Suma Subramaniam's poems based on the five elements

1. The Fire of your Love

Illuminating my life with such content
Fleeting moments of activity, so intent
With nothing to deny, nothing to decline
The fire within --- so sizzling and gripping
The nights entice, the days allure!

The lamp has just started burning
With such radiance
Like the way the sun shines
On the earth, spreading a fiery essence.

Is this the fire of eternal brightness
That lit the flame like the filament of a beam
And now, bursting fervor at the seams?

You’ve set me on fire
See, how it glows, filled
With the fragrant oil of a loving craze
Its all consuming , yet still ablaze
Burning deep and bright
And II, still shining in your light


You’ve stirred the fire in my heart
That I may live for you
Living in your fire, is my only desire.

Beneath and above is a great wall of fire
That you have set full ablaze
Yet, I stand in the midst pf the spree
Knowing in the depth of your love,
Nothing can harm me.

Im feeling the heat as I think of you
You have drawn me so completely,
That I surrender my life to your fire
Yes, all of me I give you to acquire.

2. The Interesting Space Traversal

I took a peep into the world of your space
and this is what I savoured…

Your sky blushing blue, in all those intimate moments,
showing lush and lustrous love.
Your eyes, like the Sun, a celestial fireball ---
igniting with enchanting emotions.

The black carpet of planers around are, but the
bouncing moments of shrill and laughter
that bring a million smiles.

The Milky Way, a simulation of our life together---
as bright and blazing as can be,
when we live the spirals
of life together revering every moment.

Your sudden unpredicted love signals---
like that of a comet,
sending thrills of an exciting roller-coaster ride.

And then, of course, the lightning streak---
Giving me a glimpse of the small pleasures
of petty quarrels that I would have with you.

Now, I know that, I’m the heart of your universe
and there’s so much more to paint your sky with;
with our names scribbled colourfully
in every cirrus cloud;
making starry dreams throughout your space,
that will just be regenerated and renewed,
making every moment a memorable light year.

It was just a peep into your world
that brought with it so much of shimmering sparkle;
a haven of emotional splendor,
an ocean of opulent sweet nothings.

How lucky I am to take
a walk in your space all life-long.
It’s like a never-ending dream
That knows no beginning and knows no end.


3. Blowing in your wind

A storm, you have stirred in me
twisting and twirling;
my life-force driven by concentrated captivation.

You sway with such jubilation
that makes my heart swing and swirl
to all the tunes of your composition.

A blizzard, sometimes slashing and gashing;
a soft breeze, sometimes tossing and flipping.
Sometimes hypnotizing, sometimes mesmerizing.

You’re the wind of love blowing in my life,
as strong as a breathless kiss
as intense as a burning touch
as gentle as those soft spoken words of love.

You’ve touched me without my knowledge;
I wonder if it was temperate or a tempest.
Whatever it was, you’ve
Made me discover myself in you.

An air-stream, so emoting,
moving steadily in your direction.
I feel the flutter, I see your mental picture
And in the air, I hear you whisper ---
“I love you now and ever.”

4. Earthy Love

Your lustrous mineral appearance,
with wispy black hair;
those subterranean eyes that
Make me just stare.
And then, the amorously floriated words,
brimming the feeling of loving swirls.

A life in your terrain,
what a beautiful landscape!
A fantasy territory,
With exotic and scenic drape.

Baring my head, to the comfort of your shoulders,
a lovely trail of love and lust,
I wish to climb with you.
Walking together in the lush green woods;
a long lasting path, for us to pursue.

The future in your earth
Seems so bright,
as the backdrop of the rising sun.
Glazed and star-lit is the sky at night,
Hot and cold thrills, we can never shun.

Is this the nature of your love or the
love of your nature?
So earthy and so hauling---
Emotions and chiseled beauty of
loving splendor,
mountainous and enthralling.

5. Gushing Emotions

Its fluid, amorphous with no defined structure
This is not a love of material
You are as calm as a peaceful lake
Your love, running into every vein like
The flowing river.

Im drowned in your waves of emotion
Your currents, as strong as can be.
The tides of your attitude ----
High, when you call, and low when you don’t.

And, as I say this,
I know you are the one
Who will quench my every
Thirst of sustenance.

You have become an energy for me
Giving my life anew
The depth in your eyes, like that of the ocean
Your smile, as fresh as morning dew.

I will never be drained of your love
Cos’ when Im blue, you would be there
To shed droplets of tears
When Im all smiles, you’d shower
rains of happiness
All I would do, is just sail in your thoughts,
Pouring my heart and soul into you.

