Best Effete Poems
I found the bottle lying on a dune of wind-swept sand,
And I brushed the grains upon it with a weak and trembling hand,
I was crazy-mad for water, I was more than three days dry,
So I pulled the cork with sand fouled teeth and spat it at the sky.
What came out wasn't water, it tasted more like smoke,
So I thought myself the victim of some fools cruel joke.
Then standing there before me, like a Muslim houri dressed,
Was a damsel more than beautiful, who my flaking face caressed.
She said "you've given me my freedom from my prison of the ages.
So I offer wishes numbering three as payment of your wages."
I knew what I desired, I knew what to wish for first,
I said "give drink to all upon this world who now suffer thirst.
But give those thirsty, a love of fellow, more than words upon the lip.
So they offer the bottle to a brother, before they take a sip.
And give those brethren gratitude, to kneel before they swallow
And thank whatevever God they serve for allowing them to follow."
When this was said I realised, my wishes all were spent,
Which was what I knew I'd wanted, from my first intent.
She said "o man, I see you're one, whom God has truly blessed,
So take a drink of water, and lay thee down to rest.
I grant thee freedom from jealousy, from earthly want, from sin.
Accept these gifts as tribute from an Effete of the Green Djinn."
My reason for wishing as I did, to this day seems to flee me,
But nightly as I slumber well, I still dream of Genie.
Categories:
effete, god, drink, freedom, god,
Form:
Couplet
Financiers feel superior to farmers
and pundits have it over poets.
All to the good because if you think America's
doing just fine, don't skip to the poetry reviews.
Our enemies are barbarous, our allies duplicitous
but our smart bombs are smart - that's how they found you.
Dad said all wars are resource wars. Follow
the money. The world needs more order, nothing
less than Nazis, never may the anarchic man's thoughts
be my thoughts, each shove sends a ping,
shields urge on shields, helmets helmets, we can be
the reigning kings between the last empire and the next
or implement a vision of collective deliberation
and binding agreements. Can China's navy
be harnessed to ensure free passage through
the South China Sea? We'll see how
things work out in the next generation.
In the meantime should I read Henry Kissinger's meditations?
He who thinks poetry's effete
probably considers Darwin a geek and Einstein
a postal clerk. Containment means leaving space
for the passionate and zealous to face themselves
and giving them missiles that don't work.
Slowing everyone down until one thing's done well -
governance or sustenance or brotherhood.
When violence comes to the neighborhood
the hierarchy will hold or fold, it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space
for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
By that what is meant. Sitting still and thinking deeply
on the relation of anger to coercion,
systems for correcting the decisions of earlier presidents.
We're required to report incidents of depression
to a doctor because you're a valued member of of our community
or so insignificant no one notices or cares.
How necessary the interface of war and poetry!
Categories:
effete, america, depression, money, passion,
Form:
Verse
I, too, dislike poems.
I’ve tried runes (and rampikes)
but that’s affected
rather than merely effete.
So I call them
figments.
When people query
What do you write?
at a barbecue or birthday party
I say soliloquies,
fractals,
fragments.
Self-similarities,
singularities,
sculptures (scriptures), geometric shapes and series,
three dimensional triangles, spheres
and differential equations,
fractured fairy tales,
Rocky and Bullwinkle,
rectal impactions.
On the other hand,
bits, bots, bytes
remnants, scrap, earth
gobs of phlegm in grains of sand,
shards of glass in a slice of hell,
hunks and clumps, curds and whey, sleet and pain, slap in the face
sub-atomic particles, cell organelles,
chunks of energy, cookie crumbs,
rusty trucks stuck in mud, dustings for ghosts,
just plain dumb luck, rocks, concrete, but not tweets.
Categories:
effete, birthday, earth, pain, people,
Form:
Free verse
Ill-fated crowds neath unchained clouds: the Silent City braved
against a sudden flashing flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which stripped its stony structures, blown with neutron bursts that laved.
Its barren streets, although effete, resound of yesterday
with chit-chat words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.
Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes,
which limn its frail forgotten tales, in weird unworldly runes
with symbols strung like halos hung in lifeless, limp festoons.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, throughout the doomed domain
reflecting white, wee wisps of light in ebon beads of bane
which cast a crooked smile across a faceless windowpane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
whelm ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, though no one’s left to fete.
Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep beyond the mushroom clouds.
No ghosts of ones with jagged tongues will sing a silent psalm
nor haunt pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.
Continued in part 2
Categories:
effete, angst, life, war,
Form:
Rhyme
A Fisherman’s Tale
Out o’gloom, her pale siege comes to menace our humble dwell
I look to celeste fix, yet no stark smile to traverse me
So I grip my girl, now graceful, as she slides in churn swell
My girl’s effete bones shiver, I hold hand tight, she begs flee
‘No my love’, so steel she plough’s on fierce, ice slapping her cheeks
I plea for celeste fix!.... yet no stark smile to traverse me
Enraged, her howls come screaming! shakes my lass ‘till skin comes weak
I say ‘be farer my girl’, shy, she tries turn forth our scow
‘No my love!’.... so bold she ploughs on fierce, ice slapping her cheeks
Her fury hurls, first flot then ice floe… splints… fly from loves brow!
Marred…. lets cry! bones cleft, I whisper ‘we have each other now’
I say ‘be brave my girl’, so steel, she try’s keep float our scow
I slide aged hand across my beautiful salt licked bough
Out o’gloom, her pale siege came, broke apart our humble dwell
Marred tried ‘vain, bones cleft, I whispered…. ‘we have forever now’
So I sooth my love…. now peaceful…. as we slide in churn swell.
Categories:
effete, dark, devotion, goodbye, grief,
Form:
Terzanelle
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may thereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones and groins
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
(when) (once) (soon)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
Categories:
effete, blue, daughter, father, jewish,
Form:
Free verse
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord,
For where to step I can not behold;
My feet are frail and I am effete,
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord.
I am devoid of sense and I lack the sight
Of Savior's steps on the way of light;
If left alone I never can trace,
Hold my hand, lead me to the right.
I know the mission on the Calvary's tree,
And by the blood that shed I yearn to be free;
But the devil does to flatten me down,
So hold my hand and ever near be.
A cloud so dark has blinded my eyes,
A spirit so sly caresses my thighs;
In guise I'm tempted and can't override,
Hold my hand, deliver me to the skies.
They've besmirched me and broken my heart,
They've battered my back I am sorely hurt;
So I pray to you O lord of Peace and Love,
Hold my hand and heal my part.
The storms are strong and tempests rise,
My yacht is wretched and I'm no wise;
The hippos may rejoice and crocodiles chuckle,
Hold my hand, pick me from demise.
I want to be founded and firm in faith,
And heed the walk Your Word saith;
Cause my eyes to see and my sense be sage,
And fine tune what my tongue saith.
So let me carry no other concern,
Except your will in form and turn;
Confirm my stand, my posture preserve,
So I and Jesus will to Heaven return.
Categories:
effete, me,
Form:
It was a time to bond and booze with dear Papa,
An interval all the more naughtily charming
As it inflamed the temper of irascible Mama.
Before happy hour, we two went shooting
With the three o three I bought for drama
In a gauche youth that was always dragging.
Out we drove in my short, fat pa's beetle,
Two maladroits equally socially feeble.
We stopped by some neatly stacked cans
That we shot, exploding wet excrement
Putting a brown pall on our bonding plans.
I fired a random shot as if by witty accident.
Off we went driving by unbroken fences
Till we saw a policeman in bewilderment
Standing over a black and white cow,
By a farmer making a bellowing row.
“We shot the beef, my son,” joshed Pa,
And put the foot down upon the pedal,
Laughing merrily in the hurrying car.
I smiled at his jest however feeble,
A tasteless jibe at the furious farmer.
The very thought I readily dismissed
With a sly, effete flick of the wrist.
