01 2013 : 1:09:03 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Baby's Breath
Granddaughter -
This will not reach you, so will not be sent
but it must be expressed, nonetheless.
The last I heard, you were an honor student
playing violin, with dreams of dolphins and marine science.
I saw the pictures. So pretty. So much promise.
And that perfect sprinkle in your braid -
of baby's breath?
But now you are a woman - or so you think - at eighteen
flying on the dragon's wing
and lying in the arms of Morpheus
the lover with the lepar's claws.
How deeply has your soft and startled skin been marked?
Has the needle yet sucked out your glow?
All the things you know?
And the perfect twinkle in your gaze -
of baby's breath?
And what ever happened to your other dreams?
The real ones, I mean.
All scorched and gone? - just smoked thru stems, or bubbles breaking
in the wind? - or stinging the tender flesh of your nose or skin?
(Tell me: does your conscience ever sting you too? Tell me!)
You are a delicate girl, not a cyborg requiring pipe fittings!
I pray you tire of all this hollow sickness in body and soul
before hitting a fearful wrinkle in your twilight ways -
the cessation of breath
my baby's death!
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 11 2013 1:07:24 PM
anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 01 2013 : 1:14:11 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Little Laughing Waves
Oh! - I love the little laughing waves
when at a shore they gently lave
and should you doubt, just hear me shout
some sample picks, of deep-felt (onomatopoeic) licks:
"Chingle, changle, pingle, pangle
chitter, chatter, he, ha, ho!"
And in this way the laughing waves come by to fill my soul!
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 01 2013 : 1:16:36 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Whitetail
A deer bounded by in the snow
his tail so high it seemed to glow
he flashed that strobe for all to see
and hung in air at apogee.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 04 2013 7:55:15 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 12 2013 : 1:54:58 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Wave!
Thick in the air the spirits lay
rippling the waters of the bay
wavelets glint then dart away
who's it for I cannot say.
As the question merely is a rhyme
a playground set for my passtime
so with all my meanings to assign
I'm taking things well past benign.
Since life's an oyster on a shell
let's on our brethren fully dwell
and make it a circular love spell
an endless round with no final farewell!
For by whistling past, death may be braved
we leave just shells back in our graves
with no souls lost but only saved
for when we return, blow kisses, and wave!
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 16 2013 1:34:08 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 12 2013 : 2:00:08 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Daughter
You were conceived
in a driving rain-storm
running wild over all creation
from the moment you were born.
Daughter, where are you now?
I hear you high up in the trees
running from crown to crown
I run too but cannot keep up.
Daughter, wait! -
my legs aren't - oh - they're just not
what they used to be - oh, Daughter
I run too but cannot keep up.
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 12 2013 : 2:06:37 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Speak
I believe - one must believe, you see -
that there are now, and will be more
people who look upon my primitive
efforts with charity and empathy.
It is most surely to you I speak.
Whatever else you may think
of my own life, to me it represents
truth, beauty, logic, and civilization -
all the things that do not exist here.
It is most surely for you to speak.
I need to regain a balanced perspective
there must be a world outside a cell
and though I cannot imagine what it might be
a moment's kind voice would be enough.
It is most surely for us to speak. Hello?
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 17 2013 10:19:57 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Nov 12 2013 : 2:29:30 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Sing, O My Blood-Children!
Please take this poem, just one of many
all my blood-children, each born uncanny
as my heart stirs a surf in its wet scarlet nest
spreads manta ray wings, then bursts from my chest!
My azurine evensong stained by dark ore
I wash in burnt ashes to wreathe in much more -
a caged bird who dares to fling blue notes high
while clutching his small vault to wail, howl and cry!
Now all of the light (and sometimes the night)
and all of the bounty and of the blight
and all of the goodness and of the sin
is flung from my fingers, right out thru this pen!
So envy my drives, even those born of pain
as I strain not the chains of restraint full in vain
for tho my clay feet may be locked down in place
the tip of my wing brushes your soul-angel's face.
And breathless I watch as you then touch the spot
where passing was planted my heartfelt forget-me-not
and I savor the moment you know me firsthand
not by the labels with which I've been brand.
For you, absent angel, I'm a busy brood bee
extruding blood-children just like ruby seeds
all bursting to root in your deep fertile heart
and give simple friendship a good place to start.
