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Best Poems Written by Migel Jayasinghe

Below are the all-time best Migel Jayasinghe poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Indulgence

A granite bust statuette of Nefertiti
Bought at Abu Simbel on our Egyptian cruise
Serves us as a solid paperweight
On windy mornings reading the 'Weekly News'. 

A cigar on the terrace is my only indulgence
Just one for the whole day not long after lunch
Before we set forth on our post-prandial stroll
Round the urbanisation; we're pleased as punch.

We may encounter an acquaintance or two
For a chin-wag, who'd fill us in on the local news
Some could be true, but mostly hot gossip
Flammable, but no way we'd blow our fuse. 

A poem gets written here right on this page
Without the least effort, (how stupendous!);
Who says English is not my first language?
I share this with you, and it's tremendous!

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

The Emperor of Exmoor

He lived too long and needed to be culled
The Emperor of Exmoor, the nine-foot tall stag;
His country-wide fame may have got him lulled
Into believing that he was invulnerable to be bagged

As magnificent dinner which would proudly enable
Visiting dignitaries at Her Majesty's table
To feast on the flesh of this royal beast;
No - the stag was too old to be relished as meat. 

It was his horns that the stalker had in mind
As a trophy to excel the best of its kind;
The emperor succumbed to a well-aimed shot
From a licensed assassin who felled him on the spot. 

The Emperor, Pharoah-like, partial to incest
Endangered the continuing survival of the fittest;
Bested by a young buck in a recent wrestling match
His reign had just ended as lord of his patch.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

Annihilation

Norman Wisdom, ninety-five, the comic actor dies in his sleep;
That is an exception, making headlines when violent ends have become the norm.
Bobby Sands, an IRA militant, died in prison, on hunger strike,
Baha Mousa, innocent Iraqi, died in custody, tortured, in chains.

Six million Jews of all ages, died in gas chambers - the Nazi Holocaust.
Two world wars of the recent past saw untimely massacre of many millions;
Hiorshima, Nagasaki, A-bombed victims were civilians, 
Yet all world religions proscribe taking the lives of fellow human beings. 

Death is demeaning to all who succumb, unless from age or natural cause,
Technology advances in geometric progression inflaming mankind's lust to kill;
Today's art and entertainment glorify extremes of violence and crime,
The end of the planet cannot be far off, as collective hatred explodes at will.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

Curtain Call

Curtain Call

Musings on more than a decade of retirement;
no report card scribble: ‘could’ve done better’.
Old put-downs, praise, blame, and shame,
all the same now. Nothing would jolt
the diurnal cadence of living and ageing.
Riding the bike, dip in the sea, few lengths in the pool
bringing wayward blood-sugar back to heel.
No excess, or excuse needed, for a glass or two with friends.

Eye-sight, reflexes, tested and judged
more than adequate for driving around
hoping to return before dark - unless, to pick up
or drop off family and friends at the airport – 
not forgetting the local fiesta, musical show, flamenco night,
costing next to nothing. 

Life’s purpose affirmed in every trivial act
presages loud hosannas before the curtain falls.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

My Teacher

She never cried at her husband's death
Whom she had nurtured in sickness and in health;
Her presence in Paris was no romantic dream
But a necessity occasioned by his treatment regime. 

Learned, cultured, a historian and scholar,
She edits his posthumous books with flair.
A teacher of English, acclaimed everywhere
From London to Paris, her students do care. 

Witty and alert in her ninth decade,
She teaches with love, no cost to her charges; 
They reach their goals, and sprng to the aid
Of a lady of true grit who asks no favours. 

My dream came true with her arrival in Spain
One week with us and off she goes again,
Leaving fond memories that will never fade,
A lady so special, she is queen of her domain. 

Her generosity is such that she feels the need to repay
Kindnesses shown in the smallest way;
Will we ever see such a fine lady again?
A lady of true grit, queen of her domain.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

Retirement

Evening of life when struggles are over
Living without luxuries on a small monthly pension
Never needing the ferry back from Calais to Dover. 

Fleet-footed days driven from season to season;
No clutter but the essentials with access to Internet,
A telephone landline, and a flat-screen television.

One spare room to accommodate the sure guest
Family or friend, who'll be pleased to drift in,
Claiming their turn for a holiday and rest. 

Neighbours invited for a tonic with gin
Discover the shops where the price could be lower
But cart away the empties to the recycling bin.

Some may believe that our lives are in clover
Depends whether you like it less fast, or much slower.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

Lifespace

Please grant me space, I want to live 
freed from past failure. A few forgotten 
triumphs, however thin, occasionally glimpsed
thru' polished armour; never a crusading knight 
advancing religion, faith or creed, instead,
offering taken-for-granted service
to fellow humans for small recompense.
Sequel to a long preparation in lowly work, inducing
contempt of others in looks, words and deeds.
Married, with dutiful mate sharing the happy burden,
keeping house, bringing up children, now grown and fled.

Recollections - ragged claws of acute acrimony 
grate on past-inflicted sores. Let me bury these
now, and find space here, where I want to live.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

New Horizon

Compelled to earn a living during my youth
By hard physical labour was not such a bad thing
When promoted to pen-pushing in early middle-age,
Acquired a spare tyre, most unprepossessing!

Now too old (or lazy) for vigorous exercise
A walk round the block would more than suffice
To prevent falling prey to everyday disease;
Just two pills on prescription, it's all that I take. 

Dementia and Alzheimer's are conditions I dread
No history in the family, unless kept very quiet.
Lunch, our main meal, a half-decent spread
Has salad as the main ingredient of the diet. 

Drinks in moderation, at most a convivial glass
Of wine, spirits, beer, the cigar on occasion.
Cryptic crosswords do stimulate grey cells
But it's in poetry, that I glimpse a new horizon.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

Tough Guy

His shirt had the logo
'Software' on his chest,
'Hardware', an arrow pointing 
straight down to his crotch.
I thought the 'Software' 
should've pointed to his head.
Somehow I didn't think 
his heart could've been 'soft';
probably a doorman, bouncer maybe.
Remember Raoul Moat, body builder killer?

Perhaps I am prejudiced, with information overload,
could've been a gangster. No - just a gentle giant.
caring for his mother whom his father abandoned
when he was just a wee defenceless kid. 

This world is not fair or equitable, I thought,
nothing that commands one's unquestioned faith.
Millions perish by earthquake and floods;
survivors face a fate worse than death.

Details | Migel Jayasinghe Poem

The Reckoning

Have we not witnessed two centuries of hate?
Unspeakable horrors, on land and on seas,
Forced Democrarcy down on her knees
With barabric massacres and mindless waste;
Yet blinding Hatred brooks no debate.
Intellect revered, while Wisdom and Peace
Are held to ransom by plutocrats obese.
Undermined, Faith flees, carries no weight
When despots, demagogues, harangue the masses,
Slaves to gadgetry and consumer greed
Mammon rules with none to intercede
Over a planet bereft of natural resources; 
Blithely blinkered in rose-tinted glasses
We ignore the Reckoning - it fast approaches.