Best Broadly Poems
In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
await him.
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
Categories:
broadly, family, slavery, , cute,
Form:
Narrative
Haiku as an art:
To paint a canvas broadly,
With tiny brush strokes.
Categories:
broadly, introspection
Form:
Haiku
Snowflakes fell, large and wet,
On that early morning in December
Our country home was soon enfolded
In winter's cold, white mantle
The noonday sun parted the somber clouds
With rays smiling and bright
It seemed to be saying...
"That's enough snow...for now"
Mother walked along the silent path
To where the mail was waiting
She paused for a moment and smiled
The untouched landscape, glittering white before her
Awoke the child within her heart
She began to play
Soon the beginnings of a snowman
Rested at her feet
My father watched the scene unfold
Through the bedroom window
His eyes glittered as brightly as the snow
A smile creased his face
And a chuckle escaped his lips
This picture is etched forever
In the corners of my heart
Forever I will see her there playing in the snow
Forever I will see him broadly smiling at her delight
Forever I will see them both so completely full of joy
So full of life
So full of love.
Categories:
broadly, father, life, love, mother
Form:
Free verse
6. Matsukaze
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
Despite
the vigil I kept, night on night ...
despite
my spring purification rite ...
paper streamers like fronds of willow,
tears soaking into my pillow,
you did not come.
Madness touched me.
Like the spume of a wave
that boils and fizzes,
in my pain I raved.
Love returns like the ruthless tide,
like the air perspires in the hot night,
and leaves beads of water on morning grass
to mark its sweating.
The agonies pass,
but there's no forgetting.
Waiting at the gazing tree,
I look out on the restless sea ...
is that he? Coming to me?
Cut the succulent leaf of aloe vera,
and it weeps clear healing tears.
I am restored. Here's Yukihira.
See how his ship skips as it nears!
I deceive myself.
Am I blind?
It was the wind,
teasing a pine.
Exquisite, his calligraphy.
He painted a poem, just for me.
"Now I have gone.
Left you behind.
But if you pine,
I'll come at a run."
I am nothing now. I am a sad pine,
doubled over by prevailing winds.
Like salt, I dissolve in the brine.
Nature's madness, love, is a storm,
but it can't last. The sky grows warm
with purple streaks, braided on magenta.
I am held fast, because I have sinned.
Where I go now, none may enter.
Autumn rain will come. Mark the signs.
And listen for the wind, sighing in the pines.
Categories:
broadly, myth,
Form:
Rhyme
How we love this secluded pond
He lowers me to the grass
And on my stomach I watch
Little beetles, blue dragonflies
Transparent wings fluttering
soft humming near my ears
My smiles born broadly in sunlight
His tender hands hold my back
to his chest. And in the shallow
pool numerous tadpoles curiously
investigate my otherwise useless
legs without pity or shame
He smiles words of joy to me
In my ears and to my mouth
Red squirrel clambers
the tree near our temporary
bed where his hands fumble
and his mouth smiles broadly
between my hands, breeze
lifting my curls as wings
on small hummingbirds
From the corners of his eyes
The lazy luce ponders the strange
ways of human tenderness
While he holds me in his
endless loving patience
That doesn't care about ability
Just we, water, sun and together
***
February 6, 2017
Categories:
broadly, animal, bird, fish, love,
Form:
Free verse
I
The Greek origins of our word for "matter," is the same for "measure" and MEASURING, as well as a few other terms that carry surprises.
First, however, there is no separate word for matter in Sanskrit, or broadly Hindu VEDANTA Philosophy. Indians and Hindus use a joint term, NAMA-RUPA or simply NAMARUPA: "name and form." As a young Hindu child in South Africa - of all places - I knew this. It was the term that stood for all REALITY - a combination of names and forms.
II
The surprises are for MATTER, its Greek origins also connect with MAYA or "illusory reality." Maya also includes the individual "ego-identity," as Indian philosophy generally sees "ego" as a temporary identity that is fluid and transient. Like an iceberg floating in an ocean, will not be a separate form of water for long.
Matter is also connected with the words METER or "metre" and MATER for mother.
Categories:
broadly, education, hindi, me, perspective,
Form:
Prose
You live on an island not at all on an island
But smack, in the middle of life,
The center of our small word loving society
If it weren't for you, I had drowned
In that Soup-sea of incomprehensible
rules for autists.
It isn't strange for hubbies to say: "I love you".
So there you go ;)
Ask your first hubby if we can share
to eternity and back, because that
would be so lovely.
Jan, life kicks us so hard sometimes
but we kick back with a vengeance!
One day we'll swim that canal
and meet halfway on our rubber duckies
Smiling broadly and drinking
ginger tea.