Oh, some hugs would be nice for my wings to take rest
(and perhaps even hands to help tidy this nest)
but you may think it best to just heap me with scorn
for more plaintive word-wraiths conceived and then born.
Yet any weight squeezing the olives compressed
brings more oil amphorae to then stand expressed
and a global gold standard that's proven too right
is the world ever standing a little more light!
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Nov 16 2013 1:26:30 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 07 2013 : 12:40:37 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Dear friends,
Roy was admitted to an ICU at a local hospital on December 2. We aren't told much, but were told he's off the ventilator and may get out of ICU soon.
In addition to being so ill, he's also in a state of despair. He doesn't know I'm writing this plea; please take a moment to write to him. A single sentence on a single piece of paper may be all it takes to get him off the dark road he's traveling.
Roy is a man of many, (many), words. Please, please, please take that moment and help him.
Roy Wahlberg 103429
MCF Oak Park Heights
5329 Osgood Ave No
Stillwater, MN 55082-1117
Thank you,
Roy's family
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 12 2013 : 7:05:52 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Dear friends,
Roy has been released from the hospital. He is in a mental health ward. He's not well and we are having major difficulty working with the DOC.
This community is so important to Roy, We hope some of you have written to him. We're trusting that some of you have. (I can't face asking him in case none of you have). If any of you would like to write a word to him here, we will make sure a print of it gets to him.
Thank you,
Roy's family
Edited by - anandatandava on Dec 12 2013 7:42:47 PM
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yogani
USA
5143 Posts
Posted - Dec 13 2013 : 11:47:12 AM Show Profile Email Poster Visit yogani's Homepage Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Hi Anandatandava:
This is to send best wishes for healing, peace and happiness. My thoughts and prayers are with you in the unbounded pure bliss consciousness that unifies us all.
Your contributions to the community of practitioners here are beyond measure. Thank you for your generous sharing. I hope you will be back to your writing again soon.
The guru is in you.
Yogani
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CarsonZi
Canada
3189 Posts
Posted - Dec 13 2013 : 11:52:36 AM Show Profile Email Poster Visit CarsonZi's Homepage Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Sending love and well wishes to you Anandatandava. May you abide in peace and know that you are loved always.
Love,
Carson
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 21 2013 : 06:33:53 AM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Dear Yogani and Carson,
Thank you for your caring and beautiful words of encouragement for Anandatandava. I have them copied and put into a letter that I'm sending to him today. This will mean very much to him. I feel that I should tell you a little of his story for perspective.
In 2002, I believe, he was diagnosed with Hydrocephalus and it has been untreated. The corrections department feels that it isn't necessary, but my research and contacts with Hydrocephalus organizations feel that left untreated he will deteriorate. A friend of his and I continue to try to find the answers.
Another condition may be adding to Anandatandava's problems. We are very sure that he has the Asperger's Syndrome variety of Autism. He has had all of the characteristics since childhood and it was an awakening to learn of the disorder. There seems to be a strong strain of this in our family. Anandatandava has an officially diagnosed nephew and grandson and there are other close relatives who may be somewhere on that continuum also. The gift of the disorder can be wonderful language skills, which I feel he has, but poor social skills. His interpersonal relationships certainly can get off track.
I do think that the corrections department would like to be able to fully care for people with these kinds of problems, but it is a very large institution that requires rigid rules to operate, and probably never enough funding to do everything. It is perhaps not serving or able to serve someone like Anandatandava well. We are trying to find answers and solutions and get him well again and back to his focus and love, writing.
Anandatandava's sister, Judy
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 25 2013 : 3:46:05 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Yogani,
I hardly dare think I have contributed anything of value here other than a moment's diversion from time to time. No, the real indebtedness flows the other way: to you, to those who have labored to type me in, and to those who have encouraged me in many other ways. You have all nurtured life where there had been only bareness, and fostered a voice where there had been only silence or dysfunctional noise.
I have always felt myself painfully different from others, at best a zebra among horses, but mostly just a clumsy aardvark. But buoyed and energized by the wellspring of writing, I now on occasion find myself sharing flight with all manner of delightful species, and my solitude then becomes populated with a warm sense of commonality and community.
