Best Engendered Poems
The time has come to create
the susok of our garden
Two pairs of hands to place the rocks
by waterfall and bamboo shoots
Only one pair of hands now,
as I shift sand wet with tears.
For Debbie Guzzi's Walk Softy Contest
August 20, 2013
"In prehistoric times, Koreans believed that rocks had more power than water and other things in nature. Also, they believed that rocks engendered God's good-will. Therefore, the arrangement of rocks is considered as one of the "essential" elements in designing the traditional Korean garden. Susok or "rock arrangement," gardens are commonly found."
Bold Nietzsche declared, “God is dead,”
Humans have killed him, so he said.
Enlightened men, all widely read,
have purged his being from their head.
God decomposed and left a stench,
That human genius cannot quench.
The promise of enlightenment
Instead of light has brought man blight.
God’s substitute, goddess reason
The symbol of man’s high treason
Has not engendered human good,
As humanists believed she would.
History and experience teach,
That man cannot perfection reach
By mere intellectual means
For evil exists in his genes.
The two world wars that men have fought,
defy claims of rational thought.
The truth is clear, mankind is flawed,
And badly needs the help of God.
The moral mess mankind is in,
Is evidence of human sin.
The death of God has brought a curse,
And made the plight of humans worse.
That God did die, is indeed true,
But from a different point of view.
God in man’s flesh came down to earth,
To live and die for man’s rebirth.
God is not dead, He is alive,
From Him humans their lives derive.
If you enlightenment desire,
Embrace God and make Him your sire.
Crowds and noise and people enthralled me
When I had deciduous teeth.
And a simple thought of loneliness
Engendered collywobbles in me.
How amicable people look when viewed with jejune eyes!
Blanketing all kinds under pristine
and untarnished label
Without contemplations and with profound celebrations,
Labelling the sweeter tongues 'good'
And tactless simpletons 'deride'.
Perhaps it was the age of innocence!
It afflicted my eyes with myopia
Hindering my childish wisdom for masques
As one after another, the deciduous white pearls fell
They did shake my bygone edifice of sagacity
With each new rise, my style of mastication changed
Sometimes to the left
Sometimes to the right
My food could not be chewed with stability
Sometimes the hollowness after the fallen tooth engendered agony
And in the artless custom of childhood, I believed all......
Then with time, the new convictions came
Enamels with more glint and rock-like firmness
With age, it pondered and with 'relations' it was illustrative
'That people are not always they appear!!'
'Their words are not always what they sounded!!'
But by that age, I was one of them
Deceptive in deed and sardonic in words
Perhaps it was the stage of Adulthood!!
On a late-autumn day when my heart
was as cold and rough as the wind, I met
you, one so like myself. We both managed
a weak, grimace-like smile and "Hello."
That day a seed, like winter wheat, was
planted in unprepared soil. Growth began--
slow, awkward, even painful, at the beginning.
By summer, our time together had engendered
a splendid bond of golden love and laughter.
Precious realities may spring from seeds
planted on cold late-autumn days.
placed 4th in a January 2018 contest
March 2, 2018, entered in Brian Strand's contest 405
Why in his presence, did her soft heart, always like sweet
cotton candy melt?
Orchestral songs engendered the tenderest feelings, to her
heart, so aquamarine velvet.
Such starlit, subtle, shameless, suggestive glances!
An antennae in every way was she, inviting kaleidoscopic,
tsunamic romances.
On the fog cradled ship, with a cape of fog, blessing her
chiseled,moonbeam face,
His arms enclosed her in a velveteen gold, cuddled in his
silent, starshine embrace.
Oh, poetess, penning of feelings of deep intimacy.
Your poem, will be stamped “romantic “?
A term, you loathe and find so very meaningless and worse,
utterly curt and disgustingly pedantic!
But only a poet who knows your heart to its scarlet
inner flaming core,
Has the outstanding bravissimo to knock on your truly
insatiable, heart’s-door!
Dare he try his wings and wish for such magically,
exotic, sensual satisfaction?
Wrapped in those twilight, wild, moonbeamed curls
of Eurydice’s Olympian extraction!
