let’s do it

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love’s bulge seems to be pretty abundant-
lewd words weave a fulcrum of all dreams, wet to touch,
sweet-bitter tones serenade the ears, a silent breath
grazing the neck with a scimitar of nefarious thoughts,

don’t speak, just do the unspeakable, the unmentionable
with a velocity of a soaring plane, upending us into submission,
this is the art work people gawk at and fail to encompass
into any coherent knowledge, its deprivation, its salvation,

spilled paint is the canvas for this action filled space, love is
swallowing its saliva and thick puddles of misery foam at those
silent, nurturing lips. your mouth is my mouth is your mouth.

let’s do it. let’s unmake love.

.
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Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif

Also read this: this vulgar handiwork of time and let’s draw blood
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let’s draw blood

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blood transfusion in a fucked up poem:

eyes meet, hearts melt into puddles of misery,
a guy shot a man, and a man a guy
at midnight when the sky was pistachio-green
and earth slightly shifted beneath their feet.

love is common place – words are the dregs
of tea left in my battered mug, hugs are given up
in arms that rattle like broken windows, and

they dare say,

*“This is not what we came to see…”

.

.

*”This is not what we came to see” is quoted from Brian Patten’s poem The Projectionist’s Nightmare.
Linking it up with Poetry Pantry and With Real Toads.

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sooner (than later)

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so it was in the cold that I held
those earnest embers of your words,

you were the marble idol
when black and white mingled
to cover the deep trenches of
my heart, your singular smile
was the only thing visible, only
sight on that evening of lights.

a caress on my neck had me
drugged, I was a shore for your
rising tide, I lost myself,

oh I lost myself that night, and
I am cold yet again, those embers
have a faint glow, and I am cold again

in the brilliance of my torn skin,
shivering in shadows of your smile.

I hold the new key, so new that it
is not yet familiar by the touch, of
my fingers, and I walk through
the door of this unknown circumstance,
I want to be home.

yes, I have fallen for you.
February comes soon.

.

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Inspired from February by Dar Williams, written in consideration of writing prompt at With Real Toads.

Book Review: Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence

Sons and LoversSons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Sons and Lovers by David Herbert Lawrence is a profound novel about love, if explained in a few words. And yet, you can’t limit it to that. Published in 1913, it received a lukewarm response but today, it is considered a classic masterpiece by many. How the book discusses the complexity of love and relationships and draws a contrast between nature and industry is, according to me, quite exceptional!

The story begins with a landscape of a mining town, urging the readers to see everything as it is. The third party omniscient narration first talks about Mrs. Gertrude Morel, who has married a miner, someone who is downward in caste to her people. Morel is an illiterate, an alcoholic and a simple minded man, with violent outbursts towards his wife and kids. Taking it fast forward, Mrs. Morel has three sons(William, Paul and Arthur) and a daughter(Annie), all of whom despise their father in their own ways, with a slight exception of the youngest boy, Arthur.

The mother who has never found happiness from her husband strives to look for it in her sons. In some way, she takes first the eldest, William, and then, the second eldest, Paul, as her lovers. (The story is not about incest, but rather about deep rooted feelings of companionship and adoration)

But her love for them makes all their lives crumble. The two sons could never love any woman through and through and that is what makes them miserable and suicidal. Paul (a character envisaged in similarity to the author himself) derives a bond of spiritual love with a farmer’s daughter, Miriam, who worships him. They have a relationship of mind, intellect and spirit. Paul also begins a passionate affair with a married woman, Mrs. Clare Dawes, who stays away from her husband. The harder they may try, they could never have Paul as a whole person.

Paul’s relationship with his mother is mingled with love and its produce, hatred. Sometimes, they are lovers enjoying a visit to different places and sometimes, they are distant to each other, brooding in their own worlds. Mrs. Morel could not approve of her sons’ lovers, her sons can’t devote themselves to their lovers, the lovers can never have enough of the sons, and everyone suffers in this overwhelming propinquity.

In the nexus of these characters, Lawrence brings forth a story of coming of age, of family, of love and hate, of relationships that are indefinable.

Some thoughts about the book:

1. The book was quite scandalous on its release, with its open portrayal of sex and related symbolic imagery. Lawrence has a knack for depicting the sensual moments in the form of colors, textures, and flowers, depicted in the scene.

2. The three lady characters: Mrs. Morel, Miriam, and Clara, form a circle around the male protagonist, Paul.
Mrs. Morel is the conscientious mother who has devoted her life and love to her sons. She derives happiness from Paul’s successes in painting. Paul succeeds for his mother. They have a bond deeply rooted in their need for each other. They make a whole, which no one is allowed to penetrate and if one does, one can’t stay for long. This relationship is naturally attributed to The Oedipean complex.

3. Miriam is my favorite character in the novel, and the most intricately structured, according to me. She is shy, introvert and deeply religious and finds first intellect and then, a love that goes beyond the realms of the world, in Paul. She is someone who lives for the afterlife much more than the life itself. Paul describes her love as, “You don’t want to love-your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.”

