Best By No Means Poems
Wellness and worry are by no means friends.
To be well, your mind of worry you must cleanse.
Living with worry, there’s a price to pay
worry will kill you if you let it stay.
If you want to enjoy physical health,
beware of worry it creeps up by stealth
then causes your nervous system to stress,
and in time, you’ll be a physical mess.
Worry also affects your mental health.
Its effects can creep up on you by stealth.
Worrying can lead to anxiety
which makes you withdraw from society.
Worry can steal your emotional health
Like a cat it moves in silence and stealth.
It gnaws on your joy, making you feel sad.
Before you know it, everything seems bad.
Worry can ruin spiritual health.
The crafty old lion stalks you in stealth.
He tempts you to doubt and distrust your God.
Before you know it, your life he has clawed.
Worry is a thief; he is after your health.
Give him a chance and he’ll steal your wealth.
When worry shows up, don't open the door.
Trust God instead, and feel your spirit soar.
On a chilly Sunday morning
In a land she didn’t belong
She walked along an English road
To a place of Holy Song
She sat in this sacred dwelling
Three sisters by her side
United together
Since their mother died
By no means was she religious
Still unsure in what she believed
The four sisters sat in stillness
As they silently grieved
The church was modest and quaint
Rows of aged solid oak pews
Glorious stained glass windows
Where the morning sun peeked through
As she wept for her mother
In Gods peaceful home
She was engulfed by a powerful emotion
One entirely unknown
It was feeling of absolute tranquility
A joy so pure and whole
Of comfort and abundance
That radiated her soul
A sense of complete inner peace
She didn’t quite understand
A warm loving embrace
Touched by gentle guiding hands
Many journeys I have traveled, no doubt I will have many more,
all the twists, turns and pits falls in life, all the things I had to endure.
Coming to terms with my life, is by no means an easy feat,
this is the sole reason I write, it is to understand me.
In my words I can escape, from the harshness of reality that's always in my face,
the only place i'm safe, where I can truly be free, in this world there is only me.
Free from judgement, ridicule and shame, in this world no one knows my name,
a place to reflect and contemplate, a place to analyze, to rectify my mistakes.
Not all things broken can ever be fixed, so I turn to my writing for inspiration.
You'll soon come to see if you read what I write, every thing you'll read is about my life. You see i've have been my own teacher, no one has ever been by my side,
struggling to understand things has always been my plight.
I feel what I write and I write what I think, and yes sometimes it does come out raw,
but there's no escaping that reality, when that comes knocking at your door.
As my life unravels in front of your eyes, you'll will all see what I mean,
but hey... I know there are people out there that have it a lot harder then me.
This is the beginning of a new journey, something for my children to see,
when they hit pit falls in there life, they can always refer back to me.
Daddy's life on show for all to see, like I really care,
the more I start to talk about myself, the faster it is to heal.
Not everything in life is able to be handed down,
but words are forever, and forever they can be found.
For in this world when I've been out for the count,
my writing is the only thing that pulls me out.
I write to heal....
I write to hide....
I write to live.....
I write so I can survive.....
M.Mahauariki © 2012
no greater love can ever live
nothing can equal what i give
no single act of love is the reason why
many were the sacrifices i gave I
by no means ephemeral
the tears i have cried
my youth and beauty i had to give up
the fun the parties that kind of stuff
each day i suffered a little while
all for the sake of a healthy child
they call it labor when a child is born
for something that really goes on and on
there is nothing in this world
that i wouldn't do
to guard your safety and care for you
to raise up a child in they way
they should go
i begged Heavenly Father
the things i should know
for the day that was coming
the day that you'd go
and there are so many things
that you do not know
they call it labor and indeed it is
but what you don't know is
i'm in labor everyday you live
and though you live
in a separate house
my spirit will live there also
like a little mouse
and though you may live far away
the ghost of me hovers you everyday
The stars both numb and inspire,
awe either enraptures or terrifies.
The word ‘infinite’ becomes a conjectural sum
to be defined by pundits in bow ties
and star-crazed, white coated messiahs.
Tilt your head back on a cloudless night
feel the cold mathematical anesthesia
of the infinitesimal, not anything fathomable,
not even a reckoning in an unsolvable puzzle;
a nonplus that breeds only more numbers
until like a train calculations runs out of rails
to travel upon.