Yes, through the miraculous outlet you have afforded me, tho my hand touches concrete, my mind feels the sunlight beyond - and that is everything.
- Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 31 2013 : 12:32:25 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Gulliver's Travails
'Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the sick-house
not a creature was stirring, not even the louse
who lay pinned down in bed by a tube and wire web
while visions of urinals danced in his head -
dreaming of freedom from his catheter hose
so not to be anchored like a worm from his nose!
- Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 31 2013 : 12:38:25 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Comes a Time
Have you ever
in trying to save a small bird
held it cupped within your palms, and felt
its troubled struggle, strain and flutter
against your well-meant restraint?
There comes a time, my dear
when body can no longer serve spirit
for nothing can be held forever
and broken hearts especially
have a crying need to fly.
So while snowflakes fall like soft blessings
from a beckoning frittilary sky
dash the encumbering chalice
unchamber your encircling hands
and set me free.
- Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 31 2013 : 12:41:41 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Silkworm
Lover, I feel you silently departing
like a silkworm releasing its thread
the only light left now glimmering
in the fading tapestry weft
is the faintly woven shimmering
of distant memories parting.
- Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Dec 31 2013 : 1:27:14 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Dance Macabre of the ICU Cicada
Somewhere an alarm was shrilling
tugging me out from the cottony deep.
Sliding a few loose layers of consciousness together
I lazily fresnelled in on my tormentor
but sensing the gathering focus, he ceased his cry.
Again untethered, I resumed my blissful spiraling drift
but that pesky insectizoidal siren quickly returned, baiting
my naked awareness back into the grating shallows.
This time a figure rose, murmuring, "His vitals are real low."
"Yeah, he's bad," came a response.
"Oh wait - they're coming back!"
And so passed my wet twilit dream
porpoising thru the swells of a timeless sea
whereat upon each plummet, electronic and human minders busily reeled me back up
but it was a catch-and-release program
and so back down I'd go.
The world then tilted, toppled and wheeled
thru a growing and glowing pulsate palette
of less saturate, more pastellate tints
that ballooned and emptied of sunlight
in tinctured sync with fat bolides of morphine -
*poof* *poof* and I was again a child in fever delirium
and flannel footies watching wide-eyed as molten crystal
currents boiled and whispered thru the illumined air.
(Try to keep what's left of your head, O early acolyte
on the well-worn shamanistic path of brain pathogenicity!)
From some parallel but alien universe
a hot bright dart snarked across my unguarded pupils
"Hello, is anybody in there?"
(I swam toward the voice like a curious cuttlefish.)
"Show us you can breathe on your own and the tube can come out."
Huh? - reaching in confusion toward my tape-covered face
I came up short against restraints both hand and foot
quickly being cinched even closer with the admonishment: "Don't touch!"
I surfaced suddenly to the depth of my plight:
harpooned down the throat and enmeshed in a tight trawlnet
of straps, plastic tubes, leads, and conductive goop!
After voicing my protests as best I could (*gurgle*)
I resigned myself to relearning to breathe
it obviously being the only upright way to leave!
So knowing I had nothing but life left to lose
I commenced to draw on that respirator hose
like it was a hookah hooked to heaven, the umbilical of mother love
the last creamy teat for the littlest piglet
and it took a lot of practice and human help: brisk reminders
body rubs, even a shout or two down the MRI tunnel
but soon I silenced that damned cicada, shed the tubes
and stood braced (albeit unsteadily) at the edge of the bed
whereupon the doctor said, "Why, just look at you - you should be dead
but tho still too old to dance, show a much greater miracle in its stead!"
Well, I gave him a smile, but thought all the while
"Beg pardon, Doc, but just give me some room
for I danced myself right out of the womb
and plan to dance straight back to the tomb
for it's never, ever strange or wrong to dance too late, or long, or soon
even if I have to rattle my own bones for a tune!"
(Now - I'm famished - where's that hospital food?)
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Jan 05 2014 5:00:27 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Jan 22 2014 : 5:52:34 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Darkness at Noon
I'd long known that a crisis loomed, and soon
some surely wondered: from whence the gloom
as my writing took on a more caliginous tone
but others may from experience have known
that prisons feign a fail-first plan
where even if an inmate can't, they claim he can
and consider their job being done most well
when all help is denied in this man-made hell.
