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In One Fell Swoop by Williams, David

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The Best In One Fell Swoop Poems

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The Night the Grinch Stole our Muses

 'Twas the night before Christmas and their pages were bare
  Not one word could they write, not one verse to declare
  The Grinch had snuck in, and in one fell swoop
  Had stolen the muses from poets on the "Soup"!

 It was the thing that all poets dread 
 As visions of emptiness swirled in their heads
 No syllables floated to fill in the gap
 Some poets decided their contest to scrap!

 Then on the blog page there arose such a chatter
 Poets rushed over to see what was the matter
 The blogger's avatar was just a red sash
 She said she could get back the muses, for a large sum of cash

 Many of the poets thought this was a trick
 It was just a scheme to make money real quick
 But in the blink of an eye another blogger came
 He said that St. Nicholas was his real name!

 Now Heidi, now Anne-Lise, now Andrea and Jan
 They told us that St. Nicholas had a plan
 To the realm of the Grinch where green snowflakes fall
 St Nicholas would go and retrieve the muses for all!

 In no time at all he took to the sky
 And to the realm of the Grinch on his sleigh he did fly
 As the Grinch lay sleeping the muses he withdrew
 And to the Soup, again he flew

 He delivered the muses to all the poets around
 Poets started writing their words did abound
 They wrote of angels and bright stars, and things that uplift
 St. Nick had given them the muse as their gift

 Then St. Nick called for all his reindeer
 And soon he took off and flew out of there
 But they heard him say, before he left the site
 Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good write!!

 




Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2017


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Memo for Destroyer Poet A LINDA: 3 20 p m, 23rd April 2013 Paris, France

MEMO for Destroyer Poet A Linda: 3. 20 p.m., 23rd April 2013 – Paris, France
  
If you are Red   I am Brown
If you’re not 
Then as one concrete painter using phonemes 
                 to another

Now we speak in the common-denominator tongue
Of those who went across oceans
Yours you took across the Bering
From the frozen solid roof of the world
The common step-mothering-tongue
And the common heel-bone

Take this memo down I tell myself
For my long-lost sister
Now weary with chilblains
And walnut warts from the long trek

Tell her you’re sorry
You took so long
Tell her you read excerpts of her outpouring
In a lone-lost cave overgrown with moss
							lost without cause
Mixed with the growls and coughs of shaggy beasts
And the lone mountain lioness’ scowling howl at the stars
In a dry season

Tell her you’re sorry not to have returned the compliment
For this’s the Way of the Community
That each rushes to fulfill a sacrosanct duty

Tell her
I read your spiraling lyrical threnody
	of the Soul’s age-old Odyssey
 through the bony interstices of breast-beating moans
and groans 
Right there where it hurts most 
in the guts

I saw how your people lifted themselves
							on their fists
   after their arms and knuckles looked gnarled
I saw the claws of the lone eagle clutch your soul
							in one fell swoop
	down concertina centuries
And make you swallow your tongue
	wailing in cloistered valleys of lilacs and magnolias
  to the rhythm of crescendo stamping feet
  and besetting winds 
          cacophonous through wildly flapping wigwams
I felt the ancient beat of your pulse
	in the huskily refined whisper of your verse
   come seething harpies
			unleashed at my throat
I saw wild stallions
	sleek and shoddy	manes aloft 
     come steaming and fuming down mountain sides
          your fathers tamed
I saw generations of silent sturdy women
	kindle fierce fires 
  while brawny braves rode away on bare-backs
	to bring the venison back

I now hear your gentle voice
	in dulcet drops tinkle down waterfalls
		of your manifold genres

Yet I do not hear you cry
Nor do I wonder why
You are made of that stuff of breed
That can traverse ice without steed
And scale Himalayas down continents
To reach the other side of impediments

And lest I forget let me tell you this
Your lyrical voice will linger long in bliss.

    Every good wish.		

         Sincerely,
			T. Wignesan  
  







 
 


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2013


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Rainbows Dreaming of Gray

Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.

"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms, 
"Someday soon you will understand."

And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.

But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.

So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.



NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014


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In One Fell Swoop



Your words cut-  like a woodcutters axe
chopping me down,
blood spills onto the pine strewn floor.
Exhaling words. Spoken without thought,
or love, trapped in an unbreakable bubble
that floats around my head.
Purple memories emanate from the centre,
rippling into infinity, becoming distant…
lost to the edge of life.
I thought love would save me, but
it too floats away on a starlit stream.

