Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
- - Chapter 2: Adult Responsibility (With Some Breaks) - -
By ten years old, no weekends off,
Or Saturday cartoons,
Although I did have cash to spend,
I felt my life in ruins.
I dusted cars in my dad's store,
And cleaned its toilets too,
I fixed truck tires as I got old,
Not much I couldn't do.
A trip to two month summer camp,
I learned to shoot and sail,
At twelve years old, a pioneer,
Canoed explorer's trail.
Near tragedy on my return,
My sister paralyzed,
A late victim of polio,
My conscience brutalized.
Felt guilty leaving her alone,
While I frolicked and played,
Brotherly love had been displaced,
Her protection was waylaid.
The washers, dryers, I repaired,
And freezers with no chill,
Then televisions came along,
Tube testing my new skill.
Assembling new farm implements,
And posting parts on hand,
My driver's license opened doors,
‘Collected bills' firsthand.
On Sundays we would go to church,
To hear the preacher tell,
Because my dad was not with us,
His soul would burn in Hell.
Dad's Channelled Poem-
[‘It's bad news when a preacher comes.
They all want stuff for free.
I have to feed my children too,
I've problems they don't see.']
Three years of summer music camps,
In Junior High reborn,
I played piano in dance bands,
Took lessons on French Horn.
My French Horn teacher laughed out loud
When I walked through the door,
‘Your lips too thick, please stick out tongue, '
Now rolling on the floor!
‘To take your money is a crime, '
The German said to me,
‘You've no high notes, ' ‘I know' I said,
‘Mom loves French Horn you see.'
Most summers were our busy time,
We all worked hard till dusk,
My ‘tail rung through a ringer, ' (1) la, *
The time for ‘smart mouth' (2) brusque.
But then the job that I loved best,
Flat tractor tires in field,
A chance to meet a farmer's girl,
The country's charm revealed.
One summer worked a cattle herd,
Two thousand cows were planned,
By cutting, wind-rowing (3) the grass,
Soon haystacks dotted land.
Dakota winters could be fierce,
The temp forty below,
The stacks were shelter from the wind,
A shield from blinding snow.
We'd use a horse for round-up, la! *
My God that was a thrill,
Except for blisters on your ass,
Or when you took a spill.
I had not ridden horses much,
You're so far from the ground,
The horse not knowing you from spit, (4)
Disdain can be profound! '
There was no time for niceties,
And work to do, ‘C'MON! '
If horse and you somehow part ways,
No choice, you climb back on.
Our ranch was all on ‘Indian Res., ' (5)
By river loop enclosed,
In South Dakota's Lower Brule, (6)
A twelve year lease proposed.
Land acres more that twenty thou.
Covered by native grass,
A chance like this was very rare,
My father could not pass.
The river's edge a solid fence,
No barbed wire to maintain.
The nearest town two hours by road,
Our days were mostly work and sleep,
With meals our only break,
Except for weekend groc'ry trips,
No chance for love's heartache.
Till I discovered farmer's girl,
Who lived half way to town,
Contrived a way to go to church,
When Sunday's call came down.
The church's name not one I knew,
The people all seemed nice,
To escape Sunday's usual fare
Was worth most any price.
Played music we could sing,
The pastor beat foot-pedalled drum,
We made the rafters ring!
I told myself, ‘there's something strange,
The music's gone too long, '
Emotion peaking and yet I
Somehow did not belong.
With music's end the sermon broke,
The world's sure end was near,
Time now to sanctify all sin,
‘Repent now! God's word hear.'
For God's quite mad, this cannot stand,
No doubt that it is prov'n
Those rockets from Canaveral
Are shooting holes in Heav'n.
I was in shock, glued to my seat,
The flock their garments rent,
And I the last one in his seat,
No sin did I lament!
At last not knowing what to do,
I left and went outside,
And knew whatever happened now,
I hadn't found my bride.
August 20, 2014
* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of 7
surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became very
close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was kind of
cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some food, la.'
They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation. 'You've got
food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic affectation.