What part of failure, tho, couldn't they get
as fate further dealt to anti up their bet
that being penny-wise wouldn't end as pound-foolish
but perhaps both sides did gain a half-wish
to walk in lock-step an adversarial road
that daily o'ertopped its acrimonious load
for I played my role, make no mistake
as the need to beg I could no longer take
abhorring life as a burden on others
condemned as a pest who ever pleads and bothers.
Would you too have thrown it back in their face?
I did - and do - but please consider my place
and reflect how empty all would feel and seem
to face existence with no self-esteem.
So I chanced to change the playing field
but found that demons can't (easily) be shamed to yield
and would instead suspend a critical med
in apparent hope I'd be silenced or dead!
What a tableau and action-packed adventure
with crime-scene tape X'ed across my door
while I was gathered and scraped up off the floor
then pounded and puffed with lots of tough-love CPR
the long way thru a one-lane blizzard
before ICU-intubation straight down my gizzard!
Honey, it seems I forgot to breathe! -
was I really that darn eager to leave
or did I just feel so delightfully blessed
to be rhythmically ridden, hard-pressed and kissed?
But I didn't complain, no, not a peep
having received Michael Jackson's death-potion of sleep
so, I dunno, your honor - it's all one great big haze
except for being really sore, and that for days -
but while numb and dumb, I had questioned the morphine drip
right up until the dang thing quit! -
and then felt stomped from all possible angles
and resuscitated by a whole herd of camels! -
so apparently, if passed out, or entirely away (*yuck*-)
even herbivorous Heimlich might not be ducked
and it may not be by angels your lips are sucked!
Allow me to comment now to my keepers
(besides thanks for the time-warped half-life, jeepers!)
and tho I'll try to hold down the bleepers
this might sound harsh, I still like you
but my pen finds jest in the cruel and unjust things you do
and otherwise just follows the rhymes - to wit - and without further ado:
Whoa! - these really close calls make me wet my britches
and I'll bet your twitchy trigger-finger still itches
each time I bounce back, you falsely infer in your face
then to insist I still don't know my place (which is where, exactly?)
but there are some things I wish you yourself could learn
so your gear-driven heart would more warmly turn
and grasp my simple (if unquiet) need to write and live
but this one shiny quarter you refuse to give
seeing my reflections as tarnished and that this will not do
and you come unglued to think I think the same about you! -
but this mad mental game you play on your own
'cept when I coin cladden phrasing off your thick metal dome
for, my time-weathered foil, no contest of wills is played fully alone
and some fortunate artists get fortuitous power surges
from the most fickle and capricious of demiurges (- hey, just like you!)
Much toxic water has now flowed under the bridge
and kept all our hackles high up in a ridge
but the lesson we really need carefully ken
is that while heatings and beatings harden weapons and men
the wildest of beasts may be most softly led
by a single gentle gossamer thread - of love!
Now there's a fine engram to engrave on your galvanized head
unless exceeding the pale of a destitute pail!
Oh, don't now engage that baleful hate-gaze
for the grating you feel as these words slide in sideways
bears artistic license for my last hunting days
in triune pursuit of the duty, game, and right
to face, fight and laugh at the dying of the light!
So, hello Darkness, my old friend
tho in ways I have learned to bend
whatever misfortunes you choose to send
only when I break will this play end...
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Feb 02 2014 09:57:05 AM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Feb 06 2014 : 12:01:42 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Freedom of the Press
Bent to the task
in a sinkless cell, freshly pepper-gassed
blinked eyes and mind, gulped to be brave
then flushed the toilet, and drank the wave!
Survival drives all that's been fought
comes a small income? - then quite dearly bought
and where ruin sits upon every path
I doubt this war's over, not nearly by half.
For cellblock shadows are never far to seek
and my chances at best are forever bleak
so the future seems futile, a mirage through the end
which no choice of my own can move to mend.
Bad fortune's clown performs as my lot
the worst of hard luck, as likely as not
but whether first or last earth is thrown on my grave
No amulets of hope or luck need keep me brave.
For perched here even on ruin's noisome rim
my dangling feet kick up their own kind of din
kindling the word-hoard in my full treasure room
and who feels frightened (or bored) when lightened of gloom?
