Best Going(A) Poems
Tree Roots and the Light
The tall Tree was Flying, its leaves high in the sky,
Trying to go beyond the flying kites, towards the light,
Its roots were trying to penetrate the soil,
Heading in the deep darkness, it kept moving without a shine.
Higher its branches touched the Crown of mirth,
Touching the lofty heights of light and the sky,
Its leaves and branches were flying and dancing,
In the joy of touching Light and those untouched, heights.
Some where, not far beyond the skies, lives dearest of our heart and soul,
I saw the Tree kept moving towards that One, it always adored,
While its beloved roots too, were silently busy in supporting,
Without which, the Tree can never even stand to touch the lofty scores.
I thought and wondered, which one contributes more,
In touching the limitless, lofty heights and the glow of the sky,
The stem, which is blessed to touch the sky, or the roots that resembles,
A true beloved without which, the stem even can not stand for a while.
The Tall tree was standing before me, unfolding its love towards the Sky,
With a high and prideful head in the sky, the tree was heading towards the glow,
Far away from its beloved roots, to feel the serene touch in the limitless sky,
Going a little closer to that Glow, which we adore and love and call Almighty.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 22 08 2010
for F. A.
You, in going a little way from yourself
Have gone a long way from my gullible ilk.
« I’m trying hard not to like you, » you said
The breaths of several men surging in your nostrils
And the stench abraded in your flesh :
« You are unshaven. »
You took proper care to remember the right words :
« Why are you so far away, I cannot reach you. »
The ****** you probably tried to fake –
Thanks for the repeated protestations -
Blew all the other exhausted noises through.
« I think it’s all this lack of sleep and all that, » you said
Trapping me with your alien scents.
You have gone away more than a little from yourself.
I have felt and avoided the humiliation in your voice :
« Turn out the lights. I’m afraid
You’d never like me again. »
These are bothersome words.
Only constant repetition make them less wearisome.
One whole week you waited and watched.
One by one you chalked us down.
We fled, not so much from you
As from ourselves, not knowing which
You or the condemned flower to take :
« Why don’t you tell me something about yourself.
I’ve said enough, » you said and came closer
Wraithed in your trapper's overflying airs.
Now that you have prospected a little
Confiscated my intimate thoughts, coaxed my ego
Applied the guileful balms which embolden
A man in bed and made of the future a promise
And turned and sighed like the unwanted thing
Now that you have preyed in my sanctuary
Gazed long in wistful silence my empty shrine
How can I let you go – take my scent
And mix it till it roots in other flesh
And wandering, I’ll not know why someday
I might fret in the company of familiar strangers.
« What about the lad ? » Alone and wishfully loitering
« Oh, let him toss and turn. Why shouldn’t he ?
He’ll write better then, » you said, for once
Rippling the nimble calm embossed on feigning face
That poised flutter of your lips when words you wield
Assume a dextrous innocence
Little wonder then the sensually provoked blushes
Cross-fertilise the loping lurk of your poems.
You in going a little way towards me
Have gone a long way from yourself.
Before you go a little way prospecting
Leave leave a little of yourself in your safe.
©: T. Wignesan, 1965 (from the collection: tell them i'm gone, 1983, rev. 2012)
All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.
From the harbour our course we keep,
for the distant Antarctic water,
to find the leviathans of the deep,
and begin our bloody slaughter.
All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.
We say there is a scientific need,
to study these magnificent beings
we harpoon them, and watch them bleed,
as before our ship they're fleeing.
All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.
And still our leaders, they entreat
that we do this for the good of science,
but really it is for their meat,
that we kill these gentle giants
All aboard this ship of fools,
all aboard she's sailing,
all aboard this ship of fools,
for we are going a' whaling.
GARDEN OF THE HEART
I am the Garden
in me all things live
in me nothing is forgotten
here we enter
after being done with the Serpent
flamed or in darkness
when the Cross enters from below
we die, never to be reborn
Over naked breasts and belly
shadows dissolve in milk and manna
transmuted to rainbows of gold
in the body of the Magdalena
droplets dance fiery ice
where Power is gained through
entry into the Garden of the Heart
another way then becomes the forgotten
Nothing more entices, no fleshly desire lingers
wisdom is my key to the
Gate of Chrysanthemum Purity
where Patience is enthroned at the
fulcrum of two spheres
after we’ve climbed ladders of courage
listened to mournful entreaties, tolling gongs
shook hands with Keepers of Freedom
Our giving becomes our taking
Separation, the Union
the going, a returning
returning, our resting where the
Centre of Silvery Strands is Stillness
born of angels and white doves
as Truth cloaks, after paying
in sweat and tight purple silences
Few know how the Garden imbues
or how matrix minds dissolved or
what a tiny imprint is hidden in the
Palm of God-Goddess where the
Palm of Blood and Thorns
washed us from the shores of
ancient lands into the
moistness of I N F I N I T Y
"Hey, lassie, How about going a-mooning? – We two
I like full moon giving wrong ideas at the right times
Feel salty air, sun kissed hair, in this endless summer".
