SALONI KAUL - POEMS

Saloni Kaul, author and poet, was first published at the age of ten and has been in print since on four continents. As critic and columnist Saloni has enjoyed forty one years of being published. Saloni Kaul's first volume, a fifty poem collection was published in the USA in 2009. Subsequent volumes include Universal One and Essentials All.
Most recent Saloni Kaul poetic production has been published in Misty Mountain Review, Mad Swirl (own poetry page)  , FIVE Poetry, The Penwood Review, Mantid Magazine, Blue Pepper, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Cabildo Quarterly, AJI Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, River Poets Journal, Belle Rêve Literary Journal ,Taj Mahal Review, Verbal Art, Poetry Pacific, Ink Sweat And Tears, Military Experience And The Arts (As You Were : The Military Review), Blueline , The City, OVI MAgazine and Five 2 One Journal . Upcoming publication acceptances include  The Penwood Review,  Scarlet Leaf Review , Cabildo Quarterly, The City and Five 2 One Journal  

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​ALL IN GOOD USE

Lazy for long to hints obtuse,
Steeped in slush slippery lubricities ,
Idling away long days equally lax lethargic,
Clear of strict edgy disciplinary precision ,

That selfindulgent languorous dreaminess ,
Lacking both energy enthusiasm to combat
The overwhelmingly oppressive stillness
Engulfing the world, clouds the horizons.

Then sudden like those unveiling of statues,
With eagle-eyed firmness, called for rigidity,
All that well-stored produce,
Still camphor-laden, unaired all, lack-lucidity,
Is put at once to use.
​

​ALL IN GOOD TIME

A garland of dry leaves
When flowers are out of season
Confers what little else then can.
A subsidy of fabulously fancy roses
When those heaped accolades are in
Mingles with the murmurs of sea in the saltpan.
The muttered thanks perfunctory, at the unneeded, of man.
                                                                                    The usual blunder of giving too much, too late peeves.


A timed convergence of high thought
Upon the concourse of specific measured space
Whittled like a rainbow out of the blue ,
Configurations of plain comprehension sought
Point beamed stark inexorably
Spot ineradicably on the grasping hand
And all is ascertainable, attainable, that’s true.

​OLD TIME PATTERNS PETALLINE

​Those petal peels from memory ,
On them is lingering on the dew ;
The texture silken satin smooth
And oh how warm emanates each hue!


How swift straight from antiquity...
To me comes clear each cue
And when it all eventually evaporates
There’s still the residue.

​BLUEPRINT & THE STARS ALL

​He was deft, dramatic and determined.
His aim was the perfect drive
Moulding physique and stamina,
Sheer genius and ability.
Blend of body and technique with style.


(On the one hand) : Proper club size,
measured flight curve and tee angle.
Envision trajectory all the way
and take into account air resistance.
Study the surface structure diligently
and go about ball rotation pin-pointedly.


(On the other hand): Posture is crucial,
power is premeditated, astutely planned.
Yet that intuitive great gut haul
and drive technique is all his very own.


To each his swing, unique as fingerprint blueprint.....


And the ball is lofted to where it has to go.
This one easily matching the speed of his car,
almost 300 km. / hour.
And it is all in the game !

​COLD IN THEIR ENCLAVE

​This time I hark after a distant sound
Dusting tall statuettes of gold.
I trace the songline to the edge of the mound
And sheer liquid gold gets sold.


I slowly chase the glinting staves
As their echoes recede.
I touch the statues one by one, meek slaves,
And in silence the acquiescing shadows all concede.

​SKY HIGH LOVE

You keenly wait to hear what I have yet to say
As clouds of streaming white go drifting by.
Then, as you look up, quite as clear as day,
In my own pointed way, like monthly pay,
My thoughts on love are posted on the sky.

​WAXING WANING

​Physical-spiritual fruition, a magical feat ,
Babe stretches to have feet bathed in currents.
Homage paid, waters beat their hasty retreat.

  In the poem on the Krishna legend , the babe saves his father from drowning as the Yamuna waters rise, from ankle level to waist and then to neck. The babe stretches his feet out from the basket. Waters only wishing to touch the feet of the god promptly subside in intensity and threat.