Quotes about relics, page 7
Pure, White Cloud
Excuse me, please,
I need to drift
To a more auspicious place
Where my time-weary face
Will not appear so gloomy.
I’m a pure, white cloud
Seeking blue skies
To celebrate and venerate
Instead of participating
In storms I did not create.
Tell Elizabeth
I’ll meet her
Where the monks keep
The holy relics,
I need to be
In the good graces of holiness
When the fires of perdition bloom
Like daisies on a green hill.
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poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Wrapping Up The Proterozoic
EON PROTEROZOIC (sijo)
Empires Of Nobility, Prokaryotic Rulers.
Oxygenated Transitory Eukaryotic Relics.
Obliterated Zooids Of Icy Cryogenation.
PALEO-PROTEROZOIC (haiku)
One billion years.
Apart from catastrophe,
not a lot happened.
MESO-PROTEROZOIC (tanka)
Life-forms discovered
Sexual Reproduction.
The Earth moved below.
Colliding tectonic plates
created Rodinia.
NEO-PROTEROZOIC
Nebulous
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poem by Diane Hine
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Ibrahim
Relics, arts, culture and love;
With the information of an embankment zone!
But her scent is all that it takes.
A spring of flowers and the mixture of perfumes,
Don't put all your eggs in one basket;
For the feelings of love is all around you.
Exquisite pillars of love in the forest,
Rapture at shore with the fishermen at hand;
But my lovely water melons are matured enough for you.
Ibrahim,
You are my one and only man!
And you are like the appearance of a fertile land;
But this act of love is all about you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Courtship
Violet mantric reeves of crinoline lips
These dreams are trumpets of love
Inside golden halls
Whispers of the gallant ghosts
Relative moonlight of gossamer rings
We know angels are here
Don't be afraid of the ancient relics
Sometimes shadows talk
Sleep with your new kitten
Your quilt is old and mystic
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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Hospitable
How generous the body when afflicted with generosity!
This generous stretch is of the carpet, of the mat
And the slave of the heart is the man with hospitality.
Mathematics complained over the food entertained,
Endowed with certain moral qualities, a carton of strength.
Then condiments contained the stomach
And next the heart busied in the relics of gifts,
The fulfilled ones afterwards remarked on the gifted ones,
Or rather those who received them.
Slaves of the palace of heaven are made!
He is indeed hospitable for his acts and deeds.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Dialogue On Non-death
Drowning her children
back in her womb,
a big tear rolls down the cheek of earth.
She was sitting on broken bones
to watch the terror,
ear for ear to listen,
eye for eye to see.
Hope was becoming ephemeral.
Nostalgia for breathing in,
the scented grains of death’s fruit,
no analogue, no relics of blood
and a ceremony of water, soil and wood.
All gone. It is a battered rubble
back to back, autoclaved, clean.
We walk back, heads bowed, shaven,
absolutely fouled with no immediate answer.
Was there a dialogue on non-death?
poem by Satish Verma
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I Was Closing The Weeping Chapter
When terror strikes,
fear inside you
makes a hissing sound,
breaks the vessel.
Pain spurts out.
Your limbs swell like sapphires
in a naked suffering.
You were searching the face
of your dead brother on burning ghat.
And then on, it pours.
Babies were burning in incubators.
Blasts devouring the eyes,
ears and noses.
But the dredging will continue.
Irrespective of ocean of death
leaping to fragile shores
till the waves send back the relics.
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poem by Satish Verma
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By the Wise
Guesses are made perfectly by the wise,
Intrepid adventurers cancel our life
For though thinkers are also thought of,
My guess is also the same perfection.
Guests of some knowledge are bedded in these chambers,
Within those familiar works are the church relics;
We thought and thought over the real church,
Bent on thinking wisely like the guesses of perfection.
Churches stand tall for daily consumption,
Opening their gates once a day, once a night,
Their relief is staggering on the soul,
As you might pray and sleep with the right thoughts.
poem by Naveed Akram
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We Tried To Grow
We tried to grow through the winter,
Our roots rotting under stinging frost,
Snow blanketing us in white death.
We tried to grow as the ice melted,
Drowning in cold but warming slush,
Blinded by the sun's reflection.
We tried to grow when the sun blazed,
Burning like a coal inside a fire,
Choking on our own black smoke.
We tried to grow as the leaves fell,
Smothered by sheets of reds and yellows,
Those fragile layers of false safety.
Now we grow old and forgotten,
Relics of seasons past and times lost,
Sideshows in window sills, dying.
poem by William Blake Beckett
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Avatar
Is a flower abstract?
Can you dismiss the wind?
Substance regal blend of earth
Similitudes of pain solicit reality
Limited cryptic eye shadow
Venus is too far away
Feline silk melds no ground
Being is inhabited in elements
Your prose gives no golden water
Womb of words has no moonbeams
Temple of clay in a galaxy
Paintings have left me thirsty
Enough of this plebian banter
Objects occupy transcendence
Symbols cannot repair the pain
Religions need relics
Romance thrives on fetish
The Internet is like an avatar
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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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