Best Commandant Poems
There once was a little mighty ant
Who was extravagant and arrogant
Known to be exorbitantly militant
She was so combatant and petulant
They nicknamed her My Commandant
One day she came across an elephant
Elegant and obviously dominant
She started on her typical rant
Then stopped and decided to recant
Both agreed it was all very insignificant
They chatted, it turned out the elephant
Was actually the ant's aunt
Suddenly the intolerant ant
Has become cheerful and exuberant
And now routinely breaks out in chant
Read on air by invitation ~ May 26, 2020 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 2nd place, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 20, 2018 for MID OCTOBER 2018 CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and February 23, 2018 for contest MAKE ME LAUGH sponsored by Robert Haigh
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Six
Soon all the rooms at trysting hotel were for years booked through
By pilgrims from Mindanao and Minangkabau to Timbuktu
Saudi princes bought the hotels at Carrefour de Pompadour
Kings of Malaysia with retinues planned long séjours
Sea Anne-Anne’s “broken news” chartered all the sailing club’s boats
The Mayor sacked the Accounts Chief for failing to raise the rates
Sea Be-As put out feelers to buy the Pompiers de Paris
All-Cheese-Seas-Roar made a secret pact with the mosque’s prelates
All-Lions-Fun-Press opened offices at the Préfecture’s terrace
Bee-Bee-Sea late as usual wanted a Royal Palace
So they got the Queen to confer Lordship on the Président
Beings-Port set about organizing annual matches face to fa ce
Between Robo-Cops and the Darling Dears clad in chadors
On one condition: they all fought it out in the lake outdoors
Just then His Holiness with his yea-sayers strode out for air
When boom-voiced Commandant pounced on them with Robo-Cop jaws:
“Pray! Esteemed Prophet’s Emissary! Lend me thy sovereign ear!
Habeas corpus ad subjiciendum this writ makes clear
Miscreant Tent Maker’s son Omar doth s’installe à demeure… »
« STOP ! » ordained the Imam, « I must forthwith lead the dohr prayer !”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
"dedicated to Robert a Owen...a soldier who served"
bombing the monster and his minions to
on the side of the right,the just,and the true
bullets hit the bird called B-17...falling fast to earth with a shrieking savage scream
end of the dream for super heroes of the sky...pull the rip cord or surely i'll die
hit the ground with a thud but safe in the mud
devils army closes in like snarling twisted thugs
still alive but taken prisoner to a POW camp
freezing cold in dead of winter the commandant laughs...as he bakes the bombadeers the whole camp just gasps
their thoughts can't grip the horror and their minds can't grasp the madness
soldiers think of simple times before this storm of sadness
the bright and the shiny is now charred black and blue
leaving pieces of our souls in stalag 42
one year of darkness days...cold confusion...frozen hearts
like insanity intrusions bad beasts they bite and bark
but hark...we hear the distant rumble of planes,trains and tanks
soon the tables will be turned
soon the wicked walk the plank
most to their ultimate demise and ugly doom because nobody escapes from
stalag 42
liberation comes in red...soviets with sadistic smiles...the slaughter soon begins
cause they've walked a monsters mile
no bullets,bats,or boots...no the leader shows his sickle
now swastikas they scream cause they know their time has trickled
one hundred heads chopped off like pickles...blood saturates the stump
brutal nazis meet their maker in that human garbage dump
a lie would be better but it has to be the truth...evil thoughts can't be erased from
stalag 42
years they pass and days go by just like they always do
at the bottom of a bottle is where i live cause i can't trade the bad for the good
like slices of sadism in bloody drowning pools
can i rest in peace forever?far away from stalag 42
RIP paw paw Owen
Snow falls on the brittle leaves of birch trees,
their branches miraculously overlooked by the December wind.
It makes a sound like the marching feet of scary Germans rushing through Poland.
Snow, mixed with freezing rain,
falls hard on the roof of an unheated barracks in Auschwitz,
filled with men and boys in pajamas.
It sounds not unlike the far-off thunder of the radio in the commandant’ s house,
the angry voice of the Fuhrer.
Snow, descending from the sky like shaved ice, on a brittle day,
5 maybe 8 degrees.
It covers the makeshift roadblocks in the streets of Warsaw,
making little mountains — so pure on the outside but fetid, rotten, corrupt beneath the fine powder.
