Best Extraneous Poems
Written: February: 06, 2024
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Peaceful solitude,
letting exit of daily routine,
surrender to peace,
deep breathing calms the spirit,
relax tight muscles,
exhaling painlessly,
away from extraneous impacts,
falling into happiness.
Our palms are extended,
only a few inches away,
approach the
shrouded sanctum,
excitedly expecting,
the lavish outpour,
with the cherubs,
leap forward,
our contaminated chalice,
we shed transgressions,
slithering veneer,
digging for who we are,
out of the covetous quagmire.
Gradually into an ecstatic reverie,
where time and space are muffled,
mental symphony, being level and quiet,
quietness says volumes,
rich and calming,
controlling all noises,
who enters my head?
stillness grows inside,
permeating every bodily fiber,
magically interacting within,
so aged things may be rejuvenated,
a baffling land that hides delight,
swaying daisy petals and soft skin,
circles of cutlery.
Colorful smells scent them
pasted text paralysis,
capture lovely theaters,
subtle care cracks,
juxtaposed with colors and rich smells,
falling and reveling.
y
l
e
the very essence of a thing e
strangulated to shed the extraneous r
released to f l o a t f
without entity making us
dull or brittle
strip away
the entirety of thought
willingly forget
whether we ever flew or had feathers
to merge as no matter
in the comforting void§
needing nothing else
~ resting perfectly unfinished ~
embrace the void
I'm new to this language; it baffles me so!
With so many mysteries I wish to know:
Why doesn't 'resolve' mean 'to solve it again'?
And why are 'wise guys' not the same as 'wise men'?
Why doesn't 'extraneous' mean 'once was traneous'?
Why's 'miscellaneous' not NOT cellaneous?
Enigmas that seem to me very unmappable,
Unflappable me has become simply flappable.
"You're incorrigible", my friend Mike said to me,
I said, "Corrigible I'll endeavor to be."
One museum we saw had a fossil exhibit
I asked, "Every bone was at one time a hibit?"
"I don't care for inquisitive people", said Mike.
So I asked, "What's a quisitive person look like?"
He looked at me plussed with a look of disgust,
now I hope I can change it to gust and nonplussed.
"Disgruntled employees", my boss said, distressed,
"are a pain in the neck!" I thought, "gruntled is best!"
He scolds my appearance: "Your hair is unkempt",
so I'm bringing a comb to make sure it stays kempt.
"Avoid work mishaps, and do not act unruly".
"Yes sir, boss. I'll only make ruly haps, truly"
He tells me, "Just try not to look so disheveled."
My note to self: make it my goal to look sheveled.
"Intrepid Improvements" the work poster says
"Avoid trepid provements" is my New Year's res.
"Such reckless abandon" someone said to me
so from now on, more reckful I'm hoping to be.
I've tried to appear nonchalant and undaunted,
I'm daunted that I'm more chalant than I wanted.
This poem I'll write in indelible ink -
…much better than delible ink, don't you think?
Where did the role of soul leave?
Blind in directions, lost in destination
Escaped amid to the extraneous crowds
As if gone shattered like the whisper of dusk
Peace of mind seemed to be fade and mortal
Like a starlight with less of hope
There was no love, no sorrow
Everything placed as ghosts
Will it able to question
If you hold all the answers
Will it able to survive
If you bury all of your sides
Confusion...
Mind occupied....
The uncertainty rule the roost
Thirst caressing for longing
Wondering for the cure, arrested in anxiety
Kindheartedness is being quite generous
A considerate attitude that is from the inside
No price tag is placed on being accommodating
Being benevolent and affectionate is cordial
Willing to give everything for nothing in return.
A trait that is not always an inherited tendency
One to be heartily imbibed and truly developed
A behaviour that stands one out in the crowd
Exhibiting true amiable and amicable qualities
Portraying brotherly,sisterly,fatherly & motherly love.
When you are humane and quite propitious
They say you are beneficient and philanthropic
When you are soft-hearted or tender-hearted
They talk of you as being thoughtful & understanding
You are a bounteous bonhomie & benign personality.
Exuding a calid courteous and altrustic aura
Places you on a pedestal different from others
Extraneous factors may want to impede on you
The propensity of your kindheartedness surpasses
Showcasing your nature as an outstanding being.
Love
beautiful, powerful
loving, caring, encouraging
lovers, wishers, whisperers, supporters
shouting, fighting, weeping
painful, hateful
hate
Hate
remonstrant, remorseful
crying, reminding, seeking
songs, poems, photos, friends
feeling, finding, smiling
extraneous, lovely
love
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
The Artist
Once described as an intense artist
He now sits comfortably
Patiently being interviewed
By a reporter
Half his age
He begins
When I was a younger
I would come home from school
To an empty apartment
To keep myself occupied
Until my mother came home
I would spend hours
Drawing random sketches
And imaginary shapes in a notebook
That I kept hidden behind a couch
My mind was full of images
I was young
I was vulnerable
It wasn’t until
I got much older
That I decided to study art.