6/4/2024
Your ocular perceivers are the most resplendent ones ever kenned to mankind, they are as abstruse as the ocean and yet so captivating, The word dainty was engendered when they have no words for your lips, Your smile gladdens the heart of a man as wine gladdens mans heart, Your voice bring ecstasy and drives out sorrows within the soul of the hearer, Your face is the most elegant impeccably proportioned in appearance, if an artist is to do one final piece of art, they would be probing for you because they ken it would be the impeccable piece. Your personality is so genial, fun, doting, and so alluring. Viewing your disrobement is like a thunderbolt of sexual pleasure even a dysfunctional man will stand erect by the view, Your voluptuous body is more than that of a damsel and Aphrodite is less resplendency compare to you. I feel like I fulminated you cause I have degrade your resplendency by defining, describing, and comparing you with words of comeliness. You are not to be compared by or describe by any man. Cause your resplendency is that kind of resplendency beyond description. You are crafted by God himself, the greatest artist of all time. Thanks to your father and mother for not utilizing condom to bring out the definition of comeliness into this earth. You are the hyperbole of resplendency.
My muse did her fealty recuse
My honor she did stealthily reconnoiter
My discourse was grounds for divorce
Finding my writing no longer enlightening
My blithe parlance no longer my mistress did entrance
With my prose she did forthrightly dispose
Each short she did subsequently abort
Each regaling verse did prudently disburse
Each perforated line truncated with lackluster shine
Each conjured sentence only increased my penance
Each glamorous byline she did smugly decline
Each dilated phrase with a bridling border did encase
Each gilded stanza a burnished extravaganza yielding no artful bonanza
Each tethered word coagulated into a stolid curd
Each bloated quote sunk my creative float deeper in the moat
Each lofty rhyme labeled too smarmy and sublime
My metric time no longer struck a concordant chime
Each literary device neatly spliced would not even a novice entice
Each repetitive, stagnant metaphor made my verse a bore
Each strained, tortured simile engendered no empathy
Each supplanted metonymy a shock wave lobotomy
A stranger lifted me up today
While I was lost in my own self-centered universe,
Silently crying about nobody else reading, commenting or caring
About anything I’ve said,
Considering myself poetically dead.
I’ve been more concerned with the encroaching materialistic
Responsibilities, requirements and concerns of living
Instead of turning my attentions outward towards others
And lifting myself out of this whirl pool of self-pity
Into the ocean of giving.
When to my wondrous delight dark turned to light
As out of seemingly nowhere a fellow poet spoke gently and composed:
“Your poetry is like the softness of a country rose.”
And while I know not where she lives and breathes
This furtherance of feeling was shared with me:
“I too am blue as sky is gray and nothing more will do today
Except ethereal connections are how we poets play.”
I was more than moved, to say the least
How this gypsy out of cyber space
Renewed my poetic vow:
To speak the truth simple, plain and clear
As I know how.
And how
My words and hers connected
Through the vacuum of space and time
Is a story for another day and rhyme.
Until then, I stand transformed
By those few words she engendered –
And would give anything to tell her
How sweet and kind her words were rendered.
I will guard not against rules, but my conscience
And never shall exult in the esteem of men
For we all are brothers and sisters and friends,
Offspring of the muck whose bosom we embrace.
I live my life like a passing wind
Gently surfing through all the matters of life
Engendered and crafted by the hands of humans;
I view all things and weight their values.
They, as of a running stream on beds of rocks
The waters never lie still or become absorbed
So that water and rock cannot conjoin
So is my life with the materials of earth.
Are mine to find acquaintance….
When the heavens mourn, plants flourish,
When heaven is at its brightest moment
The plants of the earth shrivel in misery?
Yet they complement a cultivatable life.
I shall adapt to the intrigue and go my way.
I am brimmed full of her…life, life, life…!
Her great bowel is fraught with stale noise,
And she breaks wind into the atmosphere!
I am disgusted and will wander off
Wherever I shall have the balm of silence.
Silence is the overall answer to the
Nagging conundrums of the world.
I have had enough of the din and roar, now
I seek wisdom in the quietude of nature.
In a million of roar and hullabaloo of life
I find not a lesson to take to heart
But in a single word from silence
I have acquired a million lessons!
I will live in the prudence of silence and
Quiet my name, my pride, my ambitions.
Lo, the silence of God and the silence
Of nature makes me uncomfortable
To see my vain humanity and cravings
But in that shall i seek safety and solace!
Much has been the noise about love and
Peace yet to find. I shall deny myself goods
And seek peace from the alcove of my heart!
What is more to life, to eat, to breathe,
To be honoured or to acquire goods?
I tire of this humdrum existence.
It is one mind from bad to good,
It is one spirit from Jainism to Islam,
It is one flesh from poverty to wealth,
Only the result from the aura tells.
Hear, both tears and laughter have
Complement my health.
