Best Fifty Six Poems
One in a million’s not enough
To say what he meant to me.
One from out of the whole wide world
That is what the theme should be.
He was my son, my only son,
The first of my children three.
I knew that I was truly blessed
When God sent him down to me.
He was born hungry so he cried
For a bit those first few days,
Until his mother understood
The feeding schedule maze.
Once his hunger was satisfied
And he had begun to grow
No sweeter child has ever lived
Nor delightful one to know.
His complexion would put to shame
Any model’s of the day,
His nature, that of an angel,
Was his for a lifelong stay.
He welcomed first little sister
When he turned the age of two.
No jealously did he display
And he knew to be gentle too.
He had pets and he treated them
With great tenderness and care.
If anyone or thing was hurting
My son was the first one there.
His elementary teacher said,
When trouble brewed on school ground,
My son found the way to fix it
If a fair fix could be found.
He had a very brilliant mind.
He read books to make him think.
If we had a knotty problem
He’d be first to fix the kink.
He gave measure for full measure
And then gave just a bit more
When dealing with his fellowman
Whether they were rich or poor.
He loved this world we all live in
And could always find a way
To find enjoyment in it.
He made the best of every day.
He brought me no pain or sorrow,
But filled my heart with pride
And happy to be his mother
Until the sad day he died.
God sent His angels down for him,
Just before he turned fifty-six.
He’d been born with a heart problem
Even my bright son couldn’t fix.
won 6th place in Linda marie's One in a Million contest.
For One in a Million Contest
On this ship I'll cruise the Scottish Isles
Coast on coast for many a mile
Rocks and sand, castles that are grand
Beauty that has been graced by many hands
Isle of Iona what a dream
Where the beautiful stone Abbey can be seen
Much of your beauty destroyed over the years
Hope of restoration somehow calms all fears
Isle of Arran twenty miles long and fifty-six around
Palm Trees grace your lush land
Divide by the Highland Boundary Fault that bounds
The north rugged and hilly with south gentle as sand
So many isles over seven hundred in all
One cruises on the imaginary ship all night long
From low lands, craggy hill and mountains tall
Each night I'll cruise the imagination with song
Contest:"Indulge Me Scottish Style"
Sponsor: Thvia Shetley
I lured a fragile daisy into my palm.
She thought it was safe, a place of calm.
Slowly I squeezed until it bled,
until there was nothing left
but the stain of Karmic dread.
Next came a wild rose, attracted by my dying scent.
The more I squeezed (it), the more I bled.
I shook my hand, but it stubbornly stayed.
Laughing as I twirled, bleeding down the drain.
Then came a blizzard of brambles.
Careening down from black moon mountain.
Pocking every cell of silver sanity.
Until my wings no longer breathed.
So today I waltz alone, approaching the end.
A fifty-six-leaf clover of hard-earned regrets.
Then entered this mighty viper.
Casually kissing a string of karmic rubies
around this selfish iron neck.
Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six.
She was special and a credit to all chicks.
She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham.
When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand.
I learned about her death on Facebook and it made me feel bad.
When we learned of her passing, it was tragic and so very sad.
She had a wonderful figure and good looks.
When we watched her on Happy Days, we were hooked.
She died too young and her death has devastated her fans.
Sadly, we have to say goodbye to the talented Erin Moran.
[Dedicated to Erin Moran (1960-2017) who died on April 22, 2017.]
As she listens to her music box
It makes her feel alive
She no longer dances, to it's magical tune
For now she's nintey-five
It takes her back to her youthful years
Her memories, wrapped in a smile
She can only remember, bits and pieces
For it's been such a long, long while
Perched on her father's shoulders
They danced around the room
Sometimes, pretending she was the bride
And of course, her father, the groom
They played it on her wedding day
She was married for fifty-six years
Again, she winds her music box
As her eyes are filled with tears
Her husband gone for nineteen years
Her heart, such an empty place
But as she hears the music play
She can always see his face
It brings her so much comfort
When its tune begins to play
And as she watches the lady twirl
She quietly passes away
Fear recalled; the taste of sweat in retreat, when
one can never seem to run far enough or fast enough.