I have come to realize that I flow in
The water of your love
I glide in your mind, slither through your
Heart, and sink down into your flesh.
I cant wait to swim in your arms,
Only to pool in eternal permanence,
Touching the core of your
Innermost desire, your soul.

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  ( More poems by Suma Subramaniam)

 Poems  by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers

Avocado  Lovers

Blacker than the heated night,
they meet in secret
and fight each other
for the ripest of the virgin fruit.
Shameless, they strip down
to piano teeth and pindot eyes
that flash like beacons
and leer at the avocado trees.

There is something like lust here.

And they dig, and dig in a frenzy.
They dig and lay their seeds
deep under the trees.
They love the avocados.
They love to feel them slowly
and eat them without haste,
without waste,
without guilt.
They love to peel them gently
and indulge in the pasty taste
until their bellies bulge and shine
like their pregnant women.


( More poems by Jeffrey  )

  Bini Sajil  Poems

 A Recipe for Men



Slice her with sharp words
Prick her all over with scorn
Rub into the gashes
Spicy passions
Marinate her in the vinegar
Of your strong desires
Soak her in your pungent sauces
As long as you want
Then
Grill her on your blazing lust
She will be crispy
Worth tasting
Nothing better can be done
To a chunk of frozen meat


Afterwards
Keep her chilled
In the ice box of fidelity
When you feel hungry
Just warm her again
In the oven of deceptive love


(More Poems by  Bini Sajil )

  Poems by Argo Spier
 

 Poem by Joydeep Majumder

Always Yours

Poem by Kristina Marie Darling

The Funeral


We scattered his ashes near the church, with its electric lights seen from forty miles east of Rapid City. The last hymn droning became a love-song, while the wafer-moon slid inside itself.

I’d known Spence for three days, and after the first few minutes I knew he’d want to be buried here. He didn’t have anyone: as his lady undertaker, I’d know. The man had driven his wife from his grubby, charbroiled limbs, and his children drank vodka by the keg. They lived on the outskirts of Kentucky, a few more U-turns from the counties.

Ben and I knew he was gone when the flag stopped standing up on his mailbox – every morning there was a check to a church in his outgoing stack, a well-oiled engine of ill will and philanthropy. He said it was a shame, what with his threats of the Judgment and all, that he’d run out of money after only three years. Ben said, “He’s always stressed eternity. Not just long durations of time.” He flipped his shaggy brown hair from his face and ate a cupcake. Being in the business awhile, I knew Spence had gone.

I’d lived across the street from him for years, never talking to the man until he appeared on my couch that previous Monday. He said, “I can feel it in my bones.” Then Spence sat down, and continued. “It’s in there with the marrow. Evildoing’s coming.” By now he’d lain down like I was some kind of Freudian psycho-philosopher.

I pulled him up by the elbow. “When you’re dead, that’s when the treatment begins, at least in my business.” I dragged him out and locked the door. A mortuary’s not the place for fanaticism, most definitely not the place…


I’d heard of Spence long before he’d sat his ass on my good sofa. He walked the streets handing out money. A shaggy black-bearded Santa Claus. I remember his white, white skin. And the blue eyes of a saint.

He really did look saint-like, until you saw him on the road. I’d heard of people who’d cut him off on the freeway. That was right before he hit the gas and aimed at the driver’s side. That was one of the things about him I liked hearing about – he was a walking false advertisement, like the whitening toothpaste.

But part of it wasn’t false, and I liked that too; he was really trying to be a good guy. Like when he took in an orphan. Her name was Allie, and she ran off to Hollywood, determined to make it big with her buckteeth and enormous lips. The last we’d heard of Allie, she was driving a Buick somewhere in Los Angeles. She’d never looked back to Rapid City. If she had, it would have done her in like the rest of us.

The treatment began the next Wednesday. In a small town, undertaker’s the job to have – no one else wants it.

His body was immaculate – no one knew what killed him. From what the coroner said he’d gone peacefully, the lids of his eyes sealed tight like a bottle of aspirin. It was my job to burn him, bottle him, and let him go. The choirgirls showed up to the funeral, but they kept calling him “Steve.” I shook his ash free, and bent my hands like the steeple of a tiny church.