So then as goes the pen, I guess also go I
and one dreary day, my veins will drain and dry
but for now more ink will surely get spilled
before comes the aurally arid day my voice becomes stilled.
And in case it sounds crazy to spend my time fighting
for the one simple right to spend some of it writing
you likely take for granted some big things too - like freedom or air?
and if they were lost, what would you do? - perhaps fight or despair?
Well, the same things to me are my writing and chair
and you have certainly seen, my time-informed confrere
that with unwritten words I'm quite roundfully crammed
and like a ripe puffball must burst out or be damned!
So if it's better to light candles than sit cursing the dark
why not combine them at times - you know - just as a lark?
for with even gentle thoughts roasted like heretics Inquisition
I gladly risk this already wrecked life to reject the imposition!
And as fate flips its coin on to do or to die
this warrior has already readied his last battle cry:
"Freedom of the (pre-Gutenberg pencil) press -
nothing more, nothing less!"
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Feb 16 2014 2:52:47 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Feb 09 2014 : 2:20:12 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
[/i
He Lied!
"Not all who wander are lost." J.R.R.Tolkien
When they lay me down to rest
unfinished works upon my chest
atop my bones the stone may read: "vae victus"
but friends will say that tho no longer with us
he sang and strummed a maple flame-grained lyre
that sprout and sprung lasting limbs of living fire
(no dormant choice for that hot-house voice)
and that he flounced around in mad abandonment
Seeming sometimes gutter-drunk, sometimes heaven-sent
a man of all reasons, though idiot or savant? crazy or daft?
but all now seen of his far-off bardic craft
are his rosy cheeks, both fore and aft
and that he laughed, and that he cried
and that in the end he did a back-flip and died
but vanquished in woe? - no, never, not ever
for even when he did lower, whimper or whine
- he lied! - ooh, that mischievous imp went and lied!
as behind his direst whimper lay an equally deep sublime -
sagas filled to spilling with storm-hit voyage, and sunlit curative line
journeys to the center of the mind, and thru the core-vortex of time
but as truth is oft' best served on a bed of myth called lies
pray take pity on your lowly servant, the Lord of all Goodbyes.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Feb 21 2014 6:07:21 PM
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Anima
484 Posts
Posted - Feb 12 2014 : 12:39:14 AM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Hi Anandatandava,
I'm glad you're okay. I like your poems. Thank you. I had a friend in college who used the name "Vaevictus," and he lives in China now. I have thought of him a lot recently.
Love
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The_seeker
Canada
27 Posts
Posted - Feb 23 2014 : 4:50:14 PM Show Profile Email Poster Visit The_seeker's Homepage Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
You are a wonderful person Anandatandava...very inspirational.
I understand you've been through hard times, but as an old monk was saying: "sufferance purifies and nourish a humble heart".
A beautiful soul cannot be chained down by anything, actually I do believe you are freer than most of us.
God bless your heart.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 5:38:59 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
In the Shade of My Legend
Well now, just what dear and dainty thing
has brushed me softly with its wing?
ah, 'tis a long-lost gracious thought
that I'd erenow somehow forgot
which now in kindness resolves to return
like a fleetingly errant airborne Lucerne!
Light-lanterned fairy tern
you spark hope in a man sorely spurned
for my name spreads just like a contagion
that tends to send them all off and running
but even night itself can lose the craft for fright
when love is found tucked under its covers pulled tight
and now you cuddle near where few others can or do
to sit serene in the ebon shade of my legend's milieu
little vampire vamp, pick your poison, I'll be anything for you
honeysuckle blood, milksweet bone, whatever else I create or own
for a loud lover I'll even squeeze eternal life straight from stone!
Furtive word will-o'-the-wisp
just how many poets have you kissed? -
but remember me for my unquenchable thirst
for endless spools of threaded verse
as thoughts alone are mere airy things
but when suspended upon a tensile string
of meter and rhyme can span entire worlds
and maybe - just maybe - bring distant hearts unfurled!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 2:59:16 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 5:51:30 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Life is a Roundelay
Of a miniscule life, what is not best seen clear
than thru the window of a single brimming tear?
the world rounded down to a tiny tremulant prism
a diamond solitaire diorama deep within the dark of prison -
no wonder I cry so, so many.
