Best Adjoining Poems
My poetry garden of late has lain untended and forlorn.
I succumbed to shock and dismay upon entering recently, for I observed that
great disagreement had erupted and now vehemently
raged among adjoining unmade weed-filled beds of subjects and verbs.
Modifiers that had been dutifully arranged and carefully
kept in check upon their trellises now dangled everywhere.
Sentences had spilled out of their beds in fragments or running
on and on while cases of subjectives and objectives shamelessly
intermingled and were now easily mistaken one for another.
Grammar, whose care I had entrusted to first, second and third
persons, lay in shameless disarray, as if no one could tell the difference.
Gerunds casually consorted with infinitives, many
of which had split. I recalled with a sigh how many years it had taken
me to tightly bind them. [To bind them tightly is what I meant.]
Commas were everywhere, rendering those in appropriate
position practically unrecognizable, which I suppose was better than
what had happened to the capitals, now completely ignored.
No reason for the rhyme with forms confused or misplaced altogether.
My lines, unpruned, were of disparate length and hideously incompl
An unfortunate mis-spell had been cast and provoked an infestation,
such that many of my friends had departed without comment.
The contest entry was blocked, so I bowed my head in shame,
turned around and shuffled silently through the exit marked N/A.
Posted July 24, 2014
'Let the Pens Flow - Narrative' Contest
Jenish Somadas
When tons of doom filled nights fall on your head,
hot embers glow and fires burn unabated,
you recall her last breath and wish you were dead.
In a poem's sad lines you've been castrated.
From the heavens a voice thunders dire threats
about losses and breakfasts consumed without eggs.
Fumbling about, looking to hedge your bets,
you drink your cold coffee, down to burnt dregs.
On waking you find dawn's hard hammer fell
last night's burns are reminders of strife.
You stumble and look up from the pits of Hell,
recounting the reasons why you lost your wife.
Your clock chimes out vulgar curses at you
and your house bids you leave by peals at noon.
You think of the ancient, wicked dreams, too,
as night falls with its wretched lucent moon.
You dream of hungry tigers eating your boots.
Your house is perched atop two adjoining trees.
A hunter fires; but it's not a tiger he shoots.
Your second wife cuts off your legs at the knees.
With life's blood flowing from your severed veins
your heart bemoans that you married once more.
By morning you were free from nightmare's pains
but horrid memories linger behind closed doors.
What vast burdens you bear in fear of sleep
and hollows in your mind fill quickly with dread.
When your clock strikes twelve, I hear you weep,
" Odious anguish! I wish I were dead."
Shadows dance on your walls in candle light.
Dark images of her body pressed close to you,
waltzing in your arms on a moonlit night
but she vanishes when dawn's rays break through.
Which sort of dream scars your mind with more grief?
The ones in which you're butchered; burned by fire,
or when daylight steals her away like a furtive thief?
Will your penance release you from the leeching mire...
the terror you encounter each night as you lie abed?
Foolishly, you once thought love claimed your heart.
Therein lies the angst of what you most dread...
the vexing memories in dreams that tear you apart.
Co-Written with Robert Lindley based on the original
verses he offered in the open challenge on his blog.
Gnarled tree rooted firm, fallen bark,
abundant earthen ground cradles.
Horned larks and thrushes beat their wings,
wavering within sun's gold rays.
Lace shade dance a hush call, seep by
a calm sigh and the incessant
babbling of an adjoining brook.
Delicious breeze, reviving kiss,
entice utter lull in veiled dream.
A world, a marriage joined as one,
desire of only pleasant warmth.
A muse of chill wind and aching
darkness that stirs snow fall with wings.
The old bare and brittle, gnarled limbs
gaze out towards humble night sky.
small gifts -
contributing to other's happiness?
# show me a man or woman of simple mind
people who we commonly term as slow #
point out ====>
people
of simple means
Come wrestle with a gator!
Said the poster at the fair.
With tape around its mouth, it looked
Pathetic in its lair.
Yet in a cage adjoining it,
A tortoise ambled 'round,
Its movements sure and steady,
One foot lifting off the ground.
With claws extended, it appeared
To glide on tippy toes;
Its ancient eyes gazed straight ahead,
A true reptilian pose.
The children leaned and stroked its shell.
It didn't seem to mind,
Although I'm sure it would have liked
A stroke from its own kind.