Each mental abacus
must be pre-set for incomprehension
and that beyond the tyranny of numbers
we can, in the end, count only ourselves in
and that is by no-means certain.
Metaphors and similes flow freely from my pen
when I am scripting and scribing in poetic verse.
Across the width of pale parchment pages
the nib of my feathered pen continues to traverse.
Ink courses fathoms deep within me like life blood,
rushing through the eddied channels of my veins.
I struggle to ignore the cramping in my fingers.
There's no hesitation when writing echoing refrains
when I imprison myself in poetry.
Each stanza I carefully arrange in proper sequence
as if it's a bairn born for the creation of my story.
Sometimes my gypsy muse joins me in the dance
when I write with abandonment in wild allegory.
I never try to rein her in when we're both focused
and driven to complete a poem, oblivious of time.
With vivid imagination, romantic sonnets are birthed
as I sit penning line after line in consummate rhyme,
incarcerated at my desk until I've written the last line.
My thoughts tumble like flurries of pristine snowflakes.
With a single spark of romance my passion ignites
as each completed verse falls perfectly into place, it lifts
my need to write compositions of love to greater heights.
Day and night, I find myself a wanderer, lost in reveries
where I journey in a private kingdom of verbose amplitude.
Around each curve in the road is a new challenge to be met,
and yet, none thwart me when trysting in romantic interlude.
Rude would be the one who would disturb me
when I'm handcuffed to a work in progress.
I try to indite with some semblance, dare I call it skill or talent?
By no means am I an accomplished laureate by my admission.
As a mere poet, I do not strive to compose a magnum opus,
but a meaningful collection of verses as a worthy composition.
If by chance, my poetry is interpreted and appreciated by some
who view my emotional imagery with soulful eyes of admiration,
I will credit my gypsy muse with her conspiratorial whispers
and amorous experiences as the impetus for my inspiration.
I hold the key to unlock my self-inflicted prison door,
and used when at last my pen has been laid to rest.
Within our personal trials we LET
Darkness reside for we are NOT
Perfect by no means in YOUR
Sight but we will open our HEART
To overcome our burden and BE
Lifted up and no longer TROUBLED
John 14:1
A try at HG and Dane Ann's new form of poetry.
Here's to Reiner our 'Hero in chains' a true International.'
Who deserves stromg acclaim.' After fourty five hearings
Where the judges must be; 'mud' blind? And even deaf, perhaps?
It must be a 'record of kinds' charged yet not tried.' And
Now its eighteen months in!! Often chained hands and
Feet.? Where oh where should i begin? At the at the doctorate of law? The man gained with aplomb?..Or the
Great concern he holds for German history.' And the way
The world views it; there-in.' Lets me not dwell on old hitler!!
And that grusame time past.' Though I'll gather it shaped
This most decent German.' He maybe desired a better pass? Yet he's let down by current lawfare.' Of which that
Moustached devil would hold dear.' Is this real or imagined? Just the very worst that could up-rear.' I cry a
SHAME ON THE JUDICIARY.! A SHAME ON THEM ALL.!
Who have incarcersted, a shining example, of German
Integrity.' And what is possible for all.' Why do they sheild
The mass woundings.' The truth of dead killed by that clot
Shot.' You are an insulting stench.' Upon your modern history.' Oh by no means will you be forgot.' Yet your time
Will come to take a cell.' Normal Germans will arise! with
You to loose..Thats just what they'll choose.' And face the
World with human pride.'
.
Viva la Cordillera de los Andes by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
I’m seized with a mad rage to yell
long live the Andes Mountain Range
may the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain
The reason I can hardly divine
but I can’t hold myself back:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
For forty full years now
I’ve wanted to step over the horizon,
go far beyond the limitations of my myopia,
but I just didn’t dare.
Now, by no means, Gentlemen
is there an end to my ratiocinations:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Have they heard what I said?
There’s an end to my ratiocinations!
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Doubt there’s none over my lack of response
if they sever my vocal chords
(in such a case as this
it’s almost certain they will)
well, if they do stifle my voice
I would like to say I have no choice
but to accept the dashing of my very last hope.
I am a merchant
indifferent to the positions of the sun
a professor clad in green-coloured trousers
who comes apart drop by drop as dew
an insignificant bourgeois is what I am
in what way do red clouds matter to me?