15/5/2013


Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014


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She was a star - I was a gazer


She was a star – I was a gazer 

Imagine my surprise
when the stage door opened
and in walked a goddess

Dark hair, dark eyes,
a bounce in her step,
a leap in mine

Fiddling with the curtain cord,
I lost my balance
and my heart in one fell swoop

Spot lights focused,
igniting the stars in my eyes
which were still dim in her glow

Dressing rooms offered
champagne and cherries,
but she looked at me

Double checking the script,
it wasn’t a love story -
a poetic rewrite was in order

I handed it to her when I finished,
she tossed it aside
and kissed me

The curtain went up
and the audience applauded,
a standing ovation

She was a star 
and I was a gazer -
now we shine together





Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017


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Green Bean Casseroles

Shame on those who malign the green bean casserole!
It gustatory delightfulness I shall e'er extol!
With 'fork in cheek' I'll take nonbelievers to task,
And their foibles and biases will strive to unmask!

Folks who disdain this dish ain't tellin' the truth.
Their culinary tastes are so pitifully uncouth!
I'd like to meet the feller who began this unsavory fable,
To ask why he destined it for such an untimely label!

At the church potluck dinner on fellership night,
There's always a green bean casserole to my delight!
A holiday repast with bountiful board just ain't complete,
Unless there's the inevitable green bean casserole to eat!

'Tis such a scrumptious dish, yet so easy to prepare.
Even I could whip up a batch, I really do declare!
Mix some beans, some onion thingys and mushroom soup,
And there you have it folks, all in one fell swoop!

Ere I flee this realm I aim to found as one of my goals,
"The Society For The Propagation Of Green Bean Casseroles!"
Upon my stone you may etch when I end this life's pursuit:
"Many were the green bean casseroles consumed by this galoot!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012


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LOVE IS PAIN

LOVE IS PAIN.

Love is pain, thereof I speak.
Hide the dirts underneath the sheet
Turbulent waters and sandy winds.
Such is my cursive feat.


Enjoined into man and woman.
Flee from societal antagonism.
We against the world and its beliefs
Cling onto the volatile emotions.


In one fell swoop, you robbed me of my sensitivity.
How blind was I to this temporal prosperity.
I thought you different from the rest.
I thought you different like the best.


Your sway spun me into a thunderous exhilaration.
Radiant as a fortnight crescent.
The melodrama fizzles of as I realize.
Love is pain, love will agonize.


Copyright © abidemi oyewole | Year Posted 2015


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The twins, Part 1

In the dark of night a wind took hold,
With powers charged to shake the sky,
By moody swings of gods up high,
Their breath alone enraged and bold.

In the dark of night history spoke,
Of a world alive with fury’s voice,
When life was full of fate and choice,
And death the augur in the smoke.

In the dark of night a man did dream,
Whose tale these words we now account,
Be brave my friend this chariot mount,
By nothing less shalt this vision redeem.

Struggling through the combative gales,
A sleepless figure tossed and rolled,
With wondering sight a story was told,
Of mysteries shrouded in ancient tales.

Upon this figure two more did glare,
Faces are but vessels for orbs to divine,
Not sufficient to be one through design,
Two alive but so unlike to us stare.

These twins that see by darkness alone,
Feel the truth in the shine of art,
Ending where the few dare start,
These bright globes make gold of stone.

With raging winds our story begins,
The battle set both within and out,
The world’s pictures thoughts about,
Action the habits, blindness the sins.

With Boreas alight wandering above,
A divine force teased with subtle math,
To follow the Phoenix on its path,
Or kneel in tears with a praying dove.

The tempest in all its mighty flight,
Decreed with a fist the obvious!
So proud, so proud, yet so oblivious,
The storm forgets his humble birthright.

The wild winds be but a paper tiger,
The hands that give it mighty thrust,
Wields no whip to allure its trust,
Holding a low cup, a cat just finds her.

Such be the crispy breeze in deed,
To roar, puff, blow things down,
Seeking doors to equilibrium’s town,
When heat in fact needs cold to feed.

Wind seeks the muse of inspiration,
A lull, then a rush to arms to end,
Her charms the air does commend,
She whispers with bated respiration.

Such my friend is the temperate truth,
The tempest being no storm cries,
For its maker with love sees its lies,
The swordsman’s tail swings uncouth.