Remembering the Christian children’s chants of
devil worshiper, atheist; the taunting hell they saw
for those not blessed to be themselves.
The jeer of the crowd for those apart, the mob
mentality of the Christian heart, the damn you if
you’re not me to a girl of eight, defies any amount
of time to heal. Memories are not obliterated.
Breathless behind a hollow-core door, gasping
tears, a heart pounding to the beat of fists on panel;
fear recalled as bile rose; hate thrown, the Jew bated.
This was only an inkling of what Tanta felt.
Nineteen fifty-six, eleven years after the end of WWII,
I saw the numbers burned into my families’ skin,
the ones still alive to show them to a child of eight.
-broken glass nights, crowded trains, death camps
New England was still gripped in a Christian hell,
at eight, at twelve, at eighteen—and every Christmas
in between—don’t speak, don’t tell, don’t let them
know you’re different—different, hated, taunted,
chased, and if possible erased.
Prejudice knows no boundary of time or place, the
fear, the mob, the gang, the chanting group, alive
still in the 21st century. When you kneel, and pray,
even when you say Amen.
First Published by Synchronized Chaos Spring 2015
Ode to the Netherlands
Oh, Netherlands, I remember you well
the beautiful cities I came to know
Brukelen, Haarlem, Utrecht and Zeist
as a younger man in search of lore
the blue canals along the street
the Amsterdam bistros where people meet
my nederlandse friends and Indonische love
a culture blended with the best of beers
Is it the same as I recall
when Queen Juliana ruled with great aplomb
in the fifty six years I have been there since
bloom on forever , Oh, Kuekenhof
and flow on, Oh, Zuiderzee
My heart will always be with thee
Contest
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town
Not a creature was breathing, not one to be found.
Bloody hand prints swept the walls which once were white
Darkness overshadowed anything that had light
Little boys were decapitated and sprawled across the floor,
While little girls were skinned alive; hung as décor for every door.
Mothers had their jaws ripped straight from their heads
As their children screamed for mercy from their very own beds.
Panic and pain ricocheted off the walls
Pets were brutally butchered then stretched out in the halls
And Fathers were kept alive long enough to observe
Then their eyes were gouged only to dangle by an optic nerve
Fifty-six minutes is all the creature takes
To slay the whole town with its massacre earthquake
Agony rained something fierce this night
For this town was caught in the worst of plights
And the echo of dripping blood is now all you can hear
The stench swimming through the air is encapsulated fear.
To have dodged this slaughter would have been transmundane
For this monster, this beast was most definitely inhumane
It came through the windows and tore through the blinds
Grabbing any human or beast it could find
Then Slash the body! Gnash at the body! Bash them in the crown!
And Thrash the body! Lash at the body! Mash the body down!
Then it rips out your tongue and swallows it whole
This fiendish freak has a heart made of coal
When wondering eyes caught a glimpse of what did appear
They knew it wasn’t Santa and his flying reindeers
First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan
Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth
I use the iron tools myself on the mother
To death
Myself : Who is this myself ?
Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear
Who resists who clings refuses
To be born ?
This weight deliberately reinforces itself
Through its heaviness
It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter
Half-conscious half in a state of stupor
Root before being stem
Seed which pushes upwards through the ground
Without being pulled out
Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its
burrow
(And) in delving into it it expels proportionately
All its skin goose-pimply to the touch
Hairiness of anguish enormous world
She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage
Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish
Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time
An every day happening that’s always impossible
The act of giving birth
This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three
Aged fifty-six years and eight months
Once again after twenty-thousand times more
I knew I have to be born
I do not want to.
I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me
That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from
my mother*
That they put me on this earth
So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in
my stride
With my dead elder-sister for company
On this earth of living beings
Someone who is I right at the end of the route
Up above
Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon
So that I might be born
One day the more.
• See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman »
(Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The invisible war, cataclysmic bombardments of frequencies,
digital layers, decrypted upon logical analysis with ease.