This snow,
this ice falling to the ground,
sounds like Russian boots jumping over the mountains.
Rain in Gdansk,
a fine mist,
the smell of the sea.
It covers the streets, where men whisper things that will someday be heard
and old women fall on their knees to pray the Rosary.
This rain,
it smells of freedom.
Limerick: Once a Mom Tigress spurned her lame-born cub
for Commandant Cousteau’s son
Once a Mom Tigress spurned her lame-born cub
Wild Life Champ admitted cub to his club
Took cub under his wing
Till she could wildly spring:
Club members now learn to swing the knobbed club.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Eight
Other media meanwhile busy with who’s sleeping with whom
Relying on New-Sweep and Thyme to make loud front-page zoom
Mainly of those who leapfrog into top power palaces
On whether de Beauvoirs or transvestites be given more room
Dohr took dire toll on the High Prelate’s laboured vocal chords
And just as the Chief pow-wowed with advisors and legal boards
So did His Holiness with a delegation come from afar
The results as well as can be expected turned out: Discord!
The wily Franquist woman counselor slammed the Chief’s car door
And bee-lined the barred gates of the trysting hotel’s portico
The Chief sent Commandant in hot pursuit of bent-backed woman
Scarf drawn over pockmarked scalp limpet-mouthed suction sore
As the dohr throngful of the Faithful streamed out queues formed for asr
The Commandant waylaid the Imam come out for some air:
“…ad subjiciendum… Omar…Tent Maker’s prodigal heir…”
“Means thou Umar ibn Al-KHattap…Exalted Caliph Sire?”
Non-plussed the Commandant looked hard at Writ in his thick hands:
“Your Holiness! Be it thy pleasure to peruse these commands!”
One yea-sayer read aloud: “Oooo..maaaar ibn al-Khaaayyaaaamm…”
“Who? Must be that drunken half-Turk by rich widows favour finds!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive
Not going from platform to smoke.
Not going from platform to smoke in a blink
Or just in an hour and a half,
“We really have got this machine running smoothly.”
The camp commandant would laugh.
The camp commandant would laugh in his house
Which was white and just behind the hedge.
He and his family could just see the chimneys
And smoke past their window ledge.
I can just see the ledge of the window
With our hands wrapped for Tifillin prayer,
An act of worship never allowed
To those who were previously there.
Those who were previously there came by train,
In a transport they came every day,
Crammed in goods vans that slowed to a halt,
Confused and afraid in dismay.
Confused and afraid and in dismay
They got down and formed sorting lines,
Those who went right were sentenced to death,
To the left for some other designs.
And the stench of the smoke was appalling
It wafted and hung in the air,
Indicting all who worked in that place
Of the wickedness that they all share.
I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive,
Not going from platform to smoke.
Open peaceful conversation to dear white
and black people in the World.
Who does not have enemies
And best friends in life?
I think no one ...huh?....yes!
Accurate answer given.
I have many enemies,
friends and best friends ...yes!
My enemies are:
Racism,
Tribalism,
Antagonism,
Imperialism,
Afrophobia,
Xenophobia,
Hypocrisy
Envy
Hate
Lie
Jealous
My best friends are:
Love
Peace
Kindness
Goodness
Happiness
My friends are :
Some racists, Witches, Liars, Prostitutes,
Tribalists, Xenophobics, Haters, Mediums,
Robbers ...so on.
I think you are so astonishing
As you find out about my above friends.
You can ask me," why do you have wrongdoers
as friends ? "
I can answer you this way , " I was called by God to teach the truth to diffent people.
The target of the Word of God is to help them change,
Then inherit the heavenly Kingdom together. "
I think the great commandant in chief
does not escape in the war.
You heard about many battles
Which the Apostles of Christ faced,
And how they were killed.
I am not the first and
last in this hard
journey to teach some people
who disassociate with you when truth burns
their hearts
As they still wish
To continue doing wrong deeds.
It is an open peaceful conversation,
Dear white and black people of the World
You heard about my side ...What about you?
June 7th /2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Thirty-Two
Late afternoon. Doldrums. The waters stood still. Was She asleep?
Lady Lake then drew her petticoat up to scratch Her shins deep.
At Embryo Islet the siesta-bound birds stirred and squawked.
Did matters of Form and Faith plague only minds of men who weep?
