the cat’s most cherished books #14 🐹 ✌👍✊🌻

monday reading beckoning

✊✌👍🐹🌻☺

the cat’s most cherished books #13 🐹 ✌👍✊🌻

weekend reading

✌

✊

👍

🐹

🌻

Valentines Day Redux … … …

be my valentine ... ?

Valentines Day Redux … … …

ah!

that time of year once more,

the expectations to do this, buy that,

begin to tickle and murmuringly gnaw.

should there be roses, and if so could they all be red,

or fragrant petals strewn all across the bed,

with some catnip on the side, pretty please and with sugar,
and dollops of whipped cream,

for that,
I do know,

would be my cat’s Valentines Day dream … … …

✌✊👍🐹

the cat’s most cherished books #12

sunday evening 31 January 2016

the cat’s most cherished books #11

🐹

✌👍✊🌻

apologies if already shared 🌻🐹

the cat’s most cherished books #10

✊

🌻

✌

👍

🐹

the queen

the cat’s most cherished books #9

monday reading

🐹
✌
✊
👍

the cat’s most cherished books #8

some poetry for the cat 🙂

🐹
👍
✊
✌

💙

the cat’s most cherished books #7

🐹

✊✌👍

she looks forward to weekend reading ...

the cat’s most cherished books #6

🐹✊✌👍

what to re-read, she ponders

the cat’s most cherished books #5

her reference material

✊👍✌

🐹

the cat’s most cherished books #4

🐹
✌ 👍 ✊

the cat’s most cherished books #3

🐹
✊
✌
👍

the cat’s most cherished books #2

she loves these books 🐹

💛👍✌✊

the cat’s most cherished books #1

the cat and her books #1

✊✌👍🐹

Dr. Carl Sagan & a Cat during a Johannesburg Thunderstorm

i am scared, because a Jo'burg thunderstorm is raging

she needs some Carl Sagan, during a Jo’burg rainstorm … … … 🐹✌

for more on ‘The Demon-Haunted World’ by Carl Sagan:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Demon-Haunted-World-Science-Candle/dp/0345409469

my chess mate :) … … …

my constant companion, and the scribbler’s nemesis at a game of chess … … … 🐹😁

she is so smug when she wins againsy the scribbler 😁

16 years of Friendship 💛

☺

Papa & Cat

Talkin’ Idle Existential Blues …

panning through marshes of  twisted roots,

scrounging for a handful of promised truths,

thawing wounds aching afresh,

discarded emotions gnawing into now catatonic flesh …

we walk on, ever on,

fleeing the tumult of yesterdays sorrow,

we walk on, ever on,

thirsting for a glimpse of that liberating tomorrow,

to finally rid the heaving heart of the weight of the past,

content no more with brief, tenuous ceasefires,

but hungering instead for a peace that shall last …

faultlines …

faultlines …

cleaving through me,

embers flicker,

remnants of half baked verse,

smothered by tomorrows yet to dawn …

scribbled on fragile faultlines,

quills dipped in tears,

clinging onto hope,

tenuous,
fragile,

weaving wishes into tomorrows,

yet to be born …

Frenetic …

Frenetic …

thoughts of you gallop across the rolling savannah of my heart, and I am lost and bound and shackled and torn between what I may have lost and all that I may never have had, and if even for that one fleeting blip of life awakened on the desert wasteland that was my soul, I would choose the latter forever more …

Note: A Typical Example of a Thoroughly Contrived Romantic – Loss themed “Poem” …