That tortoise kept on moving,
Though perhaps to help prepare
For a coming-soon encounter
With an unsuspecting hare!
This is the last poem on the history of Felicity, a person I know from correspondence with a friend abroad. No relation of mine.
In one year's time, I shall retire
What is there to look for?
Two of my daughters got married.
They live quite far from me.
Only Felicity remains, the middle one,
The one I loved most.
Mind you I paid for a grand wedding for both of them.
No favouritism would impede me from
Granting their wishes., but living far
I rarely see them especially as babies came
To brighten our humdrum life.
But where was Felicity? She spent so much time
At the hospital, except for our usual Sunday lunch.
Until one Sunday, a bomb blasted my brains.
Felicity had a fiancée, whom she invited
To our Sunday lunch. Was I angry? Confused?
He was a comely fellow, a brain surgeon to boot.
He promised to buy a house adjoining mine,
And a door would join both our houses.
Soon Felicity got married and what a wedding I paid.
They were the happiest couple on earth.
And soon she gave birth to a bundle of joy.
From that day on I did not act as a father
But a nanny for my lovely grandson.
T~he minds eye closes and envisages the overflowing of true love from one's
H~eart, gravitating to thy One and Only;
E~scaping in conjunction with
B~rackish water adjoining to thy feet; taking note of the wind whispering
E~ver so seamlessly through thine ears while striding upon the seashore.
A~ccompanied by incessant love; keeping hold of hands on no
U~nearthly occasion of relinquishing. Kissing til nightfall loses its color
T~o the openings of daybreak; swimming amongst the creatures of sea
Y~earning to never part, til the extent life ventures to vanish...yet...
O~ftentimes the minds eye reopens to reality; though
F~or the time being
L~et's live every moment as
O~ur last, tracing God first and
V~ersifying our lives to that of the world as such...
E~veryone shall witness and behold The Beauty of L~O~V~E.
Pace, G.
INK-U-SCRIPT
08-06-2012
When tons of doom filled nights fall upon your head,
embers glow fierce and fires burn unabated.
Recalling her last breath and wish you were dead
in poem's last line, you've been beat and castrated.
From the heavens, a voice thunders out dire threats
about loses and late breakfasts without eggs.
Fumbling about, looking to hedge your foolish bets,
you drink your cold coffee, down to bitter, burnt dregs.
On waking you find dawns hammer truly fell.
Last nights burns are reminders of your tortured life.
You stumble and look up from pits of dark raging hell,
recounting now the true reasons you lost your wife.
Your alarm clock chimes out vulgar curses at you
and your dark house bids you leave by peals at noon.
You think of the ancient, sad wicked dreams, too,
as night falls with it's huge wretched lucent moon.
Dreaming of hungry tigers eating your new boots.
your house perched atop two tall adjoining trees.
A hunter fires; it is not a tiger that he shoots.
Second angry wife cuts your legs off at the knees
Metaphor amputations are so savagely sever.
Your spirit cries out I must flee, tiger is near.
The tiger roars with laughter, I own all your pain.
Second lioness purrs with abject contempt and disdain
Your old slaughtered heart bleating faint cries out.
Memories tainted and dreams coercing a shout.
In abyss of regret the famished tiger dines.
You struggle to cope, tree sways breaking it's vines.
What of taunting lioness who's false words defame?
Half muted stutters quivering lips murmur blame.
Muttered niceties in deep with disgust feigned.
Tiger haunting your dreams, as King it truly reigns.
Will you take a stand your courage regained?
Can you bare the cost, can you bear the pain?
Be strong take back what your past gains.
Clean the slate wipe away the shameful stains.
Climb up from the depth of hells dark pits.
Replace dawns hammer with soft cotton mitts.
Let satisfied lioness purr, hunt the raging tiger.
Be happy, be proud of regaining your swagger.
WRITTEN WITH ONE OF THE BEST POETS I KNOW.
ROBERT LINDLEY FOR THE CHALLENGE ON HIS BLOG.
THANK YOU ROBERT FOR CHOOSING TO WORK WITH ME.
Accessible,adjacent,adjoining
Akin and alongside-
A man made for us.
Close,connected,contigious,
Neighbourly and nigh-
A man made for us.
Mentor,mediator,moderator
'Twixt and between-
A man made or us.
Advocate and honest broker
Intervening interceder-
A man made for us.