(1) 'tail rung through the ringer' - Early washing machines did not have a 'spin cycle.' So
to get the excess water out of your clothing you would ring out the water from each item
of clothing first before hanging it on a clothes line to dry completely in the sun. So the
phrase 'tail rung through the ringer' means that you are all out of energy, and very tired.
The energy has been squeezed out of you by your job like water rung out of newly
(2) 'smart mouth' Someone who likes to talk back to authorities, or who just complains all
(3) 'wind-rowing' - To rake newly cut grass into long rows called 'wind-rows' that could be
more easily picked up and bailed then by yet another machine.
(4) 'not knowing someone from spit' - To have no respect for the person at all.
(5) ‘Indian Res’ – Land that Indian’s were given official title to by the American
government in an attempt to placate and domesticate them.
(6) ‘Lower Brule’ – A huge tract of Indian Land contained in a large meander of the
Missouri River. Although the mouth of this loop is only one mile wide, to get from one side
of the meander by river is over 28 miles. Lower Brule is owned by the Cherokee Indian
Long poem by
Broken Wings | Details |
I want to tell you the story of my life. I was born in a barn at dawn. There were
eight of us but I was the only one with spots. I was a calico cat. Soon people came
to look at us and I was the first to be adopted. I came to live with an old lady in the
city. It was a heritage building made into apartments, it was warm and cozy. There
were many window ledges for me to look out and my old lady was very sweet. She
gave me a bowl of milk every single day and she gave me lots of treats. Soon I grew
into a very fat cat. The years passed quickly and we became best of friends. Talking
and watching television and going for naps. One day we went for our afternoon nap,
the day passed, the evening passed and the night passed. They found me beside
her. She had died in her sleep.
There was so much commotion that I ran away and went into the back of the
bedroom closet. I stayed there a long, long time until I was being dragged out by
my tail, I screeched and tried to scratch but I was put in a box. It was dark and I
was so afraid. Time went by, tick, tick. Then a girl was peaking into the box at me.
Hello pretty girl, she said. I heard people talking and they were telling her that if
they could not find a home for me that I would be put to sleep. Hold on I wanted
to say, I don't need any help sleeping. The girl had tears rolling down her cheeks.
She had a sweet way and lifted me out of the box. Oh my, she said, you are a big
girl. I was not a girl really, I was by this time an old cat, 14 years old in cat years.
We sat on the sofa and I was being petted gently, I liked that, so I purred. Then,
the girl said, I'll take her and that is when she became My Girl.
My Girl lived in the same heritage building and her apartment was just down
the hall. It was sunny and bright and had many windows also. I soon realized that
I was not the only cat here. I was introduced to Violet Patches, also a calico cat,
years older than me. And I was told that I had a new name, it was Pearl Smudges.
Don't laugh because it could have been Chocolate Peanut Butter Parfait! At first,
I did not like Violet Patches but in no time we were friends. She was a very feisty
cat, leaping and running all over the place. I was amazed how high she could jump.
I could not jump because I was fat.
At feeding time, a tablespoon of meat was put in my bowl and I gobbled it up.
In a moment it was gone. I gave My Girl the look, you know the look but she only
laughed. I went to check the bowl several times. Not until lunch, she said to me.
Then we played, oh it was lovely, there were balls and fuzzy mice and this dangling
thing that I loved. I knew I could hold onto it but it kept getting away. Violet
Patches kept stealing the toys and I wanted to chase her, but I was getting tired
So I went for a nap on the bed where My Girl had put a cozy blanket for me. I soon
fell asleep and I had dreams of the barn where I was born, I was kneading my
blanket and drooling. I looked around but I was alone. The sun was shining in
and I stayed there all day forgetting about food. Did I tell you I have no teeth.
We settled into a happy family and the years passed. I liked the summer when
My Girl would take us out in her small garden and we would sit in the sun. She had
two chairs in the beginning but had to go get another for herself. She let us sniff
the flowers and roll on her patch of green grass but she never took her eyes off us.
