Monday, May 19, 2014

Today I




Today I-
pure plant-sap;
coursing through wilderness-
sun-shade, rustle-repose.


shard of a faded lakescape
broken mirror-slivers,
shivering reflections-
in my mouth;
tang of sinister rotting-
glassy, exacting and discomfiting.


                       - Jeena Mary Chacko (2014)



Image: Still from Innocence.

Benedict



From the delirious contours-
of your larynx, pours-
a pebbly brook of enunciations.
an unruffled, put-together thought-
you- became both ‘night’ & ‘gale’
each tremulous lilt-
the fever & fervour in your ‘fret’,
a path within me gives-
an aching twist.

under your gutturals linger-
a wilderness of timbre-
fermented in honeyed thunders-
(Oh! Your “Oh”s!)
Each cadence resonates-
an ululating verse in my spine.

a dappled quiver, your-
gently bristled Adam’s apple
vocal-folds luxuriate-
ripples from sheer mauve to cerise,
its impassioned whispers igniting-
my sobbing axons,
toes curl & squeal.

I come apart, my lungs unthaw -
into a flock of quetzals;
pour forth – ecstasy
– immortal bird
I wake. I swoon.
- Jeena Mary Chacko (2014)
{On listening to Benedict Cumberbatch reciting ‘Ode to a Nightingale’}

Intransigent Lines





Moon is an adorable creamy smudge; a gentle rain, faded stars dissolve and reform behind the shifting, soughing clouds. A single dancing candle in a re-purposed jam jar, a delightful languor. Suddenly all the tiredness and triteness of the weekdays seemed remote. Quietness regained.


Image: From Sylvia's collected poems -old precious copy, slowly dog-earoding.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Will it Rain?






Dead bees curl on fabric rose, drunk on wild nectar of rain-soaked blooms. Last of the tea overdose. Deepening green remoteness shot through with dying gold rays. Tongue laden with delicious irrelevancies, pages brim with aftertastes. Air fills with avian voices exchanging weather predictions. Will it rain again tonight? yes? no? yes? yes? A grey-blue day of abstract-verses concludes.

A wild rose unfurls.