fast or slow, what will save you?
Every collected speck swayed wind
In sharp cut precision, together
In swift motion of east west & south, sound.
Driven as if invisible hands were swatting
Paint nature's canvas with a broad brush! On mountain top high, fantasy soars us into the wild blue yonder, and the tangible strains of life grip us as we descend to the valley below.
On the Mull of Kintyre
I stood atop the steep cliffs
the artefact that should never have become such
i just put it on my table,
beside the coffee, and
a crowd formed.
at first, it was just one man,
Her green glances gorge on mellow delight
Endulgant and impatient with quick eyes
Snatching strokes of waxy flesh
The purple depths
Of heather on the hill
Within the blink
(Too fast to think;
the cheetah, prince
of wildcats sprints
with engine grrr;
its coat, a blur
of spotted fur,
it’s here then
so fast it flies)
'Untitled', a poem written on 21 April 2013
What the hell is this escapist poetry I write?
P K Routray
Flowers of silk cotton
before their petals bloom open
with its color and grandeur
the parrots, they do lure.
Around it, parrots continue to hover
A succoring dew around your hearth lays
To water your carefree, idle days
On your beauty sunspilt beams gaze
A nurtured value to appraise
In the availing breeze your mast sways
On mountain top high
Where delusions of grandeur fly
Superfluous pen grounded but spry
With ink stenciling the availing sky
Wispy clouds through portals do espy
I’ve done a lot of exploring in London. Sometimes it’s led me down some dubious roads. At others I’ve turned a corner into a blaze of visions historical, social, beautiful.
No high walled garden can compare
with wild spring blooms spread everywhere;
no bird in a cage ever sings
sweetly as those that stretch their wings;
no man made lamp e’er shined as bright