And tears are the one thing I know we both share
whether consumed by consummate rapture or pain-filled despair
and dropping either singly like a swallow from the eaves
or raining downward like overdue autumn leaves -
can you really deny that you ever cry any?
Well, I believe that all the living weep
drowning in weightless waters, bitter or sweet
for what is life but laugh, cry, rinse and repeat
briefly blinded by the taut drumbeats of our own heartbeats -
the veil drawn between verities - so which side do you fancy?
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:59:09 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 6:06:29 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Wax of a Waning Heart
Oft' and long was the seal of love pressed
against the pliant wax of my melting heart
to leave Cupid's cameo die deep scarlet cast
but - alas! - as firm as your thought still holds me in thrall
I no longer feel your real touch on me at all!
For though your script does go on, it now reads that I've been written out
and though your world keeps on spinning, I feel that I've fallen off -
gravity now rules over only hearts discarded in the dead letter file
where even my most flowery endearments can never reach the open air
to bed again in your vase-like ear and blossom thru your scented hair!
If unconditional love is a cure-all for madness
then surely its unrequited form can be the cause
as my heart wrings and weeps itself wizened as a dusty briar
hollow as a pitiless fig, taper grown torpid and tired
my tallow turns tail to run, then hangs like rain on a wire
so before wax and wick are gone and only fading light remains
in pity reconsider - of all your dreams while you were sleeping
was I really not the one worth keeping?
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 2:58:45 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 6:10:38 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
The Muse
In all times and climes it's been solemnly said
that 'twixt soul and lips something goes dying
for Spirit cannot speak direct thru the head
but in some this truth would clearly be lying
when a Muse speaks for itself even when the corpse lies quite dead.
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:38:45 PM
anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 6:34:27 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Feeling Frisky?
The writing and editing have been more slippery than normal lately, as I've been on an intrastate and intraprison version of the federal system's interstate "diesel therapy", where a prisoner is moved so quickly and often that his mail and property can't keep up with him, wearing down his will and ability to act. It's typically reserved for gang leaders or those fighting for one pesky constitutional right or another. I've been cast in the latter role, my prayers set on disability accommodation so I can keep writing - what else?
So should you wake up one day feeling frisky rebellion against Big Brother's most indecent underbelly, wind up all those unfocused frustrations of yours and pitch a swift script to the bucks I need to carry the fight forward - via even a single dollar to my sister's PayPal account at rknuttila@gmail.com . It's the thought that counts - especially now - but if you do it drunk, your tipsy self just might interpose to add or transpose a digit or two - who knows?
Sure, there are a gazillion noble causes out there, but this slightly ignoble one needs a little lovin' too. And you know me to run right at the surface so you can watch in near real-time the ripple effect of a kind touch. So, if you might, trickle down just a little bit of that good old voodoo economics. If it's got to be done in BitCoin instead, gimme a bit o' time and I'll perform that miracle too. Working together, we can force a bifurcation in the balky stalk of Correction to create a more secure niche for yours truly, for of the small income for which I've fought, so far there's not!
- Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 10:57:13 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Baby's Way
(with apologies to Tagore)
From him something sagging like a curd souffl?
at last miscarried, pooped out and gave way
and then down sprawled Baby with a lusty squall
cradle, diaper, fontanel and all!
But it's an easy thought to see it matters not
if he even sports a lobe or crumb of snot
for his heart-strings are a lovely lute
and he's just so darn delightfully cute!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:24:11 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 11:04:54 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
My Personal Pleasure
Hello, Ecstasy, my old friend
I've come to see you again
for even prison life can be made an art -
a painted pony before a manure-filled cart!
Baptized into the religion and ministry of language
prose and poesy are bodily nutrition and spiritual food
without their daily composition, my own would shrink away
so as the canaries in the whim-bearing mine-drift of my mind
inquire into their health and know that of mine!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:26:39 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 11:09:42 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Heaven Enough
O Lord -
If I love Thee to gain Heaven's felicity
pray deny it all to me!
And if I love Thee to turn aside Hellish wrath
pray place it direct in my path!
But if purely for Thine own sake need I love Thee
pray leave it be, as that is Heaven enough for me!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:28:21 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 11:20:12 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Neruda
Neruda, sunburnt wizard
I see just what you've done
lines diced and jullienned into a word blizzard
desert market harvest delivered on the run.
