Freedom Lovers
Know you not…that freedom is not free.
In each genaration, work at this assiduously!
Poets cringe at the any poem politicked?
They prefer rainbows as a subject, it makes patriotic, poets, sick!
You don’t have to go on a journey very far away,
To know there’s a country where you cannot have your say
I ponder if you would really give a hoot?
If somebody put a muzzle on your snoot?
Unless you develop a heart of steal.
Liberty might be gone, that your heart, made of mush, cannot feel.
So don’t allow brainless hordes, to scare you to death
Fight for every freedom, till you’re very last poetic breath!
As you paint your songs with colours divine
And words you so assiduously mined
You leave me standing breathlessly behind
Your visceral emotion hypnotically opined.
Mesmerising destructive bewitching my soul
Wreckingly angelic your voice takes its toll
And leaves me in wonder at feelings you extoll
And tears into pieces the form that once was whole
Just wrap me in your exquisite tones tonight...
EXPERIMENTAL
assiduously
obscure
yet
devoted
in
emphasis
but
constrained
by
chance
to
voluntary
conscious
of
the possible
infinite
with
substantive
creative
&
unmistakable
in
resemblance
to
the unavoidable
reality of function
seemingly
mindless
yet
integral
to
diverse
reactions
compiled
&
eager
to accept
the challenge
of
progress
in
self contained
complexity
with
shifts
of disruption
a rationale
already
accepted
by conditions
Workers in the rice fields,
Labourers on agrarian land,
They move in rows and columns,
They work assiduously until they are spent,
Until twilight wears its garment over the region.
It's the golden season,
The season that precedes the dry,
It’s a season when the land yields bountifully,
The land births a teeming population,
Nature has smiled over the fields.
They gather their harvest in silos and local shelters,
There’s enough for the home and market,
Then comes the annual festival,
They sing songs in their indigenous dialect,
They come out in colourful attire,
They extol Nature for his kind and merciful acts.
The town is a shadow of itself,
It sits in forlorn hope,
A lonely wind sweeps through its streets,
The fields have become a haven for birds and unseen creatures,
Land dispute, encroachment and trampled rights,
These threesomes have stripped the land of its beauty,
They have pushed the town down the cliff.
November 8, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 22 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
The answers in the dice,
They hold us in a vice.
We run a course,
We're blinded to the cause.
Dawn brings our desires,
Some enmeshed in briers.
Life with its troubles,
We're in a world of doubles.
Lessons are learnt in our sojourn,
Irrespective of the region.
The best blessing is to be in one piece,
Amidst storms recalcitrant to cease.
Life is a voluminous book,
No one has had an entire look.
We listen to the sage,
They don't see all the doors out of the cage.
Exploring the disconnect,
We walk in circumspect.
We assiduously labour,
Given a view of the harbour.
Life is a mystery,
Beyond the annals of history.
November 23, 2022.
Edited November 28, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 21 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
“What is the threefold flame of Christ consciousness, as it is, in its pristine essence, aglow within each of us?”
-Unseeking Seeker
The threefold flame of Christ,
It tugs at our hearts,
It reminds us of our timely sojourn,
Nothing we own of ourselves,
For all, we'll leave behind.
The threefold flame of Christ,
Interwoven into one piece,
Faith, hope and perseverance,
They bring us the promises,
They walk us into the inheritance.
We strive in a complex world,
Its mysteries are incomprehensible,
Our hands work assiduously for our desires,
We get part or all of them,
We part with them at the final call.
We are assured of a better place,
We are consoled by this promise,
Unharmed beauty resides within its walls,
Perfect peace permeates its space,
Gloom and lack do not lurk around.
The threefold flame of Christ,
Nothing more can guide our wandering hearts,
Help us wade through turbulent seas,
Keep us in uncertain times,
Rekindle our dying embers.
June 25, 2022,
Threefold Flame of Christ Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
His Word came to him,
To the potter’s house he was asked to go,
At the potter’s house
the message would be delivered,
The Father would speak to him.
The potter’s fingers worked assiduously,
He made and remade,
Until he was satisfied,
The clay and the water stood by,
The Father gave him
a message for His people,
He was displeased with them,
And He needed them to know.
Learning His ways was paramount,
Understanding His thoughts was crucial,
The art of learning,
Fundamental to our ascent,
The art of learning,
His ways are our blueprints.
June 24, 2022.
We've begun to live, spare apart vicariously.
To actively probe and grasp aggressively.
Existentialism and ethics are linked inextricably.
Individual liberty is a wonderful property.
Nonetheless, it is frequently not taken seriously.
We may convey our concerns and difficulty.
We all fathom the same solution to life's mystery
Regardless of our specification, assiduously.
Written: August 11, 2021
Petals have now fallen from the final rose
His forsythia bush is ready for pruning
Weeds are taking over where his lilac grows
And, fall bulbs not taken up are ruining.
His backyard fencing is beginning to sag
And the roof on his house needs replacing
In fact, he has nothing about which to brag
I shall not complain, for I am self-effacing.
Since I enjoy working in my own backyard
It is beautifully trimmed and neat as can be
He watches me spending hours working hard
While he neglects his property assiduously.
My neighbor constantly bemoans of his plot
While I listen, I ride my mower like crazy
I have long since wearied of his pitiful lot,
Neither a shower nor a grower, … he is lazy!
written July 16, 2021
~ your power and money you protect assiduously are not yours, but somebody else’s belongs
~ to those that stay bend in front of the sewing machines, and sweat from morning to night in the rice fields
~ carving out their backs in faith and in prayer, when you are exploiting every inch of their skin in hidden forms of slavery,
~you, wearing at your ceremonies clothes made by devoted hands waiting for centuries justice to come and kiss their palms with humbleness and forgiveness,
~while you still keep covering your misery of habit and greed in silk and playing the saver of those that never gave up on fighting against your lost sense of humanity.
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
the gleaming of a sailor’s shoes —
blackened and assiduously buffed
6/23/2020
It feels easier.
That's why,
or so she believes.
Why she associates death
and climate pathology
with fear of her ego's mortality
and vaguely remembered anxieties about enslavement;
living death to human identity,
if not all commodified Natures.
Yet, it feels harder
to associate death
with indentured spiritual servitude,
often confused with fundamentalist dogma,
evangelical demagoguery,
politically disempowering religiosity,
Assiduously associated with patriarchal colonization
and straight western white male privilege,
and left brain violently indenturing commodification,
renting human Ego minds
with individualized bodies,
uniquely felt spirits
with thoughtful,
living mortal natures
Associating freedom
with human potential
and at least divine acquiescence,
if not gratitude.
Grassy ponds heave
under the tread
of moss piglets.
Kraken of microscopic
significance,
fill the forms of waterbears.
Tardigrade leviathans
plod a sodden sod,
toil assiduously
in the marshy haze
until Bur-marigold
grow out
of their dead giant heads.
Open each chamber, assiduously
Load each bullet, meticulously
Center targets in sight, fastidiously
Pull the trigger, punctiliously
Mow down innocents, detachedly
Grin in triumph, hideously
Undermine freedom, inevitably
Related Poems