***
February 18, 2017
Categories:
broadly, friendship, funny, sea, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
No sound of a voice could be heard
The sight of the Self quite blurred
As silence into disarray dissolved
And no single truth could be discerned
I need to rise above all that I feel
Reach an inner state of mystic zeal.
*****
A busy bee and a word weaver
Now body feeble and in fever
I could hear the voice of pain
To soothe the aches was in vain
Like a breath caught by the flame
I gasp a fervent prayer and call His name.
*****
The silence, now I broadly see
The pain has been awakening my esprit
Opening my heart to a decryption key
God’s grace and blessings a sea
How wouldn’t I pray and praise?!
As my soul with a granted life rays..
Categories:
broadly, appreciation, beauty, blessing, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
3. At the Cabin
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
(The Chokugan = a shinto prayer.
The priest is protecting himself from
the ghosts.)
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Do you live here?
MURASAME
Why do you ask? Who are you?
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Just a traveler, benighted on my journey to ...
MATSUKAZE
What you request is little enough.
But our cabin is sparse, unfurnished, rough.
We are ashamed. It's far too humble. See?
We cannot offer hospitality.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am not looking for feathers or feast.
I am a simple, unassuming priest.
A fog is gathering swiftly around:
Please don't ask me to sleep on the ground.
MURASAME:
I am sorry. You cannot stay ...
MATSUKAZE
Wait!
The fog is freezing, and the hour is late.
The moon sails out from the refuge of a cloud,
and I see the form of a man who has vowed
to abandon all license. That, I admire.
Approach, holy man, our wretched fire.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am grateful, ladies. Yukihira,
the much-lamented young poet,
put it thus: "If anyone
should ever ask for me,
say I'm in paradise, and I know it:
in Kobe, enfolded by green sea,
and fine women, to dote upon:
no place could possibly be dearer".
MATSUKAZE
Aieee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
What's wrong, young woman? See,
I prayed this morning, by the tall tree,
two-trunked and handsome. Nothing bad
can come this way. You look so sad!
MATSUKAZE
You have mentioned the name of our dead lover.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
A peasant told me of two women from here,
who both loved a Kyoto nobleman.
He composed exquisite poetry,
but sickness took him, in the prime of youth.
MURASAME
Aiee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I think I have stumbled into the truth!
You are the girls who live in the tree!
You gave your hearts to Yukihira,
and now you're ghosts! The Chokugan!
Categories:
broadly, myth,
Form:
Rhyme
Shower of autumn leaves and acorns,
And rustling sound as I stroll.
Those mesmerising bubbles all-round,
As I dive in the pool.
And also, when, looking into his eyes,
Silently, I can walk thousand miles.
Yes! This is the poetry to me.
The power to see the unseen!
A lady dressed in pink, in my sight.
With complementing accessory soaked in glittery white.
And my heart fondly admires,
Wow! That blushing pink charmer!
Just like an innocent pearl in an oyster.
Adorning beautiful pearl in white,
Gracefully gleaming bright!
And also, when I see those young, tanned lads,
Completely soaked in mud.
And, scaring me, with their thud.
Then, smiling broadly to show their set of teeth.
Oh! I love them, they are all sweet!
Yes! This is the poetry to me.
It definitely beautifies my thoughts!
When I see my friend upset.
Without even a word, I know his mindset.
Slipping quietly my hand on her hand.
I can feel her with my inner strength.
Yes! This is the poetry to me.
It teaches me to empathise.
When I am low
Poetry raises me back, to glow!
When my confidence begins to retire.
Poetry gives me the strength to fight like fire!
Yes! This is the poetry to me.
Always by my side to support me.
Poetry hones in me, a better orator,
As it makes me, a better expresser.
Yes! It helps me to build my character.
My poetry is me!
23/2/19
Sponsor: Silent One
Contest Name: Poetry and ME
Categories:
broadly, boyfriend, creation, first love,
Form:
Free verse
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
2. The Beach, After Dark
The coast has drowned in the gloomy night,
but the moon shines. Two women in white
come along the shore - Matsukaze,
with her sister Murasame.
They seem to float like smoke, in dresses
with long, wide sleeves, their hair in tresses.
MATSUKAZE
The sad waves lap on our feet,
then slide back. Like hope, they meet
us running, then dissipate. Once spent,
they slink off, ashamed, but can't prevent
falling down to the cold sea.
This is how it must always be.
MURASAME
When the tide relinquishes its assault on land
and drains away, it is sure to strand
small pools among the boulders, strewn
along the beach. And, all too soon,
the life in these tiny oceans, forlorn,
will fade, like you and I, before the dawn.
MATSUKAZE
The moon can't cast any light through the pine.
Our lovely sleeves, weighted down with brine,
will tire us quickly. Crabs without shells,
we are women who have no lover. Smell
the sea fog, sister! Like a clammy dress,
it clings to us, like our loneliness.