With no further aside we now return
To one whose sleep our vision seeks,
Into this mind the devil now peeks,
Intellect put off so symbols could turn.

Seeking passage to dreamlands alter,
Further and further the eyes withdrew,
A fatherly vessel, twos sons the crew,
A ship who by one one would fault her.

The tides of reflection ebbed no more,
For the two in one the world was gone,
Sands of sleep their eyes set upon,
Dreams for obeying in days to store.

‘Saw the one, the troubled of the two,
Again vain Boreas with eyes asquint,
Forged to see not flowers but mere mint,
An ignoble man, through and through.’

‘His drifting eyes of warrior bent bow,
Blind to the combat of peaceful keys,
Gazed upon Orithyia ready to seize,
The light by which he would never know.’

‘In one fell swoop he swept upon her,
An immortal force not fit to engage,
Death by shock, a rose in a cage,
A sword can never a heart procure.’

Tailors we know make not the man,
Nor, to wit, does he who blow impress,
The finest garments fit best to undress,
The suitor, naked, conception’s plan.

The warrior’s blood once led the world,
What man wanted man merely took,
By far better ways the world was shook,
Now only fools let their swords unfurl.

Still within us sleeping reptiles wink,
Side by side the peace laying dove,
Whose golden egg sits on a glove,
Disarming the insults men might think.

Yet by tinted thoughts some still fall,
There walk among us wanting men,
Who touch stones instead of women,
Blind fools like statues they do install.

To such a fellow we now must return,
By unlucky choice he cast his dice,
Gambling rage would make life nice,
His heart of fire for ice would burn.
 
The I then of the one who took control,
With eye inclined to dote ambition,
In Boreas he saw worthy commission,
Jewels taken justly by godly parole.

‘Reading now the face of himself,
Pleased to see opportunity’s chance,
His office in life he wished to enhance,
His brother’s book push’d off the shelf.’

“This world is made for the taking,
By will alone my will will be done,
A wild beast untamed I roam alone,
But not for long my flight in staking.”

‘Fighting the angel by his side,
He saw in Boreas a better figure,
With sharp mirror set to disfigure,
The Abel eye, his far better guide’

‘Eager as a dog ready to surprise,
Our hero set off to execute his plan,
With canine teeth and on four he ran,
To she who soon would be his prize’

To think a surprise can live in a dog,
Is like seeing a rat for a filet mignon, 
So deluded a man can appear to one,
Whose rose is above all mist and fog.

‘With tongue wild about he grabbed,
The hand intended for him that night,
So sure his lust would disarm a fight,
So shocked to see her smile stabbed’

“Unsightly hair-chested beast you are,
Withdraw from here in haste and fast,
Better to drown alone in seas outcast,
Then with you fly off with fettered tar.”

“Listen little man, listen with your ears,
Give not violets your muscular arms,
Whispered fumes make better charms,
Graceful words for love sheds tears.”

“Fear most of all power’s delusion,
For the deluded become denuded,
Gaining nothing, nothing included,
Power wins only a life in seclusion.”

“Go to thy chamber, scream and yell,
Amend, however, by all smart means,
Your spiteful mean loveless routines,
Thou art but a mute, a soundless bell”

‘With reproof in hand he up and went,
To vent the gales in charge of him,
The dogfight over with outlook dim,
He saw his brother of different bent.’

‘Reaching for the floor the fallen book,
Whose pages spoke a turtle’s tongue,
The unread by thorny bees are stung,
So wiser he for counsel stole a look.’


Copyright © Yorn Called | Year Posted 2014


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The Rain Dancer

After the movie finished, the young couple,
kissed and said goodnight.
It looked  like rain was approaching,
as grey clouds came into sight.
He had to look after his golden voice,
protect his cords from any harm.
A scarf was wrapped around his neck,
guarding his voice, his lucky charm.

Opening up above him, the grey clouds burst,
catching him completely by surprise.
Buckets of rain in one fell swoop collect,
in a pool at his feet, right before his eyes.
No way would he let troublesome rain,
destroy the happy thoughts he had tonight.
Starting to sing, his feet begin taking flight,
twirling his umbrella, he dances with delight.

Having a ball dancing in the unrelenting rain,
his clothes are soaked to the skin.
Waving his umbrella up towards the moon, 
round and round he goes, his tail's in a spin.
Suddenly he stops, he's  not singing any more,
someone is standing in front of him; oops it's the law.
Slowly he turns with his umbrella, after a brief warning,
and dances in the rain till the wee hours of morning.