“Oh, just take me there,
party at night, no sleeping
The water flowing,
hot guys there, butterflies here.
My hips do the dips;
my belly has turned to jelly.”
“Hey lassie, try to dance with knees together
Too bad if your knickers are leather
Want to spin? Don’t even try
Or everyone will shout “Oh my, Oh my”
“ Oh, yea, My breasts is at its best,
My back has gone all slack’
My sternum is all bunkum;
My navel is all a-wobble
Ice cream, Bike Rides, Late Night Bashes.”
Surfing, swimming, hear waves crashing
Shopping, driven round town, music loud,
The top is down, days by the pool in the warm breeze.
Later we might have a hoedown in the barn
Let’s gather at the dust time
Maybe some neighbors will play old time music
We will sing and square dance.
+++
October 19, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Third Place Win
Contest: Hoe Down by Shadow
Collaboration by Dr. Ram Mehta and Kanu Mehta. (Not on PS)
Contest: Hoedown by Shadow Hamilton
A creature lurks with a formidable eye
using bright color as a disguise
the sting of the fire breathing mastadon
seals the fate of a life gone wrong
Demonic pleasures to be obtained
through taboo-stricken means
and the real scheme being
there's such pleasure to be gained
Larger doses surrender you faster
numb and quell, but quickley to pass
spinning the charms of cursed masters
who seldom watch the hourglass
The excitement woos, enticing your will
now duped, you believe the feeling is real
black widows with venom bring darkness near
into the solemn night, no soft voices here
Intoxication weave's it's heavy glow
as you slither away with no one in tow
going...going...a long way to go,
trapped in time's disturbing woe
under the midnight mural
Karen anglesey 12/22/02
It's my fifth day of unemployment
and I'm going a little bit crazy.
I'd expected to sit around and relax
and in general behave quite lazy.
Day one, I made a scrapbook
and rearranged all my craft totes.
Day two I cleaned out bird cages
and started writing pre-Christmas notes.
Shopping is done and put away.
Outside Christmas lights are shining.
I fear I'm running out of projects
and for my job I am pining.
A second scrapbook has been started,
a nine hundred page book's nearly read.
I've not even made it through week one
so the next five weeks I now dread.
I vowed I'd wait 'til the new year
before looking for another career.
Six weeks off seemed reasonable, at the time,
but my resolve is failing I fear.
These little projects keep me busy.
They keep my mind occupied for awhile.
If I tell you I'm enjoying this holiday,
well now you know , I'm just in denial.
Hoo-ya, hoo-ya, ziss boom bah!
My doctor has given me a thumbs up
I'm good to go for another year
Let's see, how should I celebrate?
Perhaps I'll try going a day without my walker
Just kidding! I don't use a walker
Hoo-ya, hoo-ya, ziss boom bah!
Maybe I'll try dressing myself today
Last time I tried that, I wore checks with stripes
A major “faut pas” in the fashion world
I was laughed out of the local coffee shop
Perhaps coz I was wearing shorts, a bowtie
And NOTHING else!!!
Hoo-ya, hoo-ya, ziss boom bah!
My adult diapers are starting to give me a rash
Methinks it's those damn No-Name brands
People kept asking, “Why are you walking that way?”
Told them it's an old war injury!
Hoo-ya, hoo-ya, ziss boom bah!
Gonna close now. Wife Cathie made me some porridge
Told me it's good for my toidy habits
She usually knows what's best for me so I listen
The doc just gave me a thumbs up
So I'll keep doing what Cathie says!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Six months from now and it's curtains for me
I'll crash through the barrier of 80
I'll officially be old and crotchety and senile
Pablum after my morning pee
Oh for the days had no trouble getting dressed
Now I forget my darn Jockeys
Don't wanna share this bod with anyone else
Everything's become kinda floppy
Once had tight abs... now who am I kidding
The tightest my abs get now
Is when I try bending down to tie up my laces
At times feel like a pregnant cow
I grunt and strain and been known to curse
Saying bad things like, “holy heck"
Can remember those real naughty old phrases
Like “go to blazes” or “pain in the neck”
Guess six months won't make a hugh difference
I'm pretty well ready for the pasture
One thing I've noticed since reaching “maturity”
Time seems to be going a lot faster
So here's some advice for all you young'uns
Enjoy life while you still can
Before you know it, the darn jig will be up
And you'll just be an also ran
© Jack Ellison 2015
So a poet is a writer
a writer with a spirit
a spirit without time
a time for conversation
A conversation of chants
a chant composed while going a way
a going away down a path
a path where I look back
So I look back at what I've seen
And what I've seen
is mystical to me
traces of mystical moments
Mystical moments in many forms
grasped in an instant
an instant in time
in time taken away like life.
