BIRTH OF NEW IDEAS IS INVENTIONS MADE.
YOUR INQUIRIES INSINUATE.
AMBITIONS GET YOU UP AND ON THE GO.
THEREFORE, SET YOUR GOALS.
OPTIMIZATION MAXIMIZES FUNCTIONALITY.
WONDERFUL IS THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN.
KNOW THAT LIFE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT!
UTOPIA IS THE IDEAL PLACE.
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Contest Name: Life is what YOU make it!
Entry Date: Thu, March 06, 2014
Motif: Life is what YOU make it!
They said I was chosen, one in a million
Part of an elite few, the men among children
Chosen to leave everything behind for education,
Engineering students, the pride of the nation!
Four years of hard work and determination,
Came close to failure, arrears, termination;
Dreams shattered, spirits broken, total annihilation;
New goals, new beginnings, rose up, rejuvenation.
Attended classes, learned stuff, ultimately forgot it
Placement time we revised, made up stuff, they bought it
Now we are placed and getting ready to face the world
We overcame; we conquered; we are Engineers!
Sally's stuffing eggrolls in the back room.
Filling them with beansprouts
in case they have a boom.
Hundreds of these eggrolls
piled high for later.
Boiled in an oil
for each and every crater.
Some will go behind the glass
warming in a pan;
shining in their dipping oil,
tempting for a span.
Placed upon a plate and shimmied
to the side;
up against some rice
that's deep and dark and fried.
Dipped into a plum sauce
sweeter than a sneer,
and spread out on your plate
as far as you can smear
Flavour by the mouthful
damp and moist and wet
Sally's making eggrolls
the best that I can get.
The poetaster attempted to write a couplet with success
The results were more than embarrassing nonetheless.
My muse is smooth, with ivory complexion.
Her full, pouty lips point in my direction.
Her face is chiseled; no make-up required.
Her beauty's breathtaking, never expired.
She would look stunning draped in leather or lace.
She has a renown, youthful, "commercial" face.
She inspires me with her gaze of intrigue.
She displays no sign of boredom or fatigue.
She does not care about what others think.
She holds a nonchalant stance, won't flinch or blink.
She does not argue, nor carry on a fuss.
It's quite tranquil when it's just the two of us.
My sweet muse is not alive, nor is she dead.
She poses proudly as a mannequin head.
Should I Say Who or Whom
An owl only went "who" which was wise
And would realize once you saw his eyes
He always had such a wonderful way
Of reading a poem he just wrote today.
God told him to always say who of course
And after having said hello to a horse
Her mane had lovely hair which was gray
But to read a poem she simply went nay.
Wise owl said horse don't be in a hurry;
With me, you will never have to worry;
Poem which I wrote have words that are two;
Even when he whispers, they are who-who.
Help me lord to always study
I want to be revived when I feel weary
I know I have no excuse to be lazy
When I will be crying for mercy from the almighty
My glory shall be unveiled
Even if situations tends not to aid
I’ve only wasted time when I wailed
Now, I know my success is what has been made
In the beginning’ challenges may seem so strong
With my God in me, I won’t go wrong
I will always confess success with my tongue
Then, at the end I will sing a joyful song
1.Nothing profitable to life
than giving to poor.
2.Praising is glory, if
given to poor.
3.Nothing last long than
the unique fame.
4.Achieving unending fame heaven
not praise saints.
5.Ruin and death rare
other than intellectuals.
6.Enter with determining fame
otherwise better disappear.
7.What use unfamiliar blaming
others instead repenting.
8.Not achieving unending fame
disgrace for mankind.
9.Land bearing unfamiliar people
diminishes its usefulness.
10.Life without defame, living
unfamiliar as unliving.
Dedicated to Thiruvalluvar(31B.C), the author in Tamil
Translated by S.Kandasamy, MUSIRI, TAMILNADU, INDIA
Published in poetrysoup.com on 13-12-13
Season of bliss; drops from afar pelt greens
Wearily grasses splashed and blushed in kins
Boring cold canopied the tired halls
Curtains of strained times peaked towering walls
This ageless path leads everywhere but home
Darkened lanes knitted its lenght in loose comb
Deeply watching roofs pecked in disarray
Through death holes, above vain pits, where dirts lay
At the circle of the beaded calabash-
Prime of the town; a lord hails with no match
His rod longs beyond radius of his sphere
His ways are perfect, to whom life is dear
Crowned lord of the soil, second to the gods
On stairs, where men stares, not step, his throne odds
Born in this month of clouds and thrills of rain
Skies of gloom enshrouds with chilled wails of pain
Evened feelings lacking densed parity
Still smile's kernel, shelters crude hope only
On nailed grounds, callus knees crawled back and forth
Boiling brooding blood blind with discomfort
And when june eloped with carved memories
Daring showers followed, that bode victories