Speaking softly, he continues
People respect art and imagination
But recognition for an artist has a life of its own
An artist must push himself to do
What he hasn’t done before
But art is complicated
What often comes with it
Is all extraneous stuff
Which you try to control
Before it consumes you.
The interview
And the questions ended hours ago
Returning home
The artist gazes out his bedroom window
Outside
The Greek Orthodox
Dome of St. George
Maintains a stoic vigil
Over the East Village
Facing upward
Toward the dusky sky
Light from an open window
Highlights his forehead
Drifting down to his lips
Gradually disappearing
Near his open collar
Only to resurface
In the middle of his shirt
Hands, calloused and strong,
Are down by his side
The left touching his thigh
The right hand dangling in freedom
Deep lines furrow his face
Shadows under his eyes
Mark a life spent
Perfecting his craft.
In the silence
He takes a deep breathe
Grateful
That the Roman in his heart
Always unwavering
Prideful and defiant
Never surrendered
A day of his life.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I sometimes dip into. For modern
readers it does not lend itself to a quick browse. It’s pretty clear from the
start who dunnit.
My version in paperback contains insightful explanatory notes.
Apparently “Science” in the Tempter’s words“ O Sacred,
Wise and Wisdom giving Plant, Mother of Science”,* being derived from the Latin verb “scire”, really means what we now understand as “knowledge”.
This note seems to be for the benefit of such innocents who are
unaware of the process of diachronic semantic change, and who
may also entertain misgivings about nuclear power plants.
Newton’s apple might jolt us into considering matters of considerable
gravity.
Today we are concerned more about fallout than with the Fall, more
with the atom than with Adam.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions, yet
we have all benefited from science. That science has also
furnished Man with the means of self-extermination and involves environmental pollution on a global scale we must accept as collateral damage, call it what you will.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions.
Even though scientific knowledge is based on the axiom that our sensory perceptions, the experiments, observations and theories of science cohere,
being phenomena in one and the same time-space continuum, a scientist
should not be diverted from his or her quest by troublesome thoughts about extraneous factors, be they social, political or moral in nature, that impinge on the awareness of one indivisible reality.
In Milton’s day “science” simply meant “knowledge”.
Milton was concerned with the problem of good and evil, the relationship of God and Man, the conflict between Truth and Mammon, not with the complex realities of our modern industrial high-tech world.
Perhaps cogito ergo sum, that premise of the modern scientific method, also has a moral dimension.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I occasionally dip into.
When you least expect it
triumphs of dreams
formulate within your daily routine
They appear amidst
mundane circumstances
delivering what you'd fantasized
about in extraneous beliefs
elevating to grandiose heights
of mystical perplexity
parallel to expectations' desires.
Perennial tricks illustrate
mesmerizing thoughts, sights.
It's all mixed together
making it hard to delineate
reality from fiction
But you surmise
what is beckon truth
through clouds of confusion
that pester satisfaction's quandary
while you distinguish, make do
with the perilous situation
tragically, but with delight.
I can see them
Clouds of voracity
Covering my stars
Shadowing my reality
These civilized consciences
Have raped my protest
Have spun my web
I can no longer pacify
The tenacious circle of hate
That daily haunts me-
The deprived race
What is it I longed to be
Where come this aggressive reticence
Why this intellectual lock-jaw
I longed to be an alcoholic
I longed to join in the ecstatic dance
I longed to leap into the unknown
To preserve my ancestral pride
Neither did I know
I had no ancestry
I belonged
Not to the human race.
I could no longer trade
That rotting corpse of ancestry
For a dream
Nor could my voice
Accentuated by gesture
Give sacramental significance
To the ailing corpse
I bled from my wounds
I choked in your bonds
I baked in your avarice
How infinite this unity
Of free slaves!
How therapeutic
This hibernation!
They preached brotherhood
Their god issued
Commandments of charity
Which they conveniently
Reserved for the virgins
The silent majority
These invertebrate disturbers of peace
Must always answer with a nod
To those honeyed phrases
Which phased out moral indignation
Only to usher spiritual aberration
The saints had to turn the other cheek
I resigned from imagining, designing
Protesting and even dreaming
Into the routine of living
Without emotional wavelength-
A kind of unconsciousness
What do you say, brother
Should we take flight to freedom
Flee this intellectual tyranny
And accumulated weariness
Should we indulge our consciences
Can one dream thus
Dream of the miracles
They craned their necks
Dream of the great darkness
The ends of the universe
Dream of the wonderment
Of transcendent realms
Is there anything beyond
This shadowy future
Is there another universe
For the spider?