Note: A Typical Example of a Thoroughly Contrived Romantic – Loss themed “Poem” …

looking back …

peering through the butterfly – wings of time,

I see myself,

ever searching for the truths,

to still my vagabond soul:

searching here,
there,

in-between here and everywhere,

till decades flash past,

the toll of maturity bringing with it,

the brutal truth,

that though I had searched here,

there,
and everywhere in-between,

I had failed to see you,

right there,
ever beside me,

and for that alone,

I do owe,

a heartfelt apology,

and,

an immeasurable amount of gratitude,

to thee …

Song for Bruce …

Song for Bruce Springsteen …

” … so you’ve been broke, and you’ve been hurt, show me somebody who ain’t … I know I ain’t nobody’s bargain, but hell a little touch-up and a little paint, I ain’t lookin’ for praise or pity, I ain’t searching for a crutch, I just want someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch, just a lil’ of that human touch …” – Bruce Springsteen, ‘Human Touch’

do you revisit those sultry summer nights,

sweet sweat pouring off your skin,

your hair fanning an eternal fire,

toasting deep within,

ever since I saw you, standing at our old train station,

wearing your red beret,

and paging through a book by Emma Goldman,

somethin’ ’bout the tragedy of women’s emancipation,

we stood there in the pouring rain,

wishing we could race down the cobblestones on a renegade lane,

to take us away, from the stasis, the bruises, and the pain,

we laughed, we cried,
we held onto each other,

yearning for freedom,

from the straightjackets they tried to wrap around everyone’s brain …

Well, that was all those years ago,

when love meant something more than a ten buck stage show,

now the guys at the watering-hole tell me that you’re a big deal today,

it looks like you’ve packed Emma Goldman, and all your other books away,

perhaps they remind you of our younger selves,

it’s a pity that you’ve grown so large that there’s no room left for me on your neatly lined shelves,

ah but I still remember the woman that you once were,

but now you’re  weighed down by your pearls and your faux-fur …

I wonder if you even think of me at all,

the boy who promised to be beside you,

always,

f you ever were to stumble, or to fall,

or has your new gucci-clad crew,

stripped you of your soul,

as you laugh and drink and screw,

I wonder if you even remember my name,

or have you buried me along with all that you once were,

out of sanctimonious shame …

… I’m still here, where you left me, festering in this rotting old town,

unemployed since the years when those stock-tickers went plummeting down,

today as I stand in line for my warm bowl of soup,

the TV on the homeless shelter wall says it’s going to get worse,

cos’ even the banks have flown the coop,

well, I think of you often, as I lay my head on the cold ground,

tasting your soft lips as our tongues waltzed around,

but tonight I kiss my bottle of moonshine,

that keeps me company while the sophisticates wine and dine …

I know you’ve forgotten all about me,

cos’ you’ve got futures to trade,

blue-chip stocks to sell,

so sleep tight tonight, my darling, in that penthouse where you dwell,

I’m used-up now, there ain’t nothing more I can say or do,

I’ve run out of yarns to spin, I’ve exhausted all the stories I once could tell,

so all that I can offer,

is a silent fare-thee-well

Meandering …

Meandering …

Streams ebb,
flowing,

whittling away rock,

gradual,
patient,

seeking the anonymity of the seas.

Tears flow,
ebbing,

carving lines,
engraving faces,

frantic,
raucous,

fleeing the comfort of emptiness …

Shrapnel …

Shrapnel …

the journeys have been tiresome,

pock-marked with wounds,

raw,
open,

the silent stab of nagging shrapnel,

of emotions,

shredded,
discarded,

stripping my soul bare,

naked,
exposed,

to the winds of unborn tomorrows …

the journey continues,

staggering,
hither and thither,

the self unsure,

gutted,

a heart,
a mind,

a long forgotten kiss,

like salt on burnt skin,

shrapnel embedded deep within,

the recesses of a desolate heart,

a desert of nothingness ahead,

but for that mirage,

a faint hazy oasis,

where I finally see you,

your eyes a vision of distilled truth …

“who are you?”, you ask of me,

“I am not yet him”, I say,

“I have yet to become me” …

Splinters …

Splinters …

fragments of faded stills,

litter my heart …

trembling lips, that first kiss,

moist cheeks,
sweeping up shards of a broken heart,

torn laughs,
stabbing within,

as splinters of bygone selves,

needle,
jab,

pierce this night,

as scribbled verses seek,

ache,
hunger,

for that sliver of light …

Dreaming of Words …

The dream floats,

ink drying on celluloid,

words mangled,

verses strewn to the winds,

across burning sandalwood skies.