Nevertheless I appear on balconies
in order to shout out what I offer:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Pardon me if I’m going out of my mind
while in the garden made by Nature
but I have to keep shouting till death:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
The Last Hope, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : Dernier espoir
There stands a tree in the cemetery
Thrusting itself up in total freedom,
By no means the fruit of bereavement –
Spreading itself out on stone unobtrusively.
In this tree, be it summer or winter,
A bird alights to trill clearly
It’s sad song of such fidelity.
This tree and this bird do us bind together :
You the object of my thoughts, I the absence
That time takes stock of in evanescence…
Ah ! To live again propped up against your knees !
Ah ! To be alive again ! But stay yet awhile, my lover,
Let not the void be my chilling victor…
At the least, say : I live but in your intimate core ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
There is always a light, sometimes a tiny glimmer expanding
Amongst the darkest forest as a fiery wheel of hope and desire
It measures the life of many years of tasting moments so far and few
The first full bite filled with momentous prurience leaving a tender
Taste reminiscent of briny afternoons and glistening bodies
On a hot summer afternoon at the edge of a water hole
Tender hands gliding up and down smooth skin dispersing
Guiding rivulets amongst the valleys and dell a secret hollow
Too far a reach; for the adventurer has love in his heart not lust
And as moons and suns are born and reborn the water recedes
Forests are felled, but one strong sapling a nexus between
The moments to bring forth the final moment the momentous moment
The nexus by no means a linear thing, time curving as if blown
By a wind filled with sounds of ghosts and angels, gently abrading
What seems like mountains into stones, into dust, into a gentle breeze
Drying tears, reviving a hermit heart, filling lungs with perfumed air
My paramour, no more a paramour but so much more, so much more
I
Diluted in the silence
All are enjoying Freshers party
Nobody knows when I go
Sounds were like buzzing fly.
I
Join wholeheartedly
Sudden attack on my door
Call for dining room.
Many times, many days
They remain suspended in the subconscious
The diet body
Fret with malice
Yet working!
I’m absolutely fit and jobless here…
I
Be missing in a hushed monastery
And senility
When I will be hoary like my parents
Who will take care of me?
My parents or my future!
I
Already lost the drops for them
Only the silent dry pain of heart is left
Senility of me and my parents must be same
I can't remember by no means
what i have done for them!!
15/09/2013
Happiness, by no means, will reside in our souls
If we do not learn, how to love and to forgive,
As
Joy, on no account, will be felt by our hearts
If we never find out, how to share and how to give!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
I9 DECEMBER 2014
By no means, can anyone consider me slow to loving.
Yet, ive never explored the world with, an older woman.
But im not holding bacc because of the difference in age.
I love hard, if you're my target, then no distance is safe.
I got a sweettooth, and you're the only one that can help.
My sweetheart, the only candy that i can accept.
And ive had gumdrops, pop roccs, taffy, and jellybeans.
But you're like white chocolate, candy that's rarely seen.
Tootsie rolls, dum dums, down to lollipops.
Am i a succer for love, hmmm...probably not.
Now & laters, milk duds, bubble gum, and m & m's.
Addicted to your sugar walls, no room for other women friends.
Ever since i tasted your whatchamacallit.
I lost my appetite for hersheys with almonds.
Butterscotch, dipsticcs, life savers, and mambas.
A sweet dedication that goes out to all the sugar mamas!
A life that holds no significance.
That's a life worth taking.
My life has become so
meaningless.
With these mistakes I've been
making.
A family, A life, A future.
My, how insignificant.
My time, My effort, My joy.
What can be better?
Reality, pain and some
pleasure.
Where is my gift?
How can I possibly measure?
My life isn't ****.
Because I don't idolize my
imagination.
Therefore, I must be lesser.
What makes your life worth
living?
What makes you so much
better?
I don't want to hear it.
This **** life I lead.
My life isn't perfect.
I am by no means.
You see, I'm only human.
And that makes me great.
But don't get it twisted.
My life isn't fake.
You say time is coming.
So I'll sit here and wait.
My life has no meaning.
So bring on the fate.
I'm waiting and waiting.
Waiting to see.
I can't wait much longer.
Savior, come take me.