—The Gravity Newton Did Not Measure—
Beneath the apple's fall, he marked the ground,
and read in its descent the law of weight;
from that brief wound where heaven touched the bound,
he drew the occult grammar of our Fate.
Had he observed us with that fathoming eye—
the hand withheld when mercy sued for bread;
the father schooling silence, lest the cry
of what he loved arraign the prosperous dead;
the man who heard a stranger's final plea
and found his inward kingdom void of voice;
the prince who minted grief into decree,
while living names were forfeit to his choice—
he might have measured, under civil skies,
the altitude where human uprightness dies.
I love as I was and then
My love, tended by your praise and slur
The blessing of spring, knavish sun
I love as I was and then
I don't bow and shiver by wind, and arraign
My scorched arms are insolent to spring and pour
I love as I was and then
My love, tended by your praise and slur
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY…
V
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Minister of Justice
I'd keep an open eye on covert fascist lechers
To arraign dodgers from witch sick woman's clutches
Who annul marriages the Holy See blesses
To mask her lewd tantrums in the Secret Services
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Justice
And even if I never had no country
VI
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Home Secretary
I'd make all secret files on all dignitaries
An open book on the art of rape incest or adultery
Pedophily sodomy perversity y compris
Not to mention lodge-keepers' skulduggery
That is, if ever I were the Home Secretary
And even if I never had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Anger only emotion acts like a Coxswain
In letting one to proceed to detain
One’s personality in public and explain
Debility of his character; and retain
Idiosyncratic nature to volplane
Into darkness, where no restrain
On future works as you be overlain.
Any work small, trivial, tiny or main
Will be spoilt or executed. Arraign
All, so be a clever fox to abstain
It from your worthy life and again
Anger – an avenger – is ready to regain
The control of very self to pertain
To earlier code of conduct to sustain.
Among all cousins of mine in a lane
There is he very profound, and plain.
Strong though shows none in skein;
Always ready for hospitability in rain
Without thinking for self even if slain.
Had a son and a daughter – both reign
His kingdom and never wished to deign.
My Bhabhi is a great soul – decent again;
Never spoke a bad word – is a gem in pane.
All the family tries to help others in arraign.
Thanks to god for such sweet family to attain.
(Out of Eden IV)
I’m cross as I cross The Cross
And wonder as I wander
My Spirit has rejected the spirit in me
For fear that it’s fare is fair.
The cause of my ‘coarse’, of course
Is as tied, as the tide betides
Fight then the fete of fate with faith
The feat, by the feet, defeat.
The bait of my bate the debate
As I bare the obeah that I bear
I’m taut with thought of tort I’m taught
Indecent descent to dissent.
Now, Requiem of Carpe Diem
Like a fool, I lived life to the full
My sinews of sins are a scene of obscene
Whether it’s seen or unseen.
It’s whether I’ll weather the weather
Just pray that I’m not the prey
My life is a life, in life, for life
Too dear and so dear to ‘dare’!
Please pass me a piece of peace
And sing me a song sung strong
To laud The Lord as loud as allowed
His Reins shall arraign to Reign.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
Can only smoke remain visible to thee?
I arraign the distance carved out in gashes.
Proximity charred me to ashes,
Left me to burn, yet never felt the flame.
One glare from the dazzling dame,
To burn one's own nest, how absurd!
Blazed my heart, that sunbird.
As deft remain, engender all else claim
obedience call so sacred but to twain,
the waterways dividing in remain
and never coinciding with norm's plain!
And so the answer chiding must refrain
while backing not away, impatience name,
the guard rail so defining enters main
the guesswork none exciting, none in vain!
What certainty reciting soul's arraign
and pieces fretting, hiding the mundane,
this quiet mystery, upon the focused gain,
God's purpose not inciting riots of fame!
That one address, faith's riding speaks the aim
my silent share complying, rest's contain.
That silvery sea of gliding unknown reign
is freedom . . . thought's arriving from profane!
