Best Locality Poems
How far do the ripples spread, when eventually we die
Probably stay in the locality, level off, no major outcry
But let’s say we’re famous, suffering unexplained death
The ripples keep expanding, growing further in breadth
See the grotesque nature of spin, is to overplay a scene
Garnishing public outrage, lurid pictures fill our screens
Playing to an audience, ratings become the holy grail
Stories without embellishments, grow tiresomely stale
These ripples are an illusion, imagination going berserk
Carried along by a corrupt deception, truth been shirked
Evidence the one requirement, for establishing all facts
I extrapolate backwards, what the hell there’s no splash
Lines converge into partial truths, confused to a degree
Must be taken with a pinch of salt, querying what I see
Even this soup we enjoy, is manipulated and massaged
Most of the poems are quite good, others form a mirage
Taken out of context a rectangle, can become a square
Brought into focus, desolate pictures, not quite so bare
What’s basically a clean stab, or slash across the wrist
When poets stick in the knife, some give it a good twist
Using poetry for a hidden agenda, political or otherwise
Tantamount to mind-numbing crap, seen in the tabloids
If your going to post propaganda, to further some game
Write it on toilet paper, wipe off, that’s all you’ve gained
By
David Kavanagh
A confined territory with created identity from a spanish monarch
since established, its badge with monkey eating eagles, large shopping malls;
tropical fruits and coconut, dense population;
Conus glorianus and the python Reticulatus gets heavier.
Most defined Christian territory in its region
and a global production hub for nursing care and services.
This locality nurtures and perfects the services of text messaging
writing on the wall of global discoveries through the mouse deer
and other animal species most particular in the giant clams.
It suffers from the blunt blade of human trafficking
but this hasn’t stopped the continuous glow of its pride.
Ranging from the biggest pair of shows ever, to the manila event of 2006;
the discovery of an important antibiotic, or its global archipelago pride.
Its power presence shown in Jelly fish lake
or the Noche Buena, celebrated as the longest Christmas season.
All these green lights visible to the planet
never let its flag turn upside down again.
The sound of the alarm wakes me back to reality
Lazily, I get up, confused of my locality,
Forget punctuality!
Even if I try to wake up early, I'm still going to be late,
Forget formality!
"Every day is a new day" said they
They who prefer to see things in a new perspective way.
But when everything gets too hectic and things not coming my way,
I get weak, exhausted, not ready to play,
Just about ready to decay
And all I think about is hitting the hay
Why can't I do that everyday?
If not working, I'm busy in class
Learning about issues that affect the mass.
Like the social class, always contrasts,
We even worry about the fluctuating price of gas
In this generation, things are hard to surpass
At the end of the day, I'm back where I started
I stay-up late, following agendas I have charted,
After that I go back to bed, the sun far departed,
I leave the world again, wake-up, and set the day restarted.
Have we fallen through the cracks
coming from the wrong side of the tracks
Rather living somewhere inside the divide
for no physical locality do we reside
If you could cup my passionate spirit inside your hand
Perhaps my ambitious tenacity you'd understand
And with that same hand write our fate in stone
but I know we are atleast safe and not alone
If you could live inside my heart
Perhaps you'd know my spirit isn't a la carte'