Looking through poetry both old and new
in the bookstore down the street
A certain paperback caught my eye
and I carried it to my seat
I opened the pages to copyright
and it was from fifty-three
For some reason that stood out
with no idea why that would be
My attention was soon drawn away
as someone opened the door
I looked up and saw a man
and I knew I had seen him before
He hid behind a long gray beard
clothes tattered as he shook
But something glistened in his eyes
as he walked over and got a book
He took a seat beside me
I nodded my head and smiled
He spoke to me in a gentle voice,
"How are you today, my child?"
"I am well, thank you"
was my quick reply
He noticed my chosen paperback,
as a tear streamed from his eye
"I see the book you've chosen,
I know the author well
He's been waiting for so long
for just one to sell
You know within those pages
lies his history
Life, death, hope, love
it's for all to see."
He then stood and walked away
to the adjoining coffee shop
Once I started reading my book
I found I couldn't stop
Hanging on his every word
it all came back to me
The stranger, the author that he knew
the year of fifty-three
He was the lonely drifter
I had seen not long ago
Right there in that coffee shop
and how I watched him so
He watched as people chose
the books upon the shelves
Skimming past the paperback
choosing another for themselves
The author that this stranger knew
I found to be himself
Many years he had been waiting
for his life to leave the shelf
I gladly bought my paperback
without thinking twice
For the heart of this stranger
had already paid the price
It is always there,
never quite within range
where the mind can snare
some shadowy form, or shape
an outline and hold it long enough
to name.
It waits for the sun to go down
and the evening to draw in
like a taken breath when it comes
closer and nestles into what warmth
lingers there under the folds
of a gathered dark.
Sometimes when I am off
elsewhere and far away in thought,
I am sure it slips inside my head
and enters where memories are,
trying on a face, posing
in some familiar scene,
rummaging through what a child
left there long ago as if
it was searching for itself.
And there are mornings
when waking I sense its presence
in the dissolving residue of a dream,
a small footprint left on that
shore between awareness and sleep,
an indent, a scooped out hole
where something broken
took refuge and sought comfort
in being near.
There are dark times
when it almost becomes
a plumbed in part of me,
each bunkered in our own
adjoining rooms, held apart
by a wall neither of us
want to breach. We have spent
a good part of our lives here,
holding onto what should be set free,
fearing that if we did, one of us
would cease to be.
Well, here I am sitting on the golf course
Watching the fireworks display overhead
Yes, I know I'm not as big as a horse
But at least one golfer I have misled
“Kerplunk" came the ball, bouncing off my shell
Casting it deep in the adjoining woods
That’s when I heard someone yell, “Mulligan”
They ran toward the golfer like a band of hoods
I was wondering how they knew my name
As they all ran toward the errant golf ball
And then banished the golfer from their game
Without asking if my shell had been mauled
There’s much food to be found on the golf course
So I still traverse many a fairway
But it never ceases to surprise me
How my name’s called when e’er balls go astray
Luckily my shell is hard as granite
Golf ball injuries I never sustain
So my Mulligan family moved here
Friendly golfers already know our name
Wikipedia definition of "Mulligan" - In golf, a mulligan is a stroke that is replayed from the spot of the previous stroke without penalty, due to an errant shot made on the previous stroke. The result is, as the hole is played and scored, as if the first errant shot had never been made. This practice is disallowed entirely by strict rules and players who attempt it or agree to let it happen may be disqualified from sanctioned competitions.
The sun caresses my skin on this hot summers day.
It would be wonderful for a slight rain to splash on my
skin in such a way.
I should love it if a cool breeze came floating by.
Time seems to be going by slowly these days.
I hear the words whispered from his lips.
"Don't go all shy on me now".
As his fingertips caress the length of my spine.
We lay naked on the top of the summer meadow.
A kiss on the lips, a kiss on the hips.
I saw the cranes fly, as I moved to his touch.
They flew from the edge of the pond, below us.
As we were spread out on the large quilt.
High on the peak, I with my book of prose.
Him, with his glistening body dripping beads of sweat.
I've come to these's highlands since I could remember.
This place was a staple of my childhood, in fact, this
mountain hilltop belonged to my grandparents.
His words rolled on the slight movement in the air.
" Be still", "it was our little game we played".
As he traced the nap of my neck with his tongue
And found his way to my lips, our tongues entwined
like ivy on the forest walls.
We had been friends since the age of twelve.
That's when his parents bought the adjoining land.