She always kept us safe, she even put up a fence so Violet Patches could not run out.
I would never run away, I was too happy to do that. We liked to sit on the window
ledges and watch the birds and squirrels, the trees, the rain and the world passing.
In the winter we tried to catch the snowflakes that hit the window. It was a nice
life. I loved My Girl and Violet Patches so much, but things changed.
Violet Patches got sick, real sick, she cried most of the time. My Girl was taking
her to the doctor all the time and each time came home with a new medicine to try.
Oh, how Violet Patches hated that medicine, she would run and hide. Often I wanted
to stop My Girl but did not know how. Then, one morning My Girl got the cat
carrier out, she put Violet Patches inside and left. When she came back the carrier
was empty and My Girl was weeping and weeping. I knew then that my friend was
gone. I wrapped myself in my blanket and stayed there for three days. I did not
eat or drink. I heard My Girl talking and she was saying that maybe she was going
to lose another cat. That day she came and sat on the bed beside me. She said,
Pearl Smudges I need to talk to you. You need to stop this, you need to come off
this bed and eat something, so come on, come on. She left the room. I thought
about that for a moment then decided that My Girl needed me.
It has been several weeks now since that sad day and we have settled into a
routine, we get up and have breakfast. I have discovered that I like tea. My Girl
caught me with my tongue in her cup so she now gives me a saucer of tea. I have
lost weight and eat good food but not junk. We play a lot with all my toys. When
My Girl leaves for work I go back to my blanket, the sun comes shining in and I roll
and roll, it is so lovely. Slowly, I am coming to terms with the loss of my cat friend
and I am determined to be the best cat in the world for My Girl who saved me from
being put to sleep, forever. I am not sure how much time I have left, myself, for I
am a very, very old girl.
"I lay back on the living room carpet,
washing my face and whiskers;
and checking out my paws."
April 16, 2015
Prose/Personification with ending Kimo
For the contest, Knight Writers Club, Grand Opening
Sponsor, Tyshawn Knight
Long poem by
Joe Flach | Details |
I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school. Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls. My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot. The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.
She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment. She was in way over her head. She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing. The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields. If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.
The music class was a mad house. She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell. I mean, music class? Really?
We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.
For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.
One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class. I was the only one that actually stayed. She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in. Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.
“What am I doing,” she cried. "I can’t do this. I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this. Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”
I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say. I felt like a real jerk. I was a real jerk.
Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face. She bowed her head and just sobbed. In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me. And I hugged her while she wept.
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me. I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms. I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.
She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that. You may go.”
I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room. It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams. To hell I go, for sure.
I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not. The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun. I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters. I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way. She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.
At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year. Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college. It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college. I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.
During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class. It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.
“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.
“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Take some time off. Work. Nothing. I don’t know. Why is it so important to everyone? When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”
“They just care about you.”
“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.
She smiled at me. I had been dreaming about her now for six months. I changed the topic.
“Have you ever kissed a boy?”
She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school. I did have boyfriends.”
“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.
“No. Not the way you mean.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”
“No. Never,” she lied.
“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”
“No. I believe you when you say you just need some time off. I think that is a good idea.”
Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away. Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”
She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.
During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma. I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.
I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell. Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice. That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.
Long poem by
J. W. M. Earnings | Details |
I’m broke without your love to repair me…
My young heart breaks into two and you push on the brakes…
Three strikez…you’re owt…. Get lost….that is my only plea
Our lives were at stake and we were taking way tooooo many risks…for my cat’s 9 sakes
We were 1…whatever happened to that?
Who release the rat? Was that you, cat?
We are 2…what’s wrong with you?
Why did you lose your other shoe?
There it goes again…. ………
Let the pain I inflict upon you
Internalize for a second or two
You filled my cup half empty…
You ran me over by words of deception
Why did I fall in love so easily?
How come I fall victim to you?
Flames of uncertainty overwhelm my heart…
This is only the inception
Get up from the ground, you sheepish animal
Try your best to lift your head above the surface
Dead carcasses of negativity surround you now…
Your only hope is to grab the rope of hope,
But first let me grab it for you…
*we’re made as one…body….* said the voice in my head … …. …….. ……..