The matter of the dead cow was forgot
Until not too long before oblivion
Took hold of every thought of the sot
Aged stupid by whisky and bad living.
“It was because of that cow we shot,
A sin that God has not yet forgiven.”
For a neighbour's dog gored his heifer,
A punishment he had to decipher.
But I think he obliquely gave me blame,
For it was I who shot the bovine brute.
Before his fading mind went fully lame
He reasoned it best to stem guilty root
Before old sins haunted shaky mind's frame.
Dark disputes lingered as he was less astute.
But for me the cow is a point of indifference,
In the abattoir a month earlier of its existence.
Categories:
effete, age, anxiety, death, family,
Form:
Ottava rima
Proyecto de tren instantaneo entre Santiago y Puerto Montt by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan
(Homage to Nicanor PARRA, 1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the "Cervantes Prize" (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish), four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University), Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes "Anti-Poems" - a fresh
chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris, 2016.)
The Anatomy of the Instantaneous Train (plying) between Santiago and Puerto Montt
The engine of the instantaneous train
occupies the place of the destination (Pto Montt)
while the last coach
straddles the station of departure (Stgo)
This type of train affords the passenger
the advantage of arriving instantaneously at Puerto Montt
at the very moment he boards the last coach
in Santiago
The rub is in order to continue voyaging
the traveller has to keep moving with his luggage
through the train
until he gains the first coach
Once the passage has been realized
the passenger may proceed to exit
the instantaneous train
which has remained stationary
during the entire voyage.
• Observation: This type of (direct) train serves only the uni-directional journey.
Source: Poem read by Nicanor Parra as invitee to the International Poetry Festival in the Netherands in 1989 (?)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
effete, allegory, extended metaphor, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Cried she concealingly in her heart,
felt lone and heavy,
disconcerted she was from her graceless life ,
Waited for the support of someone's hand,
and his courteous voice.
Shoddy reason it was which her family verbalised,
downhearted she felt in her mundane life,
she burked her feelings and tried to take a breath,
But found it effete tto restrain her mind and flesh,
and died with the charge of annihilating oneself.
No one knew that her parents cursed her,
None knew how gravely her thrashing went on ,
Nobody knew that she was treated extrinsic,
Not any soul knew ,
That she was tormented so hard.
Her body was thrown into a stream nearby,
Not a proper burial was given to that innocent child,
and twenty two she was with a beautiful smile,
but was only tortured,
B'coz she was born as a 'Girl Child'.
Categories:
effete, pain,
Form:
And the leopard shall lie down with the kid
Isa. 11:6
My, my, my
Fancy meeting you here, kid
You're looking good enough to eat,
you got good taste, I can tell
Back in the day,
you woulda made a mighty fine leopard treat
But I'm a vegetarian now,
don't that make you wanna say, holy cow
Well, well, well
I'm flattered how you spotted me so easily
You see I'm stepping with a new look,
I'm not the same person I used to be
No more billy goat, stubborn and tough streak;
now, I'm just a nice, tender-hearted person,
no longer selling myself like a piece of meat
Indeed, indeed, indeed
It's a new world we're living in,
and all the changes look very good to me
No more predators, high brow
Puffy hearts, no elite
No more helpless prey,
or diseased minds
No more spiritual effete
Um, um, um
The purr of your voice sounds so sweet,
I'm loving the words you're speaking to me
No more cruel urban jungles,
or village mires of poverty
No more vacuous rural living,
no more suburban sterility
Let's give a non-fermented toast,
fare good riddance to the old way
Yes, let us come eat, drink and be merry,
refresh our souls at the new world café
Categories:
effete, bible, christian, love, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
The church doors would then open on both sides of the street.
A young man heard Cecelia’s words sounding effete.
He said in response to those words no one would condone:
“There is no need for a car rental. We drive our own.”
Cecelia heard from the realtor after the jeers.
He said, “No one would rent a car in a hundred years”.
She replied, “There’s no reason to stay. I’ll go away.