DEAR FRIEND OF MINE
It’s not like
it never happened;
it did.
The gentle sighs;
the soft sweet smiles;
the tender touches;
the assuring words:
All setting
our minds at ease
and putting nervousness
and fears to rest: then we parted.
With our going---a painful void
briefly presented its self;
our hearts, minds and souls
experienced a brevity of discontent.
Yes we parted.
It’s not like
it never happened;
it did.
Now---awakened thoughts
generate ecstatic memories.
Ecstatic memories
that slowly fade away
like autumn leaves
in gentle winds---drifting
in the currents of time.
I miss you dear friend;
I miss you.
It is not like
it never happened;
it did:
And we’re the better
it happened.
ALPHABETH POEM: A FOR APPLE
An Apple a day
Keeps the doctor away,
Giving fiber in each bite
Protecting against the mites.
Everyday eating apples
Or drinking some snapples,
All well and fruity
As though its your duty.
That red, green or yellow apple
The choice being subtle,
The pectin in the skin
Makes "going" a win.
Contest Title: THE ALPHABET CONTEST - LETTER A
Contest Dealine:
4/16/2016 12:00:00 AM
Sponsor: Unknown PoetrySoup Member (not listed)
Friends, neighbors, countrymen,
I come to bury Caesar not to praise him.
Of course he was no famous emperor,
although he was proud and tough enough
to think he was the king of our alley.
Poor Caesar, a life cut short
by some irresponsible driver
squashed him down in the middle of the street
and kept on going, a reckless fool.
So bury Caesar we must,
even though he has no coffin to speak of,
no flowers by request, that's to be expected,
but why he was not given any proper shroud?
No prayers are said, poor Caesar,
but tears flow quickly enough
for he was loved by all, children and old folks;
and now I cannot fathom
how I’ll miss his welcoming joy
when I come back from work,
or our lovely trips in our large public garden.
Who will wake me up early in the morning,
when I will never hear his awful barking
at each blessed dawn of day....poor dog!
Note: This is actually a repost of a poem I once deleted but never reposted.
I cannot believe I can see
my own breath.
To amuse myself, I try
making shapes;
it doesn't work.
I see how fogged up
the glass on the door is.
I consider drawing on it,
and realize my fingers
will stick.
I wait about fifteen minutes.
This time, I consider writing
backwards "I am trapped. Let me out!"
Even if I lose a bit of skin,
someone might see it.
By this time, it's a half hour.
I take out a cigarette, but
my lighter won't ignite.
I shake it upside down,
hold it in my hands, and
it lights.
Ah. At least one thing to
calm my nerves.
How did I even end up in here,
I wonder.
Then, I remember.
I suppose my brain was
going a bit numb, for me
to forget.
It's only been thirty minutes.
The dim-witted Mr. Cross,
locked me in here while I
was unloading boxes.
He found it amusing;
since I put hot pepper on
his sandwich once,
not knowing he was allergic.
I guess this was his revenge.
Does he realize though, that
I could freeze to death, in here?
Does anyone realize that I am not
at my station?
I scream, but no one hears me.
I pound on the door, the walls.
My hands start to hurt.
I think I may have split a
knuckle opened.
I see blood, but it is not dripping.
I dip my hand in a bag of ice,
near the corner, on the right side.
I start feeling it go numb,
and I pull it out to finish my
thought about writing on that door.
I walk over to it, and I feel goose bumps.
Unfortunately, I didn't grab my sweat shirt,
before I came in here.
Feeling like my arms are going to
fall off, I go to write on the door.
As soon as I start, I hear a voice.
"Is someone in there?"
I yell, "Yes".
The door opens, it's the janitor.
He asks what happened, while
handing me his sweater.
Then after I finish, he smiles.
I ask him if he found this amusing.
His response was a simple,
"Yes. The door doesn't lock from the inside".
Some would describe me as an adonis
Now that's going a little over the top-is
A gorgeous specimen
I stick to my regimen
Eating fruits and veggies and yummy grasses
© Jack Ellison 2016