You need to rest on my shoulders for the meantime
Shocked out of the bloo…. Left without a clue
Don’t touch me…don’t lust over me…
I can see dirty secrets in your eyes of envious glee…
You knocked me out by your avalanching grace
Thought of you, drowning in the waters of woe…
You touched my heart in many ways…
You blew things into proportion…but it was “one of dose dayz”
You don’t even get the clues that I show you right in your face
I reveal to you my heart’s passion
You take over me…you haunt me…
I step forward and you step backward…
Breathe into me…let me borrow your eyes…
Let me view the world in your eyes…
I want to know something…
I’m curious of what lies behind your sea-whirling eyes
Love me…DO please me…
the abyss is kissing me…
HATE ME…don’t COMFORT ME…
the light is fading out…
i need u
i want u
s p a y s e d o w t a l l o v e d e h s u h h d d i n
mY LiFe IS fUlL oF errors…it ees a mezzzzzz
*IT’S TIIIIIME TO CLEAN UP YOUR ACT…………* said the voice in my head
I want to be feeling your heartbeat against my chest
I see the world beneath my feats…I’m above all…
Ill-um-i-nate me with syllabic pleajsher
My heart is skipping out on beats…I’m missing out and abandoned like an orphan, relying on a weeping widow…she bit me with denial…I was a flaw from the start….unfreeze this heart of mine…I’m as joyous as a swine, but as insidious as a serpent…but I’m feeeeeeeelin’ fiiiiiine…..ssssssssshhhh! Don’t tell nobody…d o n o t tell ahhhh sssssssssingle ssssssoul…don’t ma-a-a-ake a sound….you pushed me down to the ground s= s= embarrassed…I’m ready for anything right now…I’m lost, wearing an upside down frown and feel me…the pain that beats me and shreds me like paper….useless paper…I’m shattering like glass…after the kid’s ball hits through it…he’s in awe and he runs away…he hides the evidence of his foolish throwing skillz – this price is blooming bigger like a rose in the paws of the beast…you ssssspiral out of shhhhhight…I waited for you…alone….but I’m not on my own……….I’m not made as one – I’m two again…you inflict pain upon my tortured, tear-jerking soul…your veins become serpentine
To my own…we share each other’s blood
You WILL feel my pain, bud
the pressure of your gravity pulled me down callously
Distracts scar me…in a lightyear moment
Caught in a sugar-coated bliss of a dream
GrAzE iN YOUR OWN MAZE
There’s No Medication To Heal This Hart-ake…
I ake…I crave cake…I bake in the oven…feelin’ like a flake…
GIMMEEEEE A CHANCE…
GIMMEEEEE A TRY
I stand strong…brain damaged by your words of calculus-complicated definitions
I fell harder…dig in my mind…
((((( . ))))) push me in the margins why don’t you? I’m that dot in the middle of the brackets
I want something more than what life gives me right now
I fought…I fought
But, I’m not satisfied…
I’m loathed by many…
Maybe that’s what I feel like at times – LOATHED BY ALL
I’m unique…I’m an angry guy…
I wish I wouldn’t act like a fly…
I’m entitled to your love…
I can’t fly away like a happy-go-lucky dove
Death ove you stix to me like a leach in my mind…………
I need not man’s wizzdumb…no, not right now….
I need God’s KINGDOM and wisdom
God’s Kingdom + His wisdom = peace on Earth
It’s not dat complicated…
Do me a favor and indulge yourselves in the delicacies of sin
Listen listen listen not to the lies…listen listen listen to the heart that beats from deep within
My heart is sinking……
Patience is the key to living life to the fullest
Acceptance is the key to freedom … just try your best to pass this diff-eh-colt test
I deserve you and your gifts
Envying your talents…that’s juzz bramazing…
: ( sad to the core,
but I don’t want to sadden you anymore
This revealed my crazyyyy side…
This darkness submitted to me and said its vows like a mesmerizing, yet spellbindingly evil bride…
I’m under your shpell……..
