On Poetry UPDATED!

The word 'poetry' brings to mind many multitudes of comments, praises and quotes to one's mind. {That is to say, if one is poetically attuned.} There have been poems which are nothing less than glittering diamonds, and praises made upon them are nothing short of poems themselves. The different forms of poems fork into myriads of conjugates and hybrids with others. (Poems aren't racist, you know.}
Yet, I do fear that words are being mutilated and tortured when they are placed in a sentence of such a structure that can, at most, be described as a non-prosaic placement of words. Such is how the present generation of Bloggers are making "poetry". {If you do notice, Wanderer, the 'B' is capitalised. That is because I've found this phenomenon predominantly on blogger.com's blogs


I shall guide you through examples, Wanderer. Examples as I have collected through wanderings throughout this small section of the Blogosphere. Such as this one from here

This is the age of sorrow.
Not because my love
lies weeping like a violin*
in an empty school building

I know that excerpts hardly can be judged. However, I am not judging here. I am just merely remarking upon the fruitful and brilliant simile that the 'poet' has used to make his sorrowful love prominent. It's moments like these that I take off my glasses, wipe them with some optician's cloth [that is free with every new pair] and peruse through the words once more, hoping it was not a dust-flake that faulted my cognitive capabilities.

Yet another one from the same author is this from here, entitled "The Secret":

In a loveless grimace
I shall reveal to you
The emotional subtleties

Of facial muscles.

I really hope the whimsical author tells me that this is no poem. That this is but a random compilation of thoughts from his head {Although, it can be argued that that is a perfect definition of a poem}. Yet, since the concerned author usually displays his non-existent spontainety as being very random so-random-that-he-make-fart-jokes-and-pass-them-off-as-metaphors, I do not believe he would accept this present definition.


**********

Exhibit number two's beautifully mundane effort to use stark and unheard-of imagery caught my eyes here:

I want to pluck poetry from the humid air,
from the invisible radiowaves around me
and translate it into the language of
black ink on white paper.

Now. This poetic display of affection kills me since it is entitled "I Want". I sincerely hope she does not mean "I Want Some Imagination Rather Than Forceful Concocted Imagery." And secondly, what in the world does she mean by that 'stanza'? Does she want to show to the whole world that she is a plagiarist? An out-of-closet one?

Another chiaroscuro-ic piece:

I cut away your raincoat and exposed you.
So I give to you my umbrella and my shivers.
Now I can walk away from your outstretched hand.

I ask you, Wanderer. Why? Why does anyone bother to write some silly little pieces and pass it off as "written material" [to be very mild]? Freedom of Speech/Writing has nothing to do with this. As long as my Freedom of Watching is in question, this can verily be a crime. {And, to all those who do not believe such a Freedom exists, try walking nude in the streets of your favourite Indian city. Try to avoid getting arrested too.}
To say the least, my head already a splode.

**********

Herein Enter a Weather phenomenon. Here is chronicled an amateur's sex poem:

In a fit of teenage summernight passion,
we stopped the taxi to a screeching halt
at the hotel.

The very same hotel
where callgirls make money
and where bigfatmen, with
redsapphirelust at their
fingertips, look for women
half their age.
You told me.

We reached for the darkened
hollow sky
and the dreams in between,
and the inklines beneath the moon
that belong to the woman
you love.
We stretched in time
for the slow violin* music
to seep into our skin.
Skin, we left in the
folds of the hotelroom bedsheet.
White satin bedsheet that
didn't quite feel like home.

{I did not insert the italics. Those are from the original.} Let's see. Theme = Sex sex sex. That's the overtone. SEX! Now. Wait. Why are the italicised portions there? You, Wanderer, might think that there is a stress there. An inner meaning. An opium dream coming to life within the author's keyboard. The last whispers of a narcotic in the head making the author insert the words within the italics HTML tag {although... I seriously doubt that is possible, since most of these poets do not know basic HTML. SRSLY!}.
Yet, I cannot possibly shake off the feeling, that it is forced. It is contorted. It takes the word "rape" to new heights. Not rape as in forced sexual intercourse, but rape as in forced wordy intercourse. {And it's tagged under "Pain and Agony". I solemnly swear to you, Wanderer. I HAVE NEVER EVER SEEN A 17/18 YEAR OLD WOMAN WANT TO LOSE HER VIRGINITY THAT BADLY. I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE MY VIRGINITY AT THIS AGE.}

And the rest of that blog is just too much for my precious little photochrome protected eyes. Too much.
{And thank the devil it does not receive many comments, the blog in question.}
{Sadly, neither does mine.}

Now, this was never meant to be an essay {as you probably know by now}. So could you please inform concerned people that their blogs have been linked to? {GOOD NEWS!!! Isn't it?}

------------------------------

* WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH VIOLINS AND REFERENCES TO THE INSTRUMENT IN EVERY BLOODY POEM ANYWAY?