4. Clara is a feminist, and yet, she is confused in her resolve. She is stuck between her husband and her lover, Paul. Paul’s relationship with Clara is that of passion, which withers with time. Clara is not a main character, but you can’t ignore her either.

5. The writing is impeccable; the sentences are short and poetic. The words weave living and breathing images and the complexity of the love is so finely articulated in these pages. This is a book which tends to get boring in between due to repetition, but that repetition is also necessary. It is quite long and is intended to be read patiently. It took me about 8-9 days for reading it.
Quoting an excerpt from the novel,
“To know their own nothingness, to know the tremendous living flood which carried them always, gave them rest within themselves. If so great a magnificent power could overwhelm them, identify them altogether with itself, so that they knew they were only grains in the tremendous heave that lifted every grass blade, its little height, and every tree, and living thing, then why fret about themselves?”

Why indeed!

I would recommend this book to patient readers, who loves the art of language and the need for the understanding of love and relationships. It is quite a depressing read, and that must be taken into account before you decide to hurl yourself into this story.

View all my reviews

Changes

Change is a part of life.

Isn’t that true? And that becomes even more true when we think about our ways of socializing, sharing our work and communicating with others. We change, our ways change and that brings a change in the product that we produce.

That is what has happened with this blog. If you think you have come to some unknown space where you don’t know the person behind the words, I’d make it clear that it is I, Anmol, your HA, and I have transformed this significant component of my life as I begin to take new steps in this world. My journey began as HowAnxious and that would always be attached with me and that is why, the blog address remains the same. But now I am welcoming you to enter a new area which is my place: HA’s place, for sharing, communicating, writing, thinking out loud and just plain musing.

I am enthusiastic about it because there are going to be many changes that I’d like to experience with you, as I try out new things and add some spark to the old ones to bring out a rejuvenated effort on my part and your support that being the only thing which would help me course through it.

Some new changes for your consideration:

  • A New Introductory Page: This is Me! (The name stays the same but it is too different to make you remember of the past page).
  • A New Category: Where I felt the Love, in which I have included some of your favorite posts by me, where I was sincerely touched by your feedback and your wondrous words.
  • A New Theme With A New Look, so as to make the blogging environment more reader friendly and including such aspects which would strengthen our bond.
  • A Random Post Generator Button, which you will find on the left hand side of the page, so that with a click, you can reach a randomly generated post from the past and help me revive the magic of days gone by to add into the colors of today.

There are certain more changes to come, which will appear in due time. Your feedback is much appreciated. Do tell me, what do you think of the transformation? Or just say hello to me. I have a new policy of replying to almost all the comments that I receive and I am going to adhere to that seriously.

Thank You.

She is a Woman

Threshold by Chantal e.y. Bethel

she sings her sweet song, which seems to have risen

from within her smooth skin, vibrating in her strides,

as she plays with her eyes, with smiles, she has stored

in her sighs, as she gets along, she spreads warmth,

shielding us from every storm to come, she is she-

a woman who lives a part of her story, through

her gestures, her expression that tingle the skin of

us lookers, having us laugh with her, pray, sing her

in our words, she is a woman, she strives for love,

she is a key of piano; to touch her is to surge into

the sacred waters, she seeps into our minds to

have us looking for her, even when she’s not there,

she is a woman, a sorceress who carves us into

what we are capable to be, she is a goddess,

she is a mother, a lover, a bond, she is a woman,

she is always the flame that lights our lives,

she is the best as she is, different, wicked, sweet,

she is a woman, and hence she sings, a woman

playing roles unflinching throughout her life,

she is a woman who is everything, that is to be

.

Happy International Women’s Day. This simple poem is a tribute from my side to all the women.

And to end this post, let’s relive the song by Billy Joel:

Bleeding into the night by her red cape

alas! it was her dire desire to drive

my heart, into a bull broken beside

by her red cape, bleeding into the night,

painting sullen soil with fingers that slide

in pools of her vestige, a snide sewage

of cognition of her, her presence saved,

it lingers in the air, her perfume made

from marigolds papered from ashen face,

that turned away from my sight, not to nurse

my wounds stained by steel, of her solemn church

of apathy, of angst, of ache, much worse

than what shows on her portrait in my purse,

a remnant of her, a part with me back,

lumping my love, there ain’t no pain like that

.

A little too late… for dVerse Meeting the Bar, where Mr. Tony Maude commenced the game of Bouts-rimés.

A Happy Valentines’ Day to the love birds. And the rest of you who are just like me, go eat some chocolate. I had a coconut candy instead. 🙂

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Note(16 Feb): I have two new pieces written but I am just not in the mood of editing. Therefore, I am submitting the link of this one for Poetry Pantry. I will be here and there, fleeting from one to place to another, but I will reach you in the end to enrich myself with your words. Have a good day. 🙂