Change your mind….
Tear me apart and crawl inside of my cranium of titaniumb bliss….
Hardening by the minute…I crawl back into my comfort shell
Bring me to life and undo these lies in my head….
I’ve overheard you saying: “It’s hard for me to figure you out”
Dreams of demented, dangerous desire enrapture me…
Don’t choke me with your polluted nature of twisted reverie
Have you changed your mind about me?
How do I look in the eyes of the thief?
Suck it up…I put my shoes on and I cut off the laces…I know – I’m doing this for stupid reasons, but I’m still the boy that’s bold
Thhhose laces remind me of you and I, separated forever in reality…cruel departure embraced us…we were the clouds, growing cold…
Your hugs don’t feel the same anymore, you see?
Here’s a heart/|\kerchief to wipe away your grief… … …
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6
Brahmari Pranayama or Humming Bee Breath
IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes
of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try
to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date…
How to do Brahmari Humming Bee Pranayama
Sit in Sukhasana (Step 1) or in Padmasana in the morning hours, if you have achieved easiness to sit in Padmasana or else sit in Sukhasana. It is important that while performing Brahmari your stomach should be empty and bowls clear. Sit erect while practicing Brahmari in a neat and clean, quiet and calm place preferably an open place.
Raise your both arms and bring your all four fingers as a screen on your eyes. Now close your ears by the tips of your thumbs in such a way that your index fingers are touching your eyebrows and the middle finger the inner corner of your both eyes and other two fingers rests on the slopes of your nose and face joints gradually.
Take a deep breath and fill your lungs with the fresh air and then exhale slowly from both the nostrils while creating a humming sound. At the time of doing this do not open your ears and keep pressing it gently so that your humming sound gets more clear and it create vibrations in your mouth, throat, ears, eyes and even other parts of your body ( this stage would come when you practice this exercise regularly )
Try to creat the humming sound continuously as loud and clear as possible for you.
IN PRAISE OF BRAHMARI PRANAYAMA
We all know and accepts
The miracles of Sound
On everything which
We live, we love, and we work
We play and we laugh
With one or the other kind of sounds
We become harsh or soft
Even we weep and sometimes
We hate with some or the other kind of sounds only
These are all the effects of
Which make us
What we are and what
We become as a man or woman in life
Kind hatred or benevolent
A lover or a hater
A teacher or a Poet, a writer or an artist or a Musician
A leader or a preacher
A dictator or a Don.
When sound comes
From a serene source
It binds the hearts
And we began to love and adore
That sound and even that source
And keep it as a source of energy and joy.
But when it comes
A biased mind and selfish source and
Tries to destroy our peace
And began to dictate us
We feel fed-up
To bear that sound
And then we try
To get rid of that source or sound.
Brahmari or the humming Sound
Is one such elegant self-music
Which opens our heart and mind
With its vibrations
To fill life in those dead or sluggish
Nerves and spine
The Melody not only
In your voice but also in your heart and mind.
Restore your love and even your confidence
Bringing your beloved more close to you
And you to your beloved
Becomes a soft target of differences
Age effected unnoticed deeds and actions.
Brahmari gives you the boon of
Music and melody
Even when age has taken you
On the withering heights of life
You often find yourself standing alone
Looking for someone to
Restore your energy and mind.
The miracles of
Humming bee sounds
Brings an instant coolness
To your otherwise
Anguished mind and heart
Which began to enjoy
The colors and moods
Of Love and Life
A peaceful mind
Is the dwelling place of heavenly gestures
And even of God.
The regular practice of
Balances your hormonal secretions
Invigorating the thyroid gland
And thus increasing your metabolism.
Even Brahmari balances
Your blood sugar and helps
In our body and
It completely removes the causes which
Leads to the curse of human body
By giving you the joys and comforts of
Relaxation which ultimately
Soothes your Heart to pump more actively
The fresh flow of blood
To your nerves and mind
Thus making your pressures
To work happily
Without crossing the limits
Unless you have done some extreme wrongs.