I queried thus and thus
In my ice-age mind
Whereupon emanated
Vast ramifications
Spinning a web for me-
A universe
Beyond which loomed
Irrational extraneous universes
Was that a miracle
Was that nature
Were those her snares
Perpetually gnawing my reality
Could those questions be answered
With a nod- however studied?
Come individuality
Remove these tenterhooks
Let me leap into a new rhythm
Let me split the capsule
And witness how long
The trip of human triumph.
(Apartheid era stuff)
K1087 and K1089 of Canto 109 of the THIRUK-KURAL: Thagaianangkuraiththal
(In the transliterations, the capital vowels stand for the repetition of the same vowel: eg., “A” for “aa”)
K1087: kadAak kalittrinmEl kadpadAm* mAthar
padAa mulaimEl thuthil
As veil o’er angry eyes, Of raging elephant that lies,
The silken cincture’s folds invest this maiden’s panting breast. (Transl. G. U. Pope)
The cloth that covers the firm bosom of this maiden is (like) that which covers the eyes of a rutting elephant. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
The ornamental frontlet covering the elephant in rut;
The maiden’s veil of fine cloth covering her breast. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
(*kadpadAm = ornamental fillet or frontlet for blindfolding an elephant.
*kadAkkaliru = an elephant in rut.)
K1089: pinai*Er mada*nOkkum nAn*um udaiyAdku
anievanO Ethil thanthu*
Like tender fawn’s her eye; Clothed on is she with modesty;
What added beauty can be lent; By alien ornament? (Transl. G.U. Pope)
Of what use are other jewels to her who is adorned with modesty, and the meek looks of a hind?* (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
(*I find this Drew-Lazarus translation most elegant, indeed. T.W.)
In tandem with the hind’s artlessness/simplicity of mien and innate modesty, what stratagem of extraneous adornment can add to her beauty? (Transl. T. Wignesan)
(*pinai = hind; nAn/nAnu = modesty, shame; madam = female simplicity; thanthu = scheme, stratagem, artifice.)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2017
Extraneous entities.
Isochronious through space.
Alight upon Terra Firma.
For Aurelian they chase.
Imperative they seek,
a golden sheild to divide
Havoc our sun reeks.
Nibiru must survive.
Harsh and deadly the conditions.
A planet so deprived.
An atmosphere
once guarded, safe for them to hide.
So protection they wisely devised.
To stop their homes demise.
Amalgamating chromosomes,
creating a new race.
To moil in the mines.
Resourcefully we keep up
a steady pace.
Pyramids ordered errected
As a beacon for us all.
Knowing they would leave someday
a terrestrial distress call
Accumulating auric.
Unleashed it's mystery.
Enlightening there descendants.
Us, their dynasty.
Prosperity and knowledge,
they gifted unto us.
Granted freedom to succeed
or disintegrate to dust.
Great monoliths constructed.
A seasonal devise.
Assisting homosapians
to continue on with life.
Wisdom now forgotten,
buried deep in sands of time.
Ascending back to
paradise so grandious,
beautiful and quite divine.
Leaving the half breed children behind
The ones that once remembered,
left clues for us to mind.
In ruins, signs and depictions.
Cryptic messages to describe,
proud Kings and Queens.
The makers of our existent kind.
The missing link,
unfathomable for us to think.
Yet, we cannot seem to recognize
what's right before our very eyes.
TO BELIEVE, OR NOT TO BELIEVE
A dialect forms from an undesired breath
Disjointed in my intent
Extraneous to the meaning others perceive
My juxtaposition holds much ambiguity
When I consider the allegory of good versus evil
Morally abstracted in my own perceptions
Am I the minority facing the torrent?
Or are the eyes of knowledge slowly becoming the majority
What are the ramifications of my faith?
Or the lack there of
Has my curiosity closed the gates to my soul?
Am I the tempest to my own moral Armageddon?
In my knowledge have I become tainted?
Unable to ever again rely solely on faith
Unable to return to the ignorance others desire
Or will enlightenment be the savior of man
How is it we are educated to believe we are a reflection of invisibility
When a unification of matter is the vessel of our creation
And matter is a tangible fabric
Ignorance is the loom from which man has woven himself
When in truth the Sun is our father
Our mother is the Earth
And water the womb in which the seed of life was dispersed
By Mr.E. Jones
He doesn't see, hear or smell anything extraneous, he lives to die.
All we have is this awesome moment now.
Regrets of the past are really useless
to consider, and worries about how,
or what if, are really utter nonsense.
Just focus on your own deep breathe
with relentless zeal, or on the music
with an intensity that serves to sift
out the extraneous and hear basic
drum or melodic line is all that matters,
and all the pain is suddenly gone and
the tension that tightens fists and batters
brain and vein with outrageous demand,
commanded to disperse in the universe,
from which poetry flows easy and diverse.