TSL Napowrimo prompt by Deepika Chand Open your lips and Sing and my poems on it

 TSL Napowrimo Prompt April 22 Four poems by Koshy AV

Open your lips and sing - given by

Deepika KC Chand

1, Open your eyes, poetry

and sing to me

always for me my lover

the one in my fantasy

woman whose lips are in her

secret places

and from there I drink

your fountains and graces

that spout forth from me

in sounds like that of nightingales

heard by the heart of a maiden at the window

of her garden

in plentiful long-lost, lovelorn notes

of melancholy

enchanting her and weary travellers

romantic to the core

my eternal verse

2. Love

Open your lips and sing to me

Anna, mon amour

with the lips that are wounds in your hands

with your eyes

and your lips I adore

with the lips of your heart

and the lips of your thighs

the lips in your bust

and sternum

and cerebellum

the lips of your spine that hold me straight

and the ones that make me float

that of your love's helium

3. Open your lips and sing

my children

The world grows ever dark and

tomorrow

is a question

But sing, sing your way through

Till your heart is burning

with faith, hope and love

out of the darkness of the future

and know there is always light

at the end of the day of sunlight

still, of starlight and moonlight

4. The Sacred

Open your lips and sing

Jesus

I met you too on the road

to

my personal Damascus

like Paul

Meeting you has made me lonely

marked me

set me apart

in a world that does not want you

but your song

more beautiful than any other's

I had heard ever, by far

so far

made me easily turn my back on the world

give it up

So open your lips and sing to me

Jesus

for when you do

the things of the earth grow strangely dim

and even heaven's

made new.

Ars Poetica Prompt from TSL 22/1/2021 and my take on it

 The Art of Poetry

(The truth that has never been written before by anybody, anywhere, in the whole wide world, in this way anyway, as far as this poet knows.)

God is Poetry.

Poetry is God.

,

All rights reserved by Koshy AV

Art of Poetry - Digression Metaphysical or Manifesto in the present

Let me lay it down for you. Good, real and proper, loud and clear. There have been great poets before me, it Is true. There are great poets even today, it is true. There will be great poets even after me, it is true. But when I am in the groove there is no poet greater than me or I am as great as any of these poets have ever been or will be,

in the past, present, or future. That is why I can talk of the Art of Poetry. What is Poetry? What is its Art? Let me tell you:

Poetry is everything and nothing, something and all things, any thing and everything. But it cannot be sold and it cannot be bought, it is not for free and it is not to be had for the taking. Poetry is everywhere, nowhere and always somewhere and moving out of reach and our grasp, one step ahead yet not a tease.

Poetry is not the poet who thinks getting recognized by being part of the grain means he or she is a poet or not that poem or poems created by the one who goes against the grain merely for its sake. Poetry is a move, can you shuffle to it, a beat, can you hear it, a swerve, a swivel of the hip, an extended note of music, it is percussion, wind instruments, stringed instruments, it is beyond all this, it is pauses, and silences too, it is words and lyrics, it is dance and the gaps, between the mudras and the splayed fingers and legs, it is paint, it is foreground and background, it is death it is a woman spreading her legs it is prana it is sculpturing it is theatre it is war and peace it is all the fine arts it is drama it is a man thrusting deep it is intense it is emotion it is feeling it is thought it is energy it is matter it is sex it is romance it is all feelings it is God it is hate and satan it creates preserves and destroys it is holy it is father and mother it is son and daughter it is family it's a venial sin and addiction a high but not a drug it is the womb and the tomb it is the vent it is the pen and ink the touch and tablet the typewriter and the fingers the brush the clay the body and its gestures and facial expressions it is the pent it is the rent it is the pain the hardship of giving birth the joy of breast feeding joints marrow and bone flesh and veins inner organs and outer body sweat and intake and outtake peaking to orgasm and aftermath the hurt the torn the broken the sorrow the grief the trears the blood the sweat of all human kind and also of the fauna and flora of the earth and the earth itself and the universe it is quantum galaxies it is dark energy it is black holes it is white dwarves it is quanta it is quarks it is the god particle it is gravity the brief history of time it is the uncertainty principle it is it is it is is is is....

Poetry is FREEDOM , to be and realize one is only a human or part of all giving and receiving living beings and nothing more and yet that is more than anything else, but it comes like great power with responsibility, it is a high and holy calling but found most often in the compost heap although a vocation. Poets are not liars as they are not paid and they sing the electric truth, that we are born as an accident and race, religion, caste, politics, gender, class, language, culture, environment, upbringing, ecological surroundings, are all not our choices and real choice is to overthrow all these and create ourselves and that is SHEER POETRY. We can now choose the colour of our eyes and skin colour and much more and that is poetry. We are united only by birth and death, suffering, illness, joys, sorrows, having parents, maybe, or siblings, maybe, or memories, or a past, histories and history, or significant others, or friends, enemies, frienemies, strangers, situations, happenings, events, actions, reactions, children maybe, and limitations, experiences or relationships, imagination and fancy, and the five senses and differences, all things by which we connect and survive forever not only to nature but all humans and living beings, and earth and the universe and the divine in and swirling all around us and poetry is to increase freedom and lessen our limitations and find the commonalities and similarities and sufferings, though lessening them might be too great an aim for it to achieve like everything else and everyone else who tried it too failed, and nothing to do with this talk of who is a poet or not who gets published where by who when who is read who liked who paid who gets awards who the fuck cares about all that, and instead everything to do with being a poem and what comes from or out of that.....

46Amita Paul, Anju Kishore and 44 others

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