Spurning old rules
of stanza, meter and ryhme
(at least in translation - is that really you?)
I've tried a bit, but more would prove a crime.
For, my virtuoso Chilean brujo
a barren ground sun has wound your pen
whereas I'm tossed in a wavy flow
at times of the sea, at times equestrienne.
But all to the better, each to their own
both for love, I for mine, yours for thee
for if all were ditto, all were clone
what a monotone droning world it would be!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 2:48:34 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 04 2014 : 11:42:01 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Reunion
This year's last leaf left high and dry shivering
forest dryad, pressed bare-breast against a cold hibernal sky
have not all your parti-colored clanmates one by one long since
flown the nest in a sudden leap and grateful spiralled sigh?
Consummate connoisseur of beauty, reluctant to rest
tho erenow you've gathered and gleaned all the best
of vegetal delight: every blushing sunrise and rubied sunset
each darting flight of bright gorget, every rainbow's pennant crest!
Delicate dreamcatcher, you've worn yourself to the thinnest slip
wavinh that ravening palmate web of fine-spun variegated thread
heaven's daintiest sky anemone, most gossomer of sheer filigree
dressed in briefest negligee, isn't it high time to hightail it off for bed?
Deciduous dream, leaving your topsy-turvey pole dance on public display
yet refusing to share that proudly well-endowed summertime harvest
only teasing from afar, then sending lonely signals by leafen semaphore
all the while the real party's underground, in a rock'n grotto love-nest!
For all your woodland friends are there, teeming, teaming head-to-tail
and bundled beneath their cosy patchwork plaid quilts of earth
so give your hoop skirt a rustle and come sail down on the hustle
to burrow back into Gaea's warm womb and the wonder of rebirth!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 16 2014 12:36:50 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 06 2014 : 4:20:27 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Flame Whisperer
Friend of the friendless, servant of servants
embracing the untouched, kissing the lepers
soft on the hardened, easy on the difficult
attending to the absent, waiting on the tardy
rescuing the resistant, promoting the backward
abiding the impatient, overlooking the obvious
looking after the wandering, caring for the careless
ministering to the sinning, tending to the terrible
crossing all boundaries, judging no man
all these things and more I gladly do
for I oft? may be any one of them too.
So I lay down among the most reviled
the hungry ghosts, the lost yogis
the supposed or self-proclaimed perverts
the Serpent or Sun worshipping converts
gladly, gladly ? but most particular of all
those devoured complete by enraptured Flame
who in sibilant blue dance lightly flickering
for while consumed in the highest ecstatic heat
all souls are equal, all souls may meet!
- Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Mar 10 2014 4:58:28 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 25 2014 : 5:52:03 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Enough of Thought
Poet-
learn from the birds
flit, fly
......hop
..........hop
..............hop
sometimes
just the lightest
touch
upon the page
is
....enough
.............of
...............thought.
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 25 2014 : 5:56:43 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
'Nuff Said?
The moon hung like a bell a-tolling
and set my mind a-right a-rolling
so I stretched my hand out like a snare
and snatched me up some poetical air
so tho some say rhythm and rhyme are old stuffed heads
I suggest you stay put and read on - 'nuff said?
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 28 2014 : 2:54:18 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Falling Away
Is there another place, another way, another home?
I've stayed on so long, I'm made of prison stone
that time has carved upon, and indelibly shown
that prison sound and sonance, they lift up and they fall
but they will never fall away
prison dirt, musk and dust, they lift up and they fall
but they will never fall away
prison stains, tears and pain, they lift up and they fall
but they will never fall away
no, the frowning towers and scarred-up boles
of prison yards, tiers and segregation holes
will never topple, erode or decay
only the bodies and souls of men pressed between them
will forever, like leaves, perennially fade
and finally fall away.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Apr 08 2014 5:08:54 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Mar 28 2014 : 3:11:23 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Story Teller
He was a Navaho storyteller (and part-time soak)
and always ready with a naughty novel joke
called me his brother, as together we walked
faithfully cheerful, even tho he was being stalked
by the most violent lot in Midwestern cellblocks
but unfearful we stood, back to back, hip to hip
for such was the nature of our kinship
(having simply shared far too much to be scared)
so we were rightly seen as the very best of friends
the very best of buds, as they say, to the end
but how could I know, much less comprehend
that it would end so soon, by a brutal act
in a pool of blood - just yesterday - to be exact.