A man in a cell is being restrained by law
And same a man on the open street is being
Restrained by custom and constitution.
A man who knew was once not in existence
And cry to have come forth from womb
Why weep again who is to be gone to oblivion?
I don’t need to forgive
Or feel your forgiveness in return;
I don’t need to love you or feel
The embers of your fire to get burned.
Forgiveness, I’ve found
Is highly overrated
Ever since you knocked me down
My mind’s been saturated
With all the ugliness and hate your
Pathetic life engendered;
Forgiveness to or from you
Will never be surrendered.
So forgive me for not forgiving
The history of our past: I could deeply care
Less about who or what you are
Than trench bugs in the grass. Still,
I’ll let you pass
Like the untouchable, intangible wind,
More miniscule than dirt and sand
I’ll tread on once again, my dear old once begotten
Now long forgotten, friend.
Hello-goodbye, excuse me
But just who did you say you are?
Don’t make me blink my eyes again
And wish upon a star…
Because you’re as gone as any comet,
Gravitationally black hole bound;
So forgive me for not forgiving you
Without a whisper of a memory or a sound.
But forgiveness is a word you don’t deserve
When all you do is drag me down.
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hind sight!
The Passage through the Sea, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Passage de la mer by T. Wignesan
It’s not enough to be torn apart from the night
The night must be made to give birth.
Now this earth’s a sealed-off orbit
This sea an abdomen without lips.
When the ground and the sky are not but one wall
When water flowing into water becomes totally welded
Death appears hermetically maternal
At the moment when one should be saved.
How many times Oh ! How many times
Fetus expelled without the feeling of your being born
Would you want to be re-engendered before being
expelled ?
You despair always you hope
Until the Day of all Days.
Here between Migdol and the sea
You said : « Was there not in Egypt
Enough graves for us to be buried in ? »
You wanted to return to Misraïm
To consume your last piece of bread
In front of your burial pit.
You know of the anguish the death
Of the infant who has to be born.
For him in that mortal matrix
If he showed more resistance
He would want to be born contrary to nature
He suffers the horrible imminence of the Wind
The space beyond space itself.
Here at least forever in an embryonic state
Without being born he is.
But the Wind endows you through all the fibers
He is of your fiber
He praises adoring blessed glorified
He forces the lips of the sea through your lips
In order to be pushed outside by your scream
You are born here.
It’s not enough to be pulled out of Egypt
It was necessary to pave your entry into the desert
Exaggerate the aridness as the promised land
In such a way that your breath surging up to the heavens
Forms with its dust a column of fire
Which never-ending
Going through him
Conducts.
(Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 549)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 20, 2014
Nigeria is on the precipice
A country in dire need of redemption
Blessed extravagantly by providence
But ravaged ignorantly by
Leadership failure
Built on faulty foundation of
Impunity, corruption and nepotism
Which has engendered overtime
Inequality of crass proportion
As insignificant few
Swim in obscene opulence
While embarrassingly majority
Wallow in criminal poverty
Arise you men of good will
Silence is no longer golden
Arise wrestle our country back
From the spirit of live and let die
Arise my compatriots to the clarion call
To rescue God’s masterpiece
From total annihilation
Stand up and be counted
Together let us overcome
The poetical books are nearly, by me, complete;
Next follows those once-furled, parchmentlike
Scribal tablets on which were calligraphically
Indited the books classified as
Naught but "prophetical"-
After the major and minor scribes,
The authors of which, and those of the first grouping of the
Newer set of scriptural books:
Those of the evangelical order;
The momentum engendered by the narrative flow:
The alacritous, celeritous, positively propulsive flow:
Of the Bible then stalls out,
Mired in and run aground
Amid the impenetrably deep
Bedrock of the various epistolary, predominantly Pauline books
(Paul, being Mosaic in his inditing of just as many and more books than
Those writ by Moses' own hand, for one has the tally of a mere five or six to his
Luminous credit, whereas the other has something on the order of ten, at least, to his).
Not that those, the Pauline books, are of a very poor quality,
But to segue from the narrative and story, poetry, law,
Prophecy and history and the narrative flow thereof:
To turn from these to abstruse missives
Of a yet abstruser philosophical
Bent, then one finds that one yearns anew for the levitical, mosaical books,
When their perusal of books biblical desists before the gates of the
Sadly boring New Testament-save naturally for the gospels,
Which are themselves poetic and narrative and fast-moving.
Such, at least, is my appraisal of the matter.
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead
despite being cased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed
ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.