Aside: WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH MUSH ONLINE AND REFERENCES TO YOUR WORSE[r] HALF AS "YOU" ANYBLOODYWAY? I REFER TO MY READER[S] AS "YOU". BLOODY HELL. THIS MAKES ME SO MAD.

UPDATE: Il Weather Phenomenon got pissed. She posted flames, and she moved/removed her blog to some place else/beyond the Blogosphere. The subjects of Fealdamar thank her for her gracious act of samaritan generosity, and the Prince would forever link a cached page of her dead site here, as an act of goodwill.

The last exam.

My exams are finally over!
And I found how awesome it is to insult absolutely random people and walk away, gleaming in the insult's wake.

No, I do know this post should've been in my Tumblr.

Although... I *did* manage to see it.

It was a last minute decision. Actually no, it was more of a mathematically enhanced and genetically engineered decision. I went to the terrace.


This was... 7:45 PM. Occultation was to start at 1957 hours. {My planetarium software, as I saw later, placed the time of the disappearance of Mars at about 2003.}

I lugged Asterope all the way up without the chair, since I wasn't too hopeful. However, all hope returned as I saw him shining, almost winking at me, as the veil of the Star-Queen suddenly lifted from the moon. He smirked at me as the lone eye in that part of Calcutta focused on him.

And there. Beside him, a red dot wavered floated. It was quite hard to believe that the God of War was reduced to a red dot beside the Queen of the Stars and her adored servant. Madness set in at 2001.

The wind picked up speed and the scope's stand was unbalanced. Waving, waving and wavering. It was hard to keep track, and yet I whispered to that Queen of the Stars. To her and no one else. She cleared the skies. She cleared the clouds. And in a moment she will rein the wind and offer me everything. Just a few more minutes.

I panted.

Just some more minutes.

Mars almost seemed to wait. Minute went by. Another.
He did not want to be engulfed by the dark side of the moon. Yet, he was bound by the firmament, and the Queen's words.

A sudden stillness, before plunging into the void in three discreet, heart-stopping seconds.
And my conversation with the Star-Queen stopped then.
Tick.

And everything collapsed.

Thank you, Grandma for telling me. Thank you, Star-Queen for helping me. And thank you, Selena and Ares, for showing me.

Astronomy Day!

CELEBRATE! :D


But not in Calcutta. If you think you'll celebrate Astronomy day in Calcutta by watching the very rare occultation of Mars by the moon, you are very mistaken.
In Calcutta, the weather and the people are not suited to astronomy. You see... the skies of Caluctta hate astronomy. So much so that they'll entice the few [very few] amateur astronomers here by having nimbostratus clouds cover up the sky, but being stratus they allow a fair amount of blurred light from the moon to dall upon us.
"LOOK! IT'S THE MOON!! BUT YOU WON'T GET IT HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA. SUCKS TO BE YOU!!!!"

And my telescope lies... discarded. I hate the skies of Calcutta.

A nightcrawler on Venus.

I knew your brother by face. He was a liar, you told me. I knew you made a mistake, the way you told me. Do nightcrawlers have kin?

I never knew your sister. She was a bitch, you told me. I never could figure that one out. How could your sister be a canine when you're an earthworm? And then, there's that previous question.

We had that one mutual friend. He was an addict, you told me. I thought his eyes spoke of the freedom they granted him. Oh well, ecstasy and other stuff never really appealed to me.

And then, there was your girlfriend. She was a slut, you told me. I didn't quite understand why she was your girlfriend, then.

Of course, we never spoke of our teachers. They left us all alone. Haha.


I had an insane amount of fun writing this, yes.

NEW [unnecessary] STUFF ADDED TO MY [life]BLOG!

Just one, though. One single thing. I got tired of the wretched options that Blogger's commenting thing gives. I decided to do away with Blogger's commenting and ended up using Disqus instead. It's pretty decent, actually.

I'd like my community to have a page on Disqus. {Sadly, I know that most probably, that's never going to happen.

*Sigh*

Conversations, laughter and insanity. -UPDATE!

{I don't think a subject body/introduction is necessary}
{OH. And suitably modified for general public viewery/viewage/viewity}

Chat transcripts follow.