 (More poems by Kristina Marie Darling )

Poem by  Ashish


 After Earthquake

Here was a home
Five rooms were in to it
Where whole family fit
Hedges of happy flowers
And a big wooden tower
Hugs it, and pours love shower
Sweet dreams and children
Giggles there and woven
In to untied divine knot

But very different was last morning
Argument in earth’s womb; she was trembling
Innocent sleep disturbed by enormous sound
Body of home had lots of wound
Roof mingles with floor
And window with door
Dead bodies laid on ground
Deep silence and a ret around;
Ruined dreams and debris
Victim of that crisis
Nature’s anger manifested in much way
But always innocent has to pay

Now that childish home is no where
And sweet family has no body to care


  ( More poems by Ashish )
 

 Poem by Joop Bersee

Wiltain Mental Hospital


I haven't seen my daughter for a while.
For quite a while.
She is very cheerful. And busy.
She is very busy.
Has hardly time to breath, or to go out.
I haven't seen her for some time now.

She is always so happy to see me.
It makes me sad, because I know she is not.
She slows her car down, not to
overrun a cat or dog.
She visits me because once

I was her dad. Now I am her guilt.
They have a fireplace.
And Christmas.
And a god.

*

I behave well.
But I don't understand it;
I noticed a brick in my pocket.
I couldn't remove it; the pocket was sewn closed.

The doctors didn't undo the stitches.

One blow with the sledgehammer.
The brick broke in half.
A few more blows. I was bruised.

There's no way out, they said.

*

I saw the dust on
the windowsill. I saw it and I saw it.
I saw where they tried to clean it,

with water. The wall had like tears,
grey tears running down from the window-
sill. Ugly. Why don't they remove it?

You have to press hard,
moving to and fro, leaning on your finger,
using your nail to get into the cracks.

*

This place was built for people like me.
I know a few piano chords.
Sometimes I pounce and pounce.
I hurt nobody. My wife, kid.

Everytime I go for a walk on the grounds
I think of them, the photo I have.
They wear scarfs and gloves.
Behind them the sparkling river. It's a photo I hide.

I wash it every day, wash away my fingerprints,
the secret message at the back: We love ...
What does it mean?
I removed all traces of ink.

I keep on saying I don't know who they are.
Why do you keep it, they ask.
There isn't much around I say.
I don't even have something to throw away I say.

I can use this I say.
This fucking photograph.
When there's no one around.
Now clear off.


18 Dec. 2005



 (More Poems By Joop Bersee)

Poem by WAYNE AMTZIS


BURIED

Taut night/ slumped morning
Battered back by walls flee-ings raise

           What’s this?

These hands know not what a pen is
or a spoon. Not a hand,

           (a seedy poem)

a bent fork. Burst ears,
scorched eyes. The heart stammers

           A detailed plot?

to a piss-stiffening halt
To draw off each spangled drop,

           forgot Forgot!

they slip in paper and bone-dry pen
The better to spear eyes (a hand knows not)

         A hidden cache, a map, a plan,

To stuff mouths
Those that brawled now burrow

         a foiled gun, escape undone,

and crawl. Equals all

        you terrorist scum!

&

RECIPE FOR PAIN

Smashed chili. Rifled fields
Bolted, unbolted. To secure…

to shield… House (of the family)
Barracks (of the nation)

What’s to be? What have I…?
Done. Be done with. Windows

as walls. Windowless walls
Eye-bolted jammed

vision. Taut cocks string-strung
Slammed doors. Hurt house

Pain wall. Blinding window
Bludgeon door. Diminished man

Maimed woman. Mother, weapon
Father, weapon. Rape words

Lethal hope. Killing photos
Killing faced (betrayal’s mirror)

Petrol-ed wound. Stumped tongue
Asphyxiating vowels. Healed

To be hurt. Used and thrown away
While faith jeers, justice swears

and truth babbles


 (More poems by WAYNE AMTZIS )

A  poem by Jim McCurry
 

 THE PURE LAND

As I drive home in noonday heat,
shimmerings of western corn
and macadam, I tip my cap
to huge pigs, lolling in mud
for mud’s coolness,
a new water tower, tall and white—
I question
W A T A G A –
I question heavens--or if,
in those pure precincts
no fish, flesh, or fowl
there be,
no black and white pigeon feathers,
no blue corn flowers fringe the way
(though their mood be lupine),
no State & County
trucks and such as we
in iridescent vests,
day glo orange--
and tar to pitch for road repair--
no tower, no water –
no need – and so,
no satisfaction. Or
is it
here all along,
the pure land that must suffice?
So these common
puffs of cloud to the south
appear, as
suddenly--to the north
and east— fanged, newfangled
dragon tongues,
bleak &
gorgeous
thunderhead blues,
catch us aware? Pure
speculation. As if the winds
beyond this horizon
could churn such
grayblue bolts,
such gold edged
whites, such
beaten forms.



( more Poems by Jim McCurry.)

( Read complete  poem  by Rati Saxena )