Copyright © Pam Woolford | Year Posted 2013


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Corn Huskin' Bee Circa 1892

In November when frost was on the punkin and corn was stacked in shocks,
And the snows began to fall and geese flew southward in V-shaped flocks,
'Twas time to gather in the corn for a huskin' bee on the old barn floor,
Where neighbors gathered to have some fun and fulfill a vital chore!
Ma slaved over her wood-burnin' stove to provide fixin's for the event.
Pa and the boys squeezed apples makin' cider, hopin' it would soon ferment.
Lanterns were hung from beams and baled hay was there for seatin',
And Ma confiscated Pa's saw-horse table to spread the vittles for eatin'.
Folks arrived in scores by horse and buggy, some by open sleigh,
Tetherin' their steeds to hitchin' posts after feedin' them oats and hay.
The bee began with the belles and swains huskin' corn by the bushel.
Findin' a red ear of corn among the yellow was deemed so very crucial,
Since that person rated a kiss whether a lovely belle or the local cad!
The huskin' done and corn scooped away, there was more fun to be had.
The floor was swept for dancin' to the music of a fiddle and mandolin.
Good grub, fun and fellowship reigned til the wee hours of morn, therein!
Even grandpa and grandma were seen squar' dancin' which was neat.
The rafters of the old barn shook to the beat of dancin' and shufflin' feet!
Ain't no fun anymore since corn is husked and shelled in one fell-swoop,
By a dude and his corn-pickin' rig even without the aid of a scoop!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2016


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backstabber

The moon seems somehow hollow tonight; 
It’s light ghostly and intangible – 
It peers at me like a baleful eye, marking me out 
Spotlighting my sad state of solitude 
‘Look at you, all alone,’ it mocks, in clangorous tones, 
‘See how he has deserted you – the one who ruled your world.’
Oh yes…see how he has abandoned me, 
The brash and beautiful traitor; Satan-snake in the grass…
Furious, my shoulders stiffen, the muscles in my back twinge; 
Outrage boils in my guts, a seething whirlpool of bile and venom
And as I remember your face, your haughty stare, it hits - 
I am overtaken by the nausea of wounded pride 
And the worse – oh so much worse – pain of a freshly massacred heart 
It is so powerful that tears of agony sting my eyes 
I am forced to bow my head so my hair falls forward, 
Curtains my face so the cruel moon won’t see me cry… 
You know, beautiful brute, I think you’ve killed me this time 
I can even feel the hole you left…the one you gouged in my heart
My probing fingers can detect it, leaching misery into my blood, 
Spouting black despair like desert oil…
And as for my trust, well, that’s all in tattered shreds; 
A bloodied battlefield banner, lying crumpled on an airless day 
I can imagine, sweet, that wherever you are you’re gloating 
In one fell swoop you annihilated my heart and soul 
You put me through the agony of sleepless nights, 
And endless days unable to eat for wishing you were here 
And at the end of it all, when you did appear, all you did was stab; 
Was plunge your knife into my exposed and fragile spine – 
And twist…and twist…and twist…
Until I slumped, weeping and worshipful, onto the glistening moon-washed floor… 



Copyright © Amy Van de Casteele | Year Posted 2009


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Going Back Home

It was a very long time ago, I'd say nearly fifty years
That she had let it all go and began switching gears
Having graduated from college and a successful career
There was no need to dredge and that much was clear

In fact, she never gave God a thought not even one day
She had all that she sought, most things going her way
For life was already great and the need just wasn't there
As in life it was late and this is not the time to compare

A"Catholics Come Home" ad appeared being quick to dismiss
So that screen she cleared and went back to her normal bliss
But then just a few days after that but not on the same site
As there big and bold it sat but for some reason it seemed right 

She clicked on and read and something began to stir inside 
The complete filling of a deep need that had so long ago died 
This atheist of over fifty years had in one fell swoop found God
In hearing so many stories over the years this certainly doesn't seem odd




Copyright © Vincent Flannery | Year Posted 2014


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Adam's Lament

Adam mused and stroked his beard saying, "I've really got it made!
All I do is eat and sleep and lie beneath The Tree Of Life for shade!
That is until a couple of weeks ago when God put me in a trance!"
He sayeth, "Loan me a rib to create a wife, your love life to enhance!"

