Poems From A Townhouse Loft
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About this ebook
The poems in this book address a prolific number of subjects that range from politics to esthetics. Most of the work is fictional. The verses rejoice in expressing the good, the clean and the romantic that make up human existence. A large number of them end in punch lines that will leave an indelible imprint on readers who may want to add them to their arsenal of quotes.
The poems are short, so that you can enjoy many of them during your lunch hour, away from the stress and strain of the work environment, or while waiting at a bus stop or waiting in a lounge prior to a meeting, or even use them as a panacea for a mood change. The author believes that a poem does not necessarily have to be sugary or sappy. He believes instead that it should make one sit up and take notice. It should produce laughter, anger, annoyance, indignation, tears and joy; but above all it should provoke thought.
If you are the kind of reader who believes in combining spirituality with the power of the human mind then this book is especially for you. Enjoy!
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Poems From A Townhouse Loft - Anoush Kamdin
If your every sigh kicks up a storm,
And your every try goes beyond the norm;
And the One Above seems to be listless,
Seems to care less if your existence was blissless.
Ahura Mazda is Wisdom in his eternal Run,
First Creator and Father of the Mighty Son.
Zarathustra, his child, He stopped from running wild,
(A man of determination and manner mild).
You will not absolve your wrongful acts
,
With confession, penance or repentant retracts
Perform good deeds, like the noble steeds
,
And live by reality, live by facts
"Heartfelt confessions won't earn you peace,
In the face of Justice, don't seek release"
An All-Wise, All-Knowing perfect being,
Always in pristine white light seen.
If morally responsible for our imperfections,
Would cease to be perfect to our sincere retractions.
The God of the Persians and the Ukrainian Gazda,
Our name for the One God is Lord Ahura Mazda!
Aloe
I found an abandoned aloe plant, left in a copper pot,
All it needed was some H2O; not asking for a lot.
I took it to my office and let it quench its thirst,
an undemanding life form, in a thoughtless world accursed.
I would give it water once a week, and food just once a month,
And leave it alone to do its thing, while I did my daily stunt.
One day I touched a browning spike and energy went zap,
I felt a tiny tremble roll into its dying sap,
I barely touched another spike and felt a tiny wave,
zap into its powerhouse the sappy green enclave.
I forgot about the incident and went about my way,
Until Friday when I went to it, my senses began to sway.
A big and juicy spike had sprung from the poor earth,
Proclaiming that Life asserts where compassion's given birth.
It then flourished on my cabinet, flaunting its healthy growth,
(They would eye it as they went on by, pretending not to note)
Aloe's of the genus Ephedra, the Zoroastrian Haoma plant,
Revered for millennia with prayer, song and chant.
Alone
Lonely is so needy,
It’s spongy, soaky, squishy,
When a grown man tells you he’s lonely,
Trust me, there’s something fishy.
Now ‘alone’ is a different story,
We are all born stand-alone,
We have our say; we go our way;
Own the No Parking zone.
I can achieve whatever I dream,
‘Alone’ lets me focus from afar,
Don’t live in a vacuum or a resonant vault,
Leave my soul just slightly ajar.
Look inward when you’re alone,
For that hidden strength, that self-esteem,
You believe nobody owes you happiness,
And life ain’t a dollop of cream.
So I move on alone, achieve great ends,
I celebrate my Self and my beautiful source,
Even though she sleeps with some fast-talking salesman,
I don’t feel no remorse.
A Matter of Spirit
I love you when I win,
I miss you when I lose,
The doldrums or a flash in the fiery sky,
It will always be mine to choose.
It was in the rapture of my remaining days
I sensed your mystical spirit in things divine,
And trustworthy knowledge of earth below
I traveled as white light, exalted, benign.
But physical experience is the craving of the soul,
An experience can only be on a physical plane,
Like drops of rain in a bowl of dust,
To feel the sensation of something arcane.
So, I donned again my physical husk,
I opted to re-enter as matter and thews,
So, I could touch your texture and feel your pulse,
They will always be mine to choose.
A Persian Bazaar
You'd taste the gentle deerskin dust;
Bite the grainy sand, if you could.
Relax; unwind among the magic carpets
and breathe in the sandalwood.
The air is joyous, expectant, free,
Mingling with the tinsel, color and lights,
Agate-eyed kids on the tacky carousel,
And falconers preparing their birds for the fights.
An Ancient dragging a reluctant goat,
a potter thumping his clay into form,
God gets the Muezzin by the throat,
And we see the first gathering of a storm.
The hawker mixes rose water, vermicelli and cream,
The locals love that sweet Faloodeh.
They watch Haji Firuz do his blackened dance,
While they shed their cares away.
The storm may gather in ominous strength,
The genie will enforce its fanatical belief,
For now, only in a colorful Persian Bazaar,
Can you find a