MURASAME
Salt in everything. In our hair, our skin.
It sucks out our essence, leaves us thin
and pale. Our only company, the moon ...
and she will weaken and flounder, soon
enough. She stirs the ocean, churning
chill water, exciting in us a hopeless yearning.
MATSUKAZE
I hear the fishermen out on the sea,
and I want there to be a man for me.
They call, one to another. Out there.
I smell smoke stinging the air,
but no woodsman sees my boxwood comb.
They cut fresh reeds, not for my home.
MURASAME
Look, sister! The moon's in my pail!
And in yours, too. But there it sails,
up in the sky, singular, not two.
These little moons are like me and you,
illusions that can never truly be,
two facets of one destiny.
Categories:
broadly, myth,
Form:
Couplet
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
1. The Buddhist Priest
This was the day of the White Crane.
I was walking from Kyoto to fair Kobe,
and not omitting a single shrine,
now nearing the end of my three-day journey.
The morning had taken on a hue
of pastel. I reached a promontory, above the sea
with curious roadside ancestor tombs,
slabs of coarse stone. The wind
and waves, so restless, had done their work,
scarring and scarifying the soft chalk,
leaving strange columns, each capped
by its crude ashlar memorial tablet.
As I prayed to the dead, my bare head
was lifted. My gaze (no longer mine)
was drawn towards a tall pine,
standing alone, its trunk bifurcated.
That tree, I felt somehow, had waited
for me to come. Looking about me,
I saw a peasant, short and stoutly
built. "Tell me about the tree,"
I said. "And what's that poetry?
That hanging plaque?" He said I'd found
something special. "This is hallowed ground,"
he muttered. "Matsukaze and her sister
Murasame mourned here, Mister.
Then Heaven took pity on the two brine
girls, and turned them into this pine."
By mortal things, we should set no store:
but hearing this, I wanted to know more.
Categories:
broadly, myth, , memorial,
Form:
Free verse
5. Murasame’s Story Concludes
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
MATSUKAZE & MURASAME
(chanting in harmony)
Pine wind, and autumn rain,
women, sorrow: men, disdain!
MURASAME
As men are ready to play games,
poets are keen to give names.
He said I was the moon in wane,
so he named me after the autumn rain.
My sister's singing is divine,
and he likened her to the wind in the pines.
MATSUKAZE & MURASAME
(chanting in harmony)
Pine wind, and autumn rain,
woman in love, woman insane!
MURASAME
He turned our rice water into milk.
Our fustian gowns became silk.
Three summers we passed, in sensual bliss,
and now we are reduced to this -
ladling brine on a moonlit shore,
never to see our lover more.
MATSUKAZE & MURASAME
(chanting in harmony)
Pine wind and autumn rain,
prisoners in the moon's domain!
MURUSAME
Where humans gather, sickness thrives,
diseases claim uncountable lives.
Returning to the Imperial Court,
Yukihira selfishly sought
his own lettered architrave,
but found instead a common grave.
MATSUKAZE & MURASAME
(chanting in harmony)
Pine wind and autumn rain,
he will not come back again.
MURASAME
Two keepsakes, which we still hold dear -
my sister has them, brings them here -
a man's cloak and a court cap:
leather band, and understrap:
with reverence, see, she gathers them close:
to us, they are his living ghosts.
MATSUKAZE & MURASAME
(chanting in harmony)
Pine wind and autumn rain,
ghosts we are, and must remain!
Categories:
broadly, myth,
Form:
Couplet
Each sweet sunrise, is but another
chance,
To create a difference, in life’s sweet
dance.
You greatly matter, you are verily so
powerful.
Smile broadly now, there no need to be
sorrowful!
Life is no race to prove you are hot
stuff!
Sprinkle love wherever, you go, don’t be
tough.
You are a star in the universe, don’t forget that,
Always wear your love for humanity
hat!
Pen heartfelt poetry~that is really, wholly
you.
And a warn welcome to the human
crew!
Our time on earth is much shorter than we
think.
It’s used up so quickly and evaporates like
ink!
6/6/2022
Categories:
broadly, encouraging, joy, poetry, poets,
Form:
Couplet
Take Me There
Take me to the place where it’s broadly known
In meadows and woods famous poets roamed
Where hosts of blithe yellow daffodils dance
In expectation of budding romance.
To view magnificent mountains and lakes
And spectacular countryside landscapes
In hopefulness that it all will inspire
My muse to explode alike a drumfire.
The Lake District I will visit one day
There’s so much to view and do on a stay
Such serenity and astounding grace
Is found in Cumbria’s stunning showplace.
*+*+*
9th January 2023
Take Me There Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Categories:
broadly, desire, dream, eulogy,
Form:
Rhyme