NO TEA PARTY
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song,
Likewise my energy wastes itself in air,
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
I left my true self with your vulgar throng
Now drawn and quartered, they arraign me with a stare,
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.
To have believed in you, and not in long
Speeches of your drab affair –
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
No one pushed me, but I see that I was wrong,
I’ve said it all, but I won’t bow, so there!
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.
I should have known it, and the bells can bong
Each Sunday of the year without our heir,
Don’t call me for the christening, I’ll be gone
I did without a wedding, honeymoon, even the pong
Of babies, so there’s no joy for us to share –
The lid is hopping on the kettle’s song –
Don’t call me. When the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
BY ROSEMARIE ROWLEY
Eyed in midnight's milieu
mistakes can be illusion, see
like branches of a tree
lop-sided and set free to play.
Settling sides works this way -
all angles on display to those
who wrongly presuppose.
In morning's light, two foes can find
mercy and truth aligned.
Forgiveness of a kind breaks through.
We all know this won't work
for some who want to shirk the blame,
for those who play the game -
bringing others to shame with lies.
It's cruelty's disguise.
And so forgiveness dies? Oh no!
This is where hope must grow.
What the midnight would know as pain -
Love’s Dayspring holds as gain.
How does our Lord arraign his church?
*written 06-10-14 as a Vietnamese form - luc bat
One never want to wait until the Midnight hour to make his choices regarding forgiveness.
When gray, we are away
From light that brightly shines
As if around under a cloud
We roam, spirit forlorn.
Our thoughts turn inward
And we dwell in a well
Of self righteous indignation
Which harrows down to our bone marrow
And sap our energy trapped
By an arraign of complain.
The body stricken get sickened
Little will drugs do to reconstruct
For it had all begun without the sun
And we chose to complain and blame
Outside forces for the extinct of our torches.
We must then choose not to loose
Life is too precious to waste in recession
When we are endowed with a soul
That constantly strives for sunshine.
We realize that we can choose to shine
We realize that our precious eyes
Were given to look outward to things of wonder
Not to ourselves to seek to delve
Upon the shelf of a museum, kept
Tied to tinted glass like shackles.
And while we sway in the gray
So consumed with our costumes
We did not see the sudden sunbeam
That broke through to reach to the yoke
Of our awesome fabric, connected to His
To lead us all to a haven we call heaven.
© March 2012
Who are you to have ever claimed loved towards me,
someone whom you’ve yet even seen..
but a fool you are, if when passing by, obsess and attest
that for me you would die.
But would you forgive me?
My credulity intact…
If I claim without reason to trail away from deceiving…
Stubbornly amused,
Seemingly lost a friend again,
caught up in the tangents.
so uncouth,
to ennoble ones self through an enmity loaned.
and intoned upon the able fact that without our pact
there would be no tract…
no able pinned feature to allure,
to distract?
How would you abstract in this world,
filled with truth,
‘pon these features we’ve gleamed as it seems to arraign in us
a meaning, a trust…
Our personal tribunal of mutuality…
Arraign dissatisfaction with remorse,
the laws of strife seem evermore mundane!
While joy upon the other hand
does stake its claim ~
Upon the soil of faithful ban
against the fetished tool . . . . unmanned!
Lunatic’s Song
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me
in front of all those saints on high
so sane they’ll never see me
skipping down the road at dawn
and not a soul behind me.
Funnel clouds may tear through hell
but not the ones inside me.
They come and go all on their own
as if they can’t abide me.
Today they’re off to New Orleans
so batten down the hatches.
When they return they’ll churn again
whirligigs inside me.
Yet every day when I get up
I know this much for certain:
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me?
Donal Mahoney
I Think Jesus
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me
in front of all those saints on high
so sane they’ll never see me
skipping down the road at dawn
and not a soul behind me.
Funnel clouds may tear through hell
but not the ones inside me.
They come and go all on their own
as if they can’t abide me.
Today they’re off to New Orleans
so batten down the hatches.
When they return they’ll churn again
whirligigs inside me.
Yet every day when I get up
I know this much for certain:
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me?
Donal Mahoney
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