The spectrum of light, manipulated by the thoughts of man,
equations designed to deliver calculated back up plans.
Through the silence of high speed bandwidths and fiber optical illusions,
your choice to connect is the assumption of your conclusions.
Underground cables, run deep under the sea floor,
transferring ones and zeros faster than anyone has told you before.
Take a piece here and take a piece there, add up the analysis,
invisible implementations can cause visible paralysis.
Encrypted ciphers, kept under lock and key,
don’t look at them as they are, but as they could be.
Sixty-four, one twenty eight, two fifty six, and one thousand twenty four,
we can only learn what they tell us after the cyber war.
Life will go on, the digital Gods will need it,
that is exactly how it goes, the cyber war secret.
Limericks crochetés : Once a Bar Student in the fifties
Once a Bar Student in the fifties
Hoped to finish quickly his law studies:
Some students tipped him off
Pass-list clerk Good Enough
Will shift around marks for Five Guineas!
One late Singh Bar-at-Law, Seremban
Took finals with student Wei Ni Shan:
May nineteen-fifty six
Trinity exam fix:
Who was called to the Bar if not Shan?
Said Singh: “Week before results are known
At Council of Legal Sovereign Crown:
In open envelope
Put five guineas like dope:
Clerk will to refectory come down.”
Now Singh had booked his return passage
His fee reached clerk by special message:
“What! Only five guineas?”
Wei Ni Shan made much pleas.
“Once on Pass List give more to assuage!”
For decades choice invitee at bars
Was you know who: O! Do-good-er woes!
Look up or down: East-West
Never at him in jest:
Think: all the good he did to Yahoos!
Wei Ni Shan twice went to refectory
Early one morning at nine-thirty:
Saw West and East Indians
All shot-up onions:
Drop their envelopes in mail-rack tree!
Mister Do-Good-er was good enough
The hundreds of lives not to think of
All over Empire
Famished straits all dire
Waiting for Barrister to lift off !
When empires crumble on last legs
Old Masters then hatch sly loaded eggs
Ensuring level best
Way to scuttle the rest:
Yahoos make enslaved Houyhnhnm dregs !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Fifty six years of woodworking our crafts of life together
There were sacrifices and triumphs
Three little dreams ago our life became complete
Then the sands of time emptied for you
Now I sit and ponder my decisions
Scared they were wrong; lost in grief for you.
Some days are harder then others
My surroundings remind me of how much I miss you
Can't get distracted, won't stay busy, thoughts cascade across my tears.
A love so pure A heart so hurt
I know he is going to take care of you
As you take care of us from the lights of heaven.
I love you always and forever seventy-five years to the day my sweet angel of the sky.
For Mother and Wife.
Fifty-six years her beauty's heart did glow; a nineteenth century
Love song amid eastern skies northern lights; she danced as dwelled
In dreams these possibilities ? Clandestine, verses sublime gables rhyme
Of sweet perfume, and timeless time; singsongs, choirs, your carriage awaits...
Segue Juliet, this music she plays; parallel, heirlooms her love his, corsage; we kiss.
Prince Harry’s to wed Meghan Markle
Her dress, see it shimmer and sparkle
What I can’t understand…
It cost fifty-six grand
No wonder there’s such a debacle!
Inspired by another news story
N B The haute couture dress was originally on sale for a whopping £56,000 ($77,587.23) but I've read they got it at a reduced cost
01/21/18
Was just a young'un in the big band era
But it seems just like yesterday
Listening to Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey
Still love it right to this day
Miller's Modernaires, and Dorsey's Pied Pipers
With their smooth harmonic blend
Chattanooga Choo-Choo and The Trolley Song
Brought me so much pleasure no end
Guess I was influenced by my older sisters
Was not even ten at the time
It just goes to show the impact they had made
For those long ago days I still pine
It wasn't until Elvis debuted in fifty-six
When Rock'n Roll took over
The Big Band era came quickly to a halt
And ended it's popular exposure
Don't even know what is popular today
Or even if they've given it a name
Guess I'm just an old guy living in the past
Progress is the name of the game