You taste like sweet mountain honey, " all mine".
He knew his touch inflamed my senses, as finger
tips caressed his muscles, as nails pierced his skin.
He knew he drove me crazy, as I drifted into bliss.
Though still fully aware of his every touch, every
rhythm of our heartbeats kept tempo with our inferno lust.
His every touch reminded me why I kept coming back for
the summer vacations, besides my grandparents being old.
In fact, this would be the last two days of summer pleasure.
I wouldn't want to lose my editing job, back in the city.
I felt his eager body quiver as we moved together in time.
As he pressed his hips against mine, it was all I could do.
Lovely woman, you are my summers favorite delight !!!
Jan. 7, 2013 Monday 10 pm
I haven't written one like this in about five years.
Thought I'd give it a try.
Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility, Doctor Mendelsohnn's office.
"Good Afternoon, Mr Potter, I am Doctor Eric Mendelsohnn. I have some
forms for you to sign. This is the payment arrangement to be electronically transferred
the first of each month" "Whoa, wait a minute, I want to know why Mr. Johnson was
sent here anyway" "He accosted 2 hikers in the woods" " In his woods, on his property,
200 feet from his home." " The lady and gentleman were afraid, his hair was flying everywhere His beard was unkept, and he wasn't dressed in hiking gear or carrying a back-pack" "He wasn't hiking he was out on a nature walk, Chef could walk that mountain blindfolded and never stumble"" Look all I know the police brought him here in cuffs. He was ranting and raving about his Rights. I felt compelled to admit him for observation and testing; which he failed; in my opinion as a physchologist." " You
know what you can do with your opinion" " Mr Potter calm down, we have Mr. Johnson sequestured in the adjoining room. His memory is failing, and He shouldn't be left alone on top of some mountain. I am going to give him some cognative thinking test now, your more than welcome to sit in on the interview""that's a good idea, I'm not signing anything until I see for myself that he's forgetful" " Please right through this door""What the F***, take that off of him right now" Mr Potter he is a danger to" "I said NOW!!
Chef are you ok" "Kenny are you taking me home: Please" "Look Doc, I'm getting a bit pissy with you right now. Get that Straight- jacket off of him right now. He recognized me right off, I don't see any signs of forgetfulness." "Ok the restraints are off can we get started now." "No, not here. let's go outside" "I don't think that is a good idea, there is too many people out there to do any responsible testing" " Ok, You said he
has a temporary room, Do it there" " Very well"
Scene 3 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility; Chef's room.
Dihing, adjoining borderline with Arunachal, on the foothills of mighty Patkai,
In the encircling mesas of terrestrial plains of high altitudes,
lies the Assam Valley's tropical wet evergreen forests,
Named after its thick density of trees and profuse diverse ecology,
the Amazon of the East, the Dehing- Patkai Wildlife Sanctuary.
An abode to the myriad of endangered species, copious floras and faunas, a hotspot, the zone of world's richest biodiversity.
As amazing as Amazon's tropical forests, dark and dense:
The country's lungs like last lowland the evergreen rainforest.
Where the tallest of the tall trees with creepers are competing
for the sunlight forming greenish lavish canopies.
There, the animal kingdom awakens, whoops;
When the light falls, fathoming the density, filters in
The floras with the exotic species: orchids, lianas, epiphytes, are sparse and unique,
The faunas endless, the sole quirky reserve in the country with its' lush evergreen ecological system.
Nestled amidst the most picturesque valleys and hills,
Is reclining the lungs of the congenial climate for survival, of the region
A celestial abode on earth of the rarest IUCN red listed, on the verge of extinct species,
TheDehing Patkai, the richest part of the Sub-Himalayan region, a major carbon sink ecosystem.
.
The Amazon of the East, with its sacred biodiversity hotspot,
is apprehensive of it's extinction
As the relentless injudicious mining and digging,
Has taken away the pulses of the oxygen feeding lush terrain,
Imagine a world devoid of rainforests, where we need to carry oxygen tanks, the most unfortunate substitution!
It's sending signals after signals not to play with its' immensely diverse tropical bio- canopy region;
To save the last remaining unparalleled foliage, affluent lowland from excision!
As no amount of wealth will be enough to save us from the impending outcomes of destruction,
Pivotal to rescue and redeem the Amazon of the East;
the tropical evergreen Dehing -Patkai reserve, the richest rainforest of the region!