By the spindle Mairie tower wobbled the defiant Sea Anne-Anne fleet:
Galapago Rani of Pharoah’s Independence Square feat
Set course for Pubic Isle with her staunch camera women
But the sail stood limp while Lady Lake puffed Her exhausts down feet
Undaunted she threw rustic baguette crumbs to lasso swan cob
Then to cleave becalmed waters she enticed the cob lob by lob:
Austro-Hungarian Empire looked forward to Waterloo –
Glides and jerks moored her boat on Pubic Isle to ensure her job
From the port-holes of the Préfecture’s seaside ship liner shape
Keenly-trained eyes watched her moves with great approval for her shape:
Chief of Staff thought out loud if she could pose questions for their lot
The wooden bridge to mosque meadow looked saggingly out of shape
Yet again the Commandant strove to clear his throat Writ in hands:
“O! Wise and Learned Mullah! Would’st Thou keep Faith in these here lands!
The dire day wanes fast while this Writ stays unclosed hard and fast…”
“STOP!” cried the Imam. “Maghreb calls! I must hence to avoid bandhs!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Nine
“Sire!” cried a lame yea-sayer: “I know this mad hookah addict!”
“Then drag him here by the scruff of neck be it hook or by trick!
But first when thou seest him Jap-slap him before and after!”
The unfortunate crony jerked crab-wise for fifteen slabs of brick:
And came toppling back: “Your Holiness! What Jap-slap really mean?”
“Slap him when you first see him and then slap him after seeing him!”
“Oh! How might that be, Sire? Right at this hour Abdul dreams deep!”
“Well, pluck him from Widow Zaynub’s lap! Shake down his heroin!”
And even as blood thawed in dragonfly under water veins
The dribbling pitter-pattering rains unclogged the stubborn drains
Hidden stifling demons shook ominous wings to draw the veils
The shroud of mists lifted over the assembled hosts’ terrains
To reveal the pent-up currents of mystifying self-hood:
The Commandant strove to confront the prelate in the right mood
The Imam caught up over and above sacrament duties
While Robo-Cops and the Faithful hung fraught by their livelihood
Regional Council convened in the Mairie spindle tower
Chief of Staff rounded up forces’ heads at the Prefect’s bower
The Writ-Server constrained sang: “I must this behest unload…”
“STOP!” cried the Imam, “I must this very hour conduct asr!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Three
Is it true the sun dared cock its eye over the hillocks
Nor did it with affront sink into raging Atlantic docks
Such the glare of armoured headlights singeing the mist-crowned mosque
Though the assembled hosts ogled the Furies with hidden locks
The Faithful knelt with heads humbled down facing best the mihrab
Be it on sidewalks thoroughfares parking lots or slab
Calling out in strength: “Allah! Le Clément et Le Miséricordieux!”
Hundreds of thousands of hungry voices rose in one gift of gab
Faced down by Darling Dears Robo-Cops looked lively about them
When outstepped prayer-full worshippers in composed phlegm –
From out the Chief’s official car rushed the dazed Commandant:
“Tarry yet, Gentle Folk, bid His Holiness to our errand come!”
The Senior Mosque Administrator decked in robes and headgear
Spake out in measured tones grave and strict amid silence dear:
“The Prophet’s Servant hath just now gained his hard-earned quarters
Whence at this very hour breaks the fast with sacred bread pure!”
Bison Futé traffic reporters echoed “panic stations” in tears
Safe for one route leading from Pyrenées to tell-tale Poitiers
Retreat was no longer feasible: bylanes to broadways
Lay clogged with shiny metal and armour-plated zigzag gears.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty
Trillion pin-pricks of the sticky mists surround the mosque’s turret
Shrouding the pallid angular slabs of the Faithfuls outlet:
Even the muzzled pit-bulls marshaled out in the cold winced.
At the sharp tweet of the Commandant’s whistle car-lights uplit
Like some otherworld Xanadu the mosque loomed ethereal
Floating on fizzing cloud mists in a sky turned surreal:
“Awake! And unbar the portals,” boomed the thick-chested Chief,
“Dawn’s disapproving face frowns down upon us in denial !”
Some penitent come for early fajr prayer called out in fear:
“Who art thou in armour-bound black hidden by helmet visor?
Is this some Garth Varda come to task? Or some Spielberg quest?
The cock summons not the day nor doves huddle in the clear.”