The mind wrestles,

the pen digs into parchment,

metaphors skewered,

thoughts stilled by the cacophony of solitude.

Words devour space,

shredding time,

leaving me ever hopeful,

for hardly a reason …

… but for paltry,

meagre,

empty rhyme …

The Interrupted Vision …

The Interrupted Vision …

Straining to see,

the hummingbird that whispers,

the blade of grass that murmurs,

the fattened drops of summer rain,

falling.

Yearning to see,

that solitary palm on a long abandoned beach,

the coquettish ocean embracing the retreating sun,

the momentary mirth of a teasing twilight,

falling.

Aching to see,

that promise of hope,

as light fades,

flickering faintly,

in my unseeing eyes…

Deborah Alma – The Emergency Poet

http://m.bbc.com/news/magazine-29352405

afzaljhb@gmail.com

Hope & Renewal …

Hope & Renewal …

1.

Hidden beneath life’s undergrowth,

a flower blooms,

amidst  thorns,

a whiff of beauty wafts over desolate spaces,

deep in the thicket of my heart,

where wounds are raw,

and the world is merely a blur of worn-down faces.

2.

The solitary flower strains towards the light,

in the dim bleakness of unnamed woes,

it’s fragility,

innocence distilled,

pristine,

simple,

natural,
healing,
renewing,

reaching between the open wounds,

of this splintered heart,

caressing my soul,

with a faint murmur of promise.

3.

Hidden beneath life’s undergrowth,

life stirs,

whistling melodies,
healing my shattered heart,

offering comfort,
solace,

peace,

a wounded peace,
while gathering the pieces,

an elusive, wily peace,

yet tangible,

alive!

breathing!

Breathing life back,

as pain flees,

and as,

numbness ceases…

afzaljhb@gmail.com

The Cauldron of Desire

Inflamed by my wildly fiery desire,

I kiss the fluttering petals of your soft, sumptuous lips.

I tease you,

my ravenous tongue sipping the glistening, molten drops of alluring morning dew.

Inflamed by my wildly fiery desire,

I make love to you,

in my dreams of passion,

my dreams of sensual seduction,

dreams of our erotic confluence,

painting, sketching, dousing my dreams in colours of my naked desire:

burnished copper-red.

scorching scarlet-rose.

achingly beautiful crimson.

Inflamed by my wildly fiery desire,

I dream of you,

dreaming of making sweet, agonisingly delicious love to me,

and in this dreamscape of irresistible vistas,

I see your face.

And I dream,

I dream of you and I entwined in ecstatic bliss,

and together we find the place,

the only place we passionately ache to be:

in each others’ arms.

Eternally.

Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)

Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)

|
|

Autumn:

the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,
you left, taking your smile and mine,

my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.

|
|

Winter:

pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,
my tears remain frozen, within,

unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.

|
|

Spring:

birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,
memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,

and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.

|
|

Summer:

alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,
yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,

dancing on clouds, blissfully free,

|
|

Monsoons:

heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,
rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,

and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,

and though I may wear the mask of the clown,

if you were to leave again,

my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown.

|
|
|

scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Passion in D-Major

…

… Passion in D-Major …

It was felt, the sensuous brush-strokes on a canvas,

swirling,

to a symphonic crescendo,

of our shared heartbeats,

fading between the notes,,

feeling your soft body entwined with mine,

your form bathed in my infinite kisses,

our orchestral desire rising,

conducting a shared fusing of passion,

… the music echoing …

over the precipice,

on the brink of dazzling rainbow hues,

lost in the void,
of an eternal instant,

plunging through the depths of rhyme,

pleading,
forever pleading,

for a prolonged …

bouquet of shared time…

…