Yahzee, just yesterday, I heard you call my name
and three tiers up I saw your beloved face framed
by the cell door being locked for your own safety
but later opened in error when the whole pack gained entry
-with their razors-
So now there's only this pathetic little poem as eulogy
for, Yahzee, my friend, I'm simply crying too hard to see
but now, tho alone, I will try to do better by you:
I will walk your walk
I will talk your talk
I will be the storyteller.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Apr 08 2014 5:03:49 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Apr 07 2014 : 5:34:32 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Heaventides of Night
Even a man in extremity can know a little serenity - Ananda T.
Thru my lancet-narrow window slit
I watched falling shadows fold and knit
unguent fibers of puce and plum
sumptuous spectrum of a plunging sun
supped by vespers honey-tongued
with slanting draughts of dusk's decantings
and final thoughts of day's enchantings.
But then darkness reclined groaning upon the land
and reached out with long groping hands
to where I sat in my cloistered home
seized my mind, struck me blind, an island
in a meaningless sea, outcast and alone.
Time now held strained in a bitter spell
and imagination only stirred the inky well
but then, in the wake of a ghostly abstract
opened a break thru the opaque carbon-black
that poured from hidden quarter a milk-lacquer tide
to rinse and revellie the trees erect
like tinsel-tipped lances with shafts of jet
that chipped at Heaven's scarlet anthracite
to parry the shores of encroaching night!
My soul now gazed in blind devotion
at a scene sweet-glazed by a lactescent ocean
a candescent flux into which I tucked
where gloom ducked back, having lost its pluck
but still the wonders were not near done
and indeed, the best were yet to come.
(big inhale)
For first shyly peeping, then boldly sweeping
a swollen globate moon of flaxen full oblation
shrugged away Her seven veils of enshrouding clouds
then sailed like a rounding dhow of pearly light
up from the sill of the world, bounding prow of white
carving argent arcs thru cloudbanks calving in flight
and bowsprit splitting the frowning brow of night
thrusting tusks of ivory gleaming thru the gloaming
musth-laden dusk, to my adoring eyes then seeming
to shimmy thru my window-slit and hit the flagstone floor
with the clank of a solid silver foundry plank
then melt to a vastly expanding sterling pool
that illumed every somber corner of my room!
And therein, by means of a recurrent dream
again had arrived my burnished Lunar Queen
to tip from Her full and sultry lip
a celestial cinematic stream of posied cream
to which I dip, to ever sip
and hope to never wean - would you?
(*puff* *puff* mirabile dictu!)
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on Apr 19 2014 4:07:27 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - Apr 08 2014 : 10:18:36 PM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Revised Version
Flame Whisperer
Friend of the friendless, servant of servants
embracing the untouchables, kissing the lepers
soft on the hardened, easy on the difficult
attending to the absent, waiting on the tardy
caring for the careless, looking after the wandering
rescuing the resistant, promoting the backward
ministering to the sinning, tending to the terrible
abiding the impatient, overlooking the obvious
crossing all boundaries, judging no man
all these things and more I happily do
for, transparent-hued, I take on all others' colors too.
So I lay down among the most reviled
the hungry ghosts, the lost yogis
the Serpent or Sun worshipping converts
the supposed or self-proclaimed perverts
gladly, gladly - but most particular of all
those devoured entire by enraptured Fire
who in sibilant blue dance lightly flickering
for when consumed in highest ecstatic heat
all souls are equal, all souls may meet!
(Besides, I look so good in blue.)
-Ananda T.
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - May 30 2014 : 09:50:16 AM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
From a Torn, Grey Sky
It was not a sound
to which the earth was used
so shook off
in watery echoes
as the lone goose flew
slowly, each wingbeat
another sobbing woodwind cry
low over the gun-pits
where he last saw
his mate.
-Ananda T.
Edited by - anandatandava on May 31 2014 5:06:22 PM
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anandatandava
USA
214 Posts
Posted - May 30 2014 : 09:53:12 AM Show Profile Email Poster Edit Reply Reply with Quote View user's IP address Get a Link to this Reply Delete Reply
Quiet Pond
For a