{Over phone}

LD: .... and then, I used to walk around the whole place like a bhatakti hui aatma.
Kaz: O.O
LD: A-!
Kaz: WHAHAHAHAWHAHHAHWAHWHOHFAIDSHAISFSDGKASFGBEJRTVFCWEHYNEWUTWBVVCGFEMCNWREMsadasdfbassdfWqhahawhahahahahawhwhaashdbdsfa.
LD: It's not that funny y'kn-
Kaz is still laughing.
LD: BLAH! Well and then... *says something*
Kaz suddenly imagines LD in a flowing white gown with a candle in her hands and almost dies of laughter, while being oblivious to the next few lines of speech that she gives.
LD: OK FINE! I've moved on with the story you know..?

***
{Over Gtalk}

Kaz {For no proper reason}: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Luci: Oh thank you Ma'am! :D
Kaz: Oh you're welcome, honey. :D

--

LD {After reading this}: I knew it. :P

***
{Over Facebook}

DC: I saw that idiot's picture on facebook. He's ugly, just like his personality and his soul. I knew he would be. How the hell do you tolerate him? AND he has facebook access to you! Jesus.

Kaz: When and how did you get that AIDS related complex's profile? Oh well, I couldn't care less. And, who told you I tolerate him? I just keep him as a "friend" here to respect the good time we had in 04.

DC: "Respect the good time we had" *Snort*

Kaz: Oh, and he has a movie that I want too. Forgot to mention that. :P {i can't fake sentimentalism with you can I? :P}

DC: NO you cannot. Yes :P

DC: THAT is why you're friends with him? That's it. Tell me what you want from me. It's Mia isn't it?

Kaz: DAMNATIONS! HOW the devil you know that?! I is very scared now...

***

{Over phone}

LD: No... I am pretty careless sometimes.
Kaz: I know, I know. So am I. I forget to see the second part of a question sometimes.
LD: That happens.
Kaz: Did that in ISC.
Kaz smiles proudly.
LD: Uh....

***

{At home}

LD: Do you think Shre would be free now?
Kaz: One way to find out!
Kaz calls DC.
DC: Hi!
Kaz: You free now and for the next 3 hours?
DC: Yeah.
Kaz: We're raiding your house, and bringing you a piece of leftover pizza.
DC: OK!
Kaz disconnects the call.
LD: You know... people usually say: "Hi. How're you. I'm fine, thank you. Are you free now? Oh good. Can I come over to your place?"
Kaz grins proudly at his indecency.

***

{On the streets, before meeting DC}
LD: She might be late.
Kaz: Hah, yes.
Kaz and LD spot DC on a cycle-rickshaw.
LD: She hasn't seen us hahahah!
Kaz (to himself): AHA! Perfect opportunity. While she's distracted somewhere else, I'll sneak inside her house and steal her cat! Three... two... (aloud, as DC sees him) Oh hey Sis! Your clothes are hideous.
LD: O.o
DC: Why thank you. You don't look all that great either!
DC then proceeds to hug us.

***

{Over Gtalk}

Kaz: ALSO! I discovered what you meant by "pretentious". :P

DC: how?

Kaz links her the post of aforementioned "idiot".

DC: why must you torture me?
why?
what have i done to you?
but be a good friend and a kind sister?
is this how you repay me?
by torturing me?

Kaz dies of laughterness overflowingness.

***
{Over Gtalk, sneaked in to me by DC}

LD: TA DA!
Say AAAAAAA!
Lalalalalalaa
DC: AAAAAAAAA
:P
LD: Now...
Say GAAAAAH
DC: if you're happy and you know it murder your bird!
LD: With the proper meaningful expression!
DC: GAAAAH. Looks blah
LD: And now!
For the grand finale!
You must tap dance and also say:
"Jing a ling a tring lung tee haw haw taaaaa laaaaaaa eeeeeee haaaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
With proper emphasis in the right parts
:P
DC clubs LD to death
grins like a troll
LD: OH NOES!
LD sticks a fork up her nose
DC: you're DEAD
LD: I iz bhatakti hui aatma!
DC: don't be childish at this grave moment
bad pun intended
LD: xP
Bwhahahahhaa
DC: i iz also escort aatma
LD: No, no, I've refused the grave
DC: for your ghostly sexual needs

{At this point, the editor wishes to confirm his denial of having any kind of necrophilia}

LD: xP
DC: extra scary for more munny
LD: That will not do
DC: butu wai?
LD: Because
I my sexual organs have rotted
Since I am a ghost
And so
I iz aseskual ghostie
DC: ooooh

***

{Over Gtalk}

DC laughs after giving Kaz the conversation above.
Kaz: *Toodeadtotalk*
DC: Degrees of dead-ness.

THIS post has been written in LD-noir style. And has randomness smeared over it. Yes.