“We’ve come to serve a warrant for the arrest of a miscreant.
Go! Tell the Imam forthwith! Wake the Holy Incumbent!”
So hollered the Commune Chief’s barrel-chested Commandant.
“Grand Officier of the Légion d’honneur, pray be patient!”
Silhouetted against shiny walls stood the stout robot force
Not an arm stirred though eyes stayed peeled with ears to the boss
When into headlights strode the jellaba-draped Prophet’s servant:
“What heinous crime hath brought the Caliph’s wrath down upon US!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
I had to down my tools
I had to terminate the calling
I struck wielding the ngungi..
I struck the great gadgados
Defender i neutralized
What is mine by right
The mob was unleashed on me
Thoughtless humans trying..
Nay baying for my blood
Even in this aspect they failed
I entered the delicate meats industry
And unleashed the wrath of Kiama
Dealt a incapacitating brow
TD of guardgados you are missed
I will always recall you held me
Encouraged me to wield my first
First pen - at poetry soup
I was hurt in the battle but...
Twas expected .. seer all is open
And great Boss at gadgados
The buck stops at your feet
Dereliction of duty will be..
Your undoing oh mighty one
Great D. of gadgados you are milking
one cow and using the milk to feed
A calf yet you neglect to feed its mum
The beginning of your fall will be when
You will destroy gadgados in the belief
That your personal star will rise..
Chipset Technologies i now own
In the digital era all your solution
I acquire using the rat in system
Aptly named mouse.. a right click
and i gain all solution that i need
systematic hacking sequence
those in the know call it
And we blew the NYS scandal up
Siphoning of our groups resources
Deploy Policia Militia Generaia
Private Military Commandant
and an assetion to - KFS
Kirinyaga Free State - eternally
Forever defender i remain - Kenyan
And patriotism is my duty - Shalom
LEWIS NYAGA
CODE 254
A KFS PEACE DAY
PRIVATE WING
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake : Part Thirty-Five
Chief of Staff commandeered the Lake Restaurant and Sailing Club
Setting up mass long-term cuisine facilities for Robo-Cop
Turned Swimming Pool amenities into canteen facilities
Took over the now vacant Lycée class-rooms as rest-room club
As someone said within ear-shot: “He has bouclé la boucle!”
Added Galapago Rani: “He sure runs a tight ship schedule!”
Chief Executive called him up: “I can come for seven hours.”
“Sir, best to stay put: Never know what’s between now and next poll!”
The drones and sound-barrier blasts of fighter plane practice runs
Have died down in the distant swan-song red-eyed horizons
And Maghreb prayer for the Faithful was drawing to a close
When the now less-than boom-voiced Commandant edged by entrances
Seeking to confront the Holy Mullah with the Writ’s purpose
Black-beaked Bernache geese stretched sleek clarinet necks to hoot opus:
The Lake’s sacred even-song anthem bidding one and all adieu
As the wintered Sun still majestic drew woollen curtain cloak close
CS ordered check-points to be set up at short intervals
In the Robo-Cop five-strong ring round the Mosque’s exit portals
Lest the “Miscreant Poet” sneak out in chador black by night:
Dainty Robo-Cops were rushed in to frisk chador-clad mortals!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-One
Meantime the Faithful gathered for prayer sans delusions
His Holiness excused himself for the usual ablutions --
The Commandant backtracked to an official car for pow-wow --
Lights dimmed as indoor lights were turned on for inspections
Starch stiff blue-black uniforms and sleek arms rallied round the mosque
Throttled roads with dark coaches and cars loomed rocambolesque
The sullen force trudged in from the east over Her matted tresses
Town and national route entrances choked with armour and lock
Within the hour as prayer murmur surged up to the dome
Polished cars of expensive make gathered as pious gnome
On sidewalks banks driveways all roadways had chockfull become
Till even the national route alongside to standstill succumb
His Holiness at the forefront of flock strode out in regalia
While all around the standing blocks rose faithful echolalia:
“Our Lord Master of Security bids us thus announce:
In the Name of the People: Habeas Corpus inter alia
“On Sha’ban 27, 1431 A. H. mentions
This writ one miscreant ‘Omar’ given to calculations…”
“STOP!” declaimed the Imam, “I have to proceed with chour!”
And thus turned on his heels to lead the congregations.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014