Wasted - A Dizian

A dizan is a traditional French poem composed of 10 lines with 8 syllables in each line. Later, however,  ten syllable lines were also used. A few examples of this form in England did prefer Iambic Pentameter, but that's purely up to the poet.

A painting by Clyfford Still

Dizzy, I toiled in the harsh light

My hands slowing as my heart paced

Armed and stoned, I’m ready to smite

Never had wine but bile I taste

Holes in my soul too large to baste

Now I lay on my earthly bed

On the green cush I rest my head

Warm sylvian breeze, cool me down

Seal my wounds now, enough I’ve bled

Cover my eyes, Dream, let me drown.

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Lily- A Haiku

    SBUT Nature

White Winter Lily

Stolen on nigh of blossom

Sold with her body

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Happiness IS in your head

With mirth they seem'd be laughing
but had a smile seared instead.
With pain abraded and sadness in place,
Is happiness in your head?


with heads held low and stinging rays of hope
faith grows heavy as lead.
The coal is wet and the brazier grows cold,
Is happiness still in your head?

The urge to do is done away with
the pyre burns and the forest, in dread.
The vision goes bleary and senses askew
Happiness can't be in your head.

Will the fog fade and the obscured sky be clear?
When will the the truth be told, the petitions be read?
Will the promises ever be kept, them songs be sung?
Happiness is in your head?

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The Tree

Over the hill grew a mighty tree,
Seeded by the Gods themselves.
Nourished by the Mother, growing free,
taken care of by the little elves.

Its trunk was strong,
Green were its leaves, deep were its roots.
A myriad of animals doth throng,
To taste its heavenly fruits.

It sheltered creatures of a variety wide,
Even the outcasts that did flee.
Like the mischievous snake that there did hide,
Also, did the humble bee.

On an ominous day, came on metal horses, 
And claimed the forest to be theirs.
They hath used chemical forces,
And stole the golden fruits from its rightful heirs.

Greed! they took its fruits to sell,
Killed her residents there,
Wounded thy mighty Belle!
And winter doth come now, rendered Her bare.

Alas! the tree was  barren,
It bore no fruits.
Its leaves had fallen,
And withered were its roots.

It stood then like a ghost of the night,
its bark grew hollow....
suffering from blight.
nothing could bring it back, even Apollo....

The love that nourished her was lost,
Greed had taken its place...
But at what cost?
It doth rot away then, leaving no trace...

The Gods showed their spite now,
For mercy they did beg.
Many a seeds they then sow,
But the Gods doth segue.

Drought and disease took many a soul,
The city bell no longer did chime.
Men of greatness died without extol,
Tis' the dying Bard's rhyme.

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The Day

so guys, here is a weak attempt at poetry...

I met Her one "fine" day;

she said "I'm fine", but her eyes doth betray.

The blue dam held behind an ocean of tears;

Sensing her pain i asked -" What's the matter, Dear?".

But She said what seemed to be white lies;

Finally, she could not hold back...she cried.

I took her in my arms;

Promised, i'll protect her from all harms.

But she said we were not meant to be....

" it isin't you....its me".

Hence, the classic hand had been played,

I felt speechless and betrayed.

the Sun was shining down on us, oh so bright;

She began to retrace her steps, fading into the light.

As our years together flashed by.

i took a deep breath, forced a smile and said.."Goodbye".

~dedicated to all the crazy lovers and career options out there ;-) 

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