"In one fell swoop unto me He created a lovely lady named Eve!"
I asked, "Why is thy physique so different than mine? - I was so naive!"
"Come hither, big fella" said Eve, "I think we can figure it out!"
That's how the "genesis" of Cain, Abel and Enoch came about!"

"With a wife and kids to support, my problems now began.
I regret to say that is what brought about the eventual fall of man!"
"A sneaky snake talked Eve into eating fruit from The Tree Of Life.
Since that little dido, I and humankind have known nothing but strife!"

"Heretofore, we could romp, play and roam about Eden undressed.
Now, I have to wear scratchy fig leaves that really leave me stressed!"
"Cain is in the hoosegow for a fit of rage and the slaying of his brother.
Why me Lord?  Why this onerous scourge upon me and his mother?"

"On top of all of this, I now have to labor for my daily chow.
Alas, all of mankind must now toil by the sweat of their brow!"
"Folks, I'm sorry for perpetrating such terrible misery in your life.
Truth be told, you can blame that wily snake and my wayward wife!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

Placed 4th in Linda-Marie's "Adam In Eden" Contest


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010


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A little faith

As light trades to measly ends,
I sell my bothered reason to the close bends,
Where the leasing share vends__
A little faith; a proving reason!

In one fell swoop my perspective change,
Hope soaks even deeper into my dried out mind
like the fall of dry leaves in winter season,
And I begin to see the world for a new reason!

I look at things more positively,
I see light through dark's midst,
A silver lining beneath the higher high__
of dark clouds high,
A little fath; a proving reason!

Behold, the world isn't really the worst place after all,
Look at the more constructive choices awaiting,
The more the willpower to do more positive things,
To build up yourself when you build_
a bigger picture of makings once seen or never,
Have a little faith!

A little faith to do more with what you have,
To take in the power in you,
and best use it to the best of influence,
Have a little faith; a proving reason!




Copyright © Mpho Leteng | Year Posted 2015


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Private Roscoe D. Schlink's Induction Day

Dear Folks:  Just a few lines from your homesick army draftee.
Just twenty-four hours in the army and if it was left up to me,
I'd just as soon go home and forget the whole blamed thing.
I feel I've been sentenced to life in the barren walls of Sing Sing.

My first train ride was exciting for this old country boy,
But beyond that the day has brought me very little joy.
I reckon I'll never get used to their regulations and rules.
The army is run by silly manuals written by asinine fools!

I was stripped naked for dozens of very minute inspections.
My arms are sore and swollen from numerous injections.
Remember those wavy locks of hair that I pampered for years?
In one fell swoop I was bald, almost driving me to tears!

They prepared reams of paperwork and advised me of my pay.
Wow! Twenty-one bucks a month, that's seventy cents a day!
I hoped to be an air corps pilot but the tests just didn't agree,
So I ended up as a buck private in the good old infantry!

The captain swore me in - it's for the duration plus six,
So there's no hope of getting out of this miserable fix.
It's time to hit the sack, soon "Taps" will start to blow.
Pray for me, write when you can, Your loving son, Roscoe.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010


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THIRUKKURAL: Translation of Canto XXXVIII with commentary

THIRUKKURAL: Translation of Canto XXXVIII with notes and commentary

Canto XXXVIII of the Thirukkural on the topic of FATE which I give here in translation (by stages) forms, in itself, a separate "book" in its own right, for it nullifies so-to-speak almost all the rest of what the poet Thiruvalluvar had to say in the rest of his oeuvre in one fell swoop. One cannot escape the fact that the author subscribes to the Oriental preoccupation with DESTINY as something pre-determined (as a result of one's balance of virtuous deeds or KARMA in the previous life), something which conditions and controls all one's actions in the present life.
There would therefore be something inviolable and invariable about the course one's life would take and which can be mitigated (if the karma produced a life wrought with insuperable obstacles and difficulties) only through penance by way of renouncing all desires and acquisitions; in short, to sacrifice one's life in order to avoid either being born again (vIdu/liberation or mOdcham/moksha) or of obtaining relief during one’s présent life.
Chapter XXXV on « Renunciation », Ch. XXXVI on the « Perception of Truth » and Ch. XXXVII on the « Extirpation of Desires » - all lead up to this fatidic climax,  that is, that whatever one does one cannot "hoodwink" fate.  As the Yi Jing, too, prescribes, to put it succinctly in my own words:  "When fate comes knocking, there's no place on earth you can hide!" Whether what happens is due to one's karma or not cannot however be proven, nor whether by resorting to asceticism as a shield from its ravages, one may elude fate must remain an inflexible conundrum . From the maxims in this decade, one can divine the author was convinced of the role of fate in our lives.    