It’s a boon for those
Who suffers from Diabetes and heart problems
And a real gift of God
For those who are in pregnancy
As its wonderful effects on
Human nervous system
Effects the pituitary gland
To balance the growth and control
Of hormones in our body
Thus the practice of this wonderful
Pave way for easy and trouble free
Child birth or delivery.
I often ponder
What a treasure of blessings
Yoga has given to the world and
In these simple and wonderful
To make every human being
More befitting and joyous
To enjoy the blessings of Nature
Thus elevating the human body to absorb
The Beams of the Light and Love of God.
Kanpur 4th Aug. 2013
Duration: Not more than 3 to 5 times in a day in the beginning. Maximum 10 to 12 times only in a day without any force beathing or straining yourself.
01. Never perform this Prayanama while you are lying down
02. If you are having any ear infection do not perform Brahmati till your ears get rid of all infections.
03. Do not hold your breath while doing Brahmari and Heart problem persons should do it under a trained instructor only.
04. Do not perform it when you are not empty stomach and try to perform it preferably in the morning/evening hours only.
05. If for any reasons you do not feel comfortable stop it and take few normal deep breaths
IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try to restart
Yoga in Poem at a later date…
Brahmari Pranayama is a boon for human being
brought mainly in the lime light of the world
by Swami Ram Deoji about 20 years back.
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions,
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar
than those receiving undue benedictions.
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.
Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.
While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent,
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.
Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
As sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.
Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage,
art resists validity, upsets stone walls
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego,
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo.
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal.
but curtailed are epics that still implore
like the cusp of dream long after you wake
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.
* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O.
About this poem
This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time!
These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.
I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this. I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows?
Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!
Long poem by
Reshad Yahyaie | Details |
Once there was a girl with a tough personality. She was considered to be a friendly and talkative. She was extremely tough regardless of love and crashes. She had wishes and dreams but was never sure when it’s gone come true. She was hard working always to satisfy her family and be a great daughter. She was tough about love but at the same time she knew a special and incomparable person will come to her life, who will be very different than others. When and where she will meet him, she never thought about it because she believed that we shouldn’t look for love, the reason was that love comes itself. However let’s see how and where she finds that special person.
One night after working so hard of her project she was bored.
“Oh God I am so bored let’s see if my friends are online I will talk to them but at the same time gone download a song” she got online but unfortunately non of her friends were online so she thought to herself why don’t I make a new friend she requested a random boy who she never knew before. After a week passed and that boy accepted her request but they never got the chance to talk to each other.
“Oh this boy looks so cute but why can’t I talk to him” although she wasn’t trusting any boys but her heart would tell her that this boy seems to be a good boy. So she used to leave an offline massages for him in order to contact each other and be friends. One day they both were online so their conversation started.
Boy… how are u and how did u added me
Girl… I’m fine thanks well I was bored last week so I randomly added u.
They started questioning each other and she asked him have you got a brother or a sister he answered I have 5 sister but no bro. She reply but I have 2 sis and no brother. The time of Salah came and she had to pray and she asked if she can leave the conversation and pray but he was surprised that she prays. After she did her prayers she asked him why were you surprised when I said its time for me to pray? He reply afghans who live in foreigner most of them are not religious.
Weeks passed and one day she was so excited.
Girl… You know what
Girl… I have a new baby sister
They kept contacting each other even though he had exams on that time but he would still take out some time for her. At the same time he would study for exams.
Few month later they became best friends and one day he told her that he like her but she didn’t understand what does he mean by like. She called her best friend and told her he told her that he likes her but she doesn’t know why he said this because he loves her or just a simple like.
Hey dude … he told me he likes me but I don’t know what he means by that.
My Friend… ha ha stupid liking is the first step of love I think he loves u.
She also liked him but she needed time to know him more. He was so innocent and respectful boy she had ever meet. They became so closer and their friendship turned to love after a passing of time. She didn’t know much about his family and background but however she loved him and thought he is a right person for her life partner.