I do not like it here. Your antics I will not play!”
Mr. Phillips said, “Even though all of this is true,
we want you to stay. There’s a rental office for you.
This place is located at Mount Moriah Baptist
on the lobby floor. You will stay and will not resist!
Your daily presence at this agency will give us
an outward show of completeness that looks congruous.
The town’s terribly discontented. Something is wrong.
We need you renting cars here. You really do belong.
We have attained perfection, unlike the other towns.
Perfection holds in check the discontent that abounds.
You must stay behind the counter.” That’s all he would say.
The woman responded to the man’s words in this way:
“You’ll be sorry when I dream about those things you fear.”
He grabbed her arm and yelled, “You are ours! You will stay here!”
This auto renter said she would not go quietly.
Cecelia answered defiantly: “Wait and see!”
Based on the short story "A City of Churches" by the late Donald Barthelme
Categories:
effete, adventure, fantasy, words, car,
Form:
Rhyme
Calendar cats are the Pussy élite.
Silky or spiky, or butch, or effete,
Calendar cats are a privilege to meet …
They’re, oh! SO beautiful!
My Bubble’s a bit smelly, and he doesn’t seem to care,
And his poor old baldy belly has got ‘flying-away’ hair.
He quacks and he sneezes, and he dribbles ev’rywhere –
It’s not pretty at all …
Calendar cats have immaculate hair.
It’s sleek and it’s clean – not a flea anywhere;
But they’re paper, not real-life – it’s true, and you can’t
Hear them PURRing at all …
Bubble’s greedy and he’s lazy, and his fur gets up my nose.
He gets it in my dinner and he gets it on my clothes.
He isn’t too hygienic at all, BUT – he PURRs
Like a pneumatic drill …
My Bubble does nothing, and he does it all day.
When he’s not on my lap, then he’s still in my way.
He sleeps in my garden, and dreams of the old
Days, - when HE had it all …
But calendar cats only hang on the wall,
And when you need a cuddle they’re no use at all …
So I’ll cuddle my Bubble ...
Yes, I’ll cuddle my Bubble …
And I won’t want a calendar pussy at all …
No, I won’t want a calendar cat
At all!
This is a waltz (3/4) rhythm, and verses 2 and 4 are in double time (6/8)
Sadly, Bubble is no longer with us, but he did live to nearly 20!
Categories:
effete, pets, song-lyric
Form:
Quatrain
Though people may long for a present from God,
How many embrace the new day?
Instead of unwrapping what lies at their feet,
Dark memories paint a cliché
Of dawn’s possibilities! Isn’t it odd
Man's mood can make grown men effete?
Though day’s never wrapped up in ribbons and bows
The sunshine invites us to play,
Makes light of the fears that arise in the dark
And cripples their fearsome display,
Revealing the beauty that colors disclose,
The cry of the cloaked meadowlark.
Man’s best chance to shine always comes with the dawn,
As caution is thrown to the wind.
And his expectations? No need of repair,
The future’s not his to defend!
He rises to stand on the legs of a fawn,
God’s present he leaves in His care!
Long Tooth
March 31, 2016
Categories:
effete, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Kicked out of a theater for the twenty-sixth time,
the owner suggested to the highest building in town they should climb.
From there, throw yourselves down to the street.
Their act was considered both putrid and effete.
It was discovered three beautiful women also came.
Hilda, Wilda, and Tilda they were called by name.
These girls didn’t seem to have anything to hide.
In a similar situation, they contemplated suicide.
As all six of them were ready to go,
there was somebody mysteriously playing a piano.
The man playing the instrument was a millionaire.
He often played in isolation in the open rooftop air.
The man thought this sextet had talent that was not bad.
He hired all of them to star in a musical that he had.
However, the stooges and female company once again tasted defeat.
The man was insane and bound for Dr. Dippy’s Retreat.
Based on the Columbia Pictures short subject “Rhythm and Weep” starring the Three Stooges.
Categories:
effete, dedication, funny,
Form:
Quatrain