K371: aakuulaal thoonrum adaivinmai kaipporul
            pookuulal thoonrum madi
Wealth-giving fate power of unflinching effort brings;
From fate that takes away idle remissness springs. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
Perseverance comes from a prosperous fate, and idleness from an adverse fate. (Tranls. Drew & Lazarus)

Activity that increases one's possessions fate will promote while the lack of activity that lethargy engenders is (also) the oeuvre of fate. (Transl. T. Wignesan)

K372: peethaip padukkum ilavuul arivakarrum
           aakaluul urrak kadai

The fate that loss ordains makes wise men's wisdom foolishness; 
The fate that gain bestows with ampler powers will wisdom bless. (Transl. G.U.Pope)
An adverse fate produces folly, and a prosperous fate produces enlarged knowledge. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)

When adverse fate comes around, it will limit one's knowledge; favourable fate produces the contrary effect of making knowledge blossom. (Transl. T. Wignesan) 

©  T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017


Details | In One Fell Swoop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

a trite Nihilistic Occasion - part one

This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy) 
doth newt lack chutzpah, 
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear, 
that ideally Fitzhugh 
like custom made glove snugly, 
terrifically, unequivocally matching, 
thence handily solving Finger hut issue, 
when or if arctic blasts cold 
doggedly enveloped Gaea, 

whence  humans analogously held hostage 
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing, 
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly 
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling 
(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier) 
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured, 

essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide 
telling tales amidst the mill by  Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers, 
who forewent idling away time structured existence, 
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims 
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously, 
and indubitably stripped away 

bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to 
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin 
encapsulated, housed, kindled 
within luxurious faux existence 
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced 
devoid of featherbed, indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file 

endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin homo sapiens 
bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting 
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy 
pitting dishabille helpless imps against killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled 

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles, 
gruesome harmful indiscretions 
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently 
(well nigh since time immemorial 
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph 
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled, 

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately 
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic, fabric ripped retroactively 
ramping atavistic simian base, 
thus leveling the playing field.


Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017


Details | In One Fell Swoop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

On the pull



Beside the bar I nursed my drink, depression was my food,
she entered like the World's first dawn and cut straight through my mood.
Her dress a silky vortex, skirt was flowing, bodice tight,
the flounce swayed with an ebb and flow like scarlet Northern lights.
Looks crafted to bewilder, eyes dishonest, smile was kind,
she knew that I was curious, and had somehow read my mind.
Cocktail cherry on her lips, a prop to tantalize,
I took the plunge, sat next to her and gazed into her eyes.
A deep breath, with my fingers crossed, I asked “Are you alone?”
Too late, I realised I'd stepped into her killing zone.
A brief appraisal, up and down, and then she laughed out loud,
which brought the curtain down on conversations in the crowd.
Head down, red faced, I turned and walked a dignified retreat,
to find a booth in shadow, where I meekly took a seat.
This dark art she must practise, as she'd pulled off quite a coup
to eviscerate my pride and ego, all in one fell swoop.
Fallacious my long held belief, now well and truly sunk
that I'm a real lady's man, but only when I'm drunk.

For contest 'eight word challenge', sponsor John Hamilton
28th June 2018


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2018


Details | In One Fell Swoop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Trite Nihilistic Occasion - part two

endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin homo sapiens 
bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting 
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy 
pitting dishabille helpless imps against killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled 

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles, 
gruesome harmful indiscretions 
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently 
(well nigh since time immemorial 
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph 
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled, 

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately 
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic, fabric ripped retroactively 
ramping atavistic simian base, 
thus leveling the playing field.



Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017


Details | In One Fell Swoop Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Barbara

Was it the tanned cheeks
The sun bright eyes
The softly parted smiling lips
The careless stance
Of barelegged ease
Or was it just her blowing hair
That caught my eye
Made my heart dance
In quick unease
Who was this girl
To take my life
My soul
My wife
In one fell swoop
Of sweet perchance
So few
and many
Years
Romance
From such a lucky day


Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2006