For every relationship to became stronger and trust worthy it needs time. Relationships are like building a house. Some relationship ends fast because it was build quick and the foundation was not strong enough but some relationships last forever the reason is that the foundation which that relationship was build was strong. The foundation of every relationship is trust, promises, honesty, truthfulness, modesty, respect and most important thing is a true love. Be the kind of person you would like to be with. Some people come into our lives, make footprints on our hearts and we are never the same. People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.
She always wanted someone who is respectful and modest towards girls. Someone who is honest but she never saw any boy with those qualities in him, she only saw those qualities in him. Even though she faced so much hardships, impenetrability and tests in life however she knew that when Allah tests you, it is never to destroy you, it’s to teach us something in life that we do not know. When he removes something in your possession it is only to empty your hands, for an even greater gift. She learned so much from those test and tried hard to become better Muslim.
Now they know each other and they love each other a lot. She has a full trust on him more than herself. Even though they sometimes have argument for some Issues but their love is strong enough and they are a smart people to find the solutions. No matter what we face and how we act towards it but it shouldn’t affect a person’s trust and love in relationship because it’s so hard to make one and takes a second to destroy it. This was a good story. It’s sad that it takes a long time for people to understand values and life. We as people are so consumed with our own lifestyles and duties we have made for ourselves.
I miss him more then he could ever know, I often ask Allah why did he have to go? I fell in love and he means so much to me, if he could look into my heart then he could see. I found something so special and it is for real, being without my love is so hard to deal. I'll be here waiting until I can be with you again, because not only are you the love of my life you are also my friend.
I just want to tell you,
I think of you every moment of the day.
And how much I love you,
Words could never even say....
I just want to tell you,
I love you with all my heart.
I wish for us to be together,
Never shall we be apart.
Long poem by
Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |
PASSION OF CONVENTION
She grabbed his voice
Though conference din
Sought to win his gaze--
But crowds of gabbers tottered in...
He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
Distracted by a phone call--faded from his day.
But oh, that face....
Would not be gone....
of passion's eyes--
Fate teased in him
Brash Upward Plans--
Of course, his heart must be attached--
Her stubborn mind
holds fast to dreams,
bows to Fate--
but loathe to schemes....
In sultry dreams
The night is theirs
Palm to Palm--
All answered Prayers.
Besieged by bliss--
of moonlit kiss
she Owns his Face
sweet charmed caressing
that leaves no trace
but silent blessing
Over a shoulder
behind a pole
he saw a face
that grabbed his soul
wild hair so red
his heart caught fire
hands of grace
could capture choirs
Laugh of bells
tolled 'cross the hall
just as he moved
he had a call--
stepped out in search of quiet space,
cut short his call
yet lost her face--
She was gone...
a f_cking awful
He's lost his chance,
in town One Night.
Her essence brands,
Flays bare his heart--
But business swirls
tho hard to place
She is a tune he can't erase
the Dreamers tryst
shake clouds above
She nuzzles love
and slips o-er him
in Passion's Glove.
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - -
My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)
As such he seldom raised his head,
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years,
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .
A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)
Destroying our downtown,
It, cut a swath near one mile wide,
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red,
Dad put me in the car,
But roads were blocked in just three blocks,
The world become bizarre!
Barbed wire that penetrated trees,
Homes cracked like eggs insides,
Our home had grass blades drove like nails,
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history,
My dad was gone for days,
Storm victims sleeping on our floor,
The whole town in a daze.
Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town,
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)
Attended too the poorest school,
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card,
No pretense there to see,
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm,
(Or to her tongue of fire) ,
For with Dad's stature in the town,
Few dared to risk her ire!
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools,
Complained it wasn't fair,
Till they encountered Sis and I,
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy,
And ‘ART' (6) the air she breathed,
Though slight she strongly stood her ground,
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference,
Just sometimes things were tough,
Our clothing did set us apart,
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there,
The same clothes thru the week,
Impoverished not just in clothes,
But that which all men seek.
I had a bike to ride around,
Of course it was a Schwinn,
And almost always home for lunch,
For Mom thought we were thin,
With two desserts at every meal,
(And Mom was quite a cook.)
But if you didn't clean your plate,
From Dad you got a look,
The waste of food a mortal sin,
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)
Made every meal traumatic fare,
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me,
Depression's (8) oldest child,
I mourn the innocence he lost,
That made his wrath seem mild.
Our parent's roles were well defined,
My dad brought home the bread,
My mom the joy of hearth and home,
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments,
But whippings weren't enough,
We even weren't allowed to cry,
To show we had the stuff!
Small wonder romance frightened me,
(So sure I'd be like him) ,
To challenge violence I feared,
Chose music over gym.
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great
Depression and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950) in the Mid-West, divided into
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete
* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of
7 surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became
very close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was
kind of cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some
food, la.' They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation.
'You've got food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic affectation.
(1) ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years old when ‘The Great
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2) Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3) ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado,
he doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the
local banks to do so.
(4) 'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only'
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5) 'living too high on the hog' - an idiom referring to people who have to have the
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they
can't really afford them.
(6) ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life!
(7) ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8) 'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though
I guess!) Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale.
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .
Long poem by
Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |
“I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before and
I hope to return a thousand times after.” GOETHE
Once upon a time,
The Lord of spiritual consciousness was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, no oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was happy with His existence
Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred from its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and all the other elements
That constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time
When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets
Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,
In this way, to manifestation’s cosmic sphere, the souls were beamed
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!
Each soul an ambassador was and is of God’s will and grace
A ray of divinity, a guardian of the Holy Law
Each with a specific mission: to learn or rather to remember
How to find the way of return throughout space and time
And with the divine, again, to be seen in perfect equilibrium
The day I was born, as every man alive,
I found my immortal self bound to the wheel of time
That around eternity’s circumference took me, in very heavy chains
Asking to follow obediently the unswerving path of fate:
This endless trip of return where the only constant thing is change
Since then I have died once and many times after
But death's dark palaces to hold me were unable
As my soul’s perpetual desire to follow my destiny
Brought me back to this ephemeral world of fleeting dreams
With a new body, new hopes, new goals but always with the
Thus I journeyed back and forth the plains of oblivion
Choosing the best conditions I could, according to my karma
Trying to find endlessly the golden middle way
That unmistakably between the extremes is only to be found
But since from the river of forgetfulness each time I was drinking
I was obliged, unfortunately, to start over again
So, I was born once a king and another was I born a beggar
And in turns I was born a coward, a hero, a holy man, a vicious man,
A Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, an idolater a strong man and a woman
And healthy and sick I was born and intelligent and witless
And was I born to love so much the things I once detested
And to hate passionately the things I once held dear
And I was born once to laugh and another just to cry
And I drunk successively from joy’s cup and that of sorrow’s
And was born to make friends out of my enemies
And enemies out of my brothers
And was born to realize the impossible dreams and fail the very easy
And I was born to slay and to be slain alternatively for thousands of years
Thus I lived continuously the extremes of both good and evil
Striving to find endlessly the balance in my soul
Through the wisdom that was endowed upon me by the Great Spirit
That like a beacon, luminous, to guide me waits
To my supreme destiny that GOD for me has traced
So, as was passing from life unto death, from darkness unto light
With a speed determined by me, I don’t put on GOD the blame,
All my lessons have I learned through trial and error
Up to the very last reincarnation, in body’s mortal temple
Now free, AT LAST, from all earthly desires and every karmic blame
Radiating with holiness and glowing with grace
My immortal soul, HER divine wings unfolds and soars upwards the heavens
White light blazing in perfect equilibrium
And pure now to her glorious creator returns and with
11 DECEMBER 2013
“A little while and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind and another woman shall bear me”
* This poem because of its length I was unable to post it in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: “CREATION” and as “REINCARNATION.” Here is the entire poem as it was originally written.
Now, my friends know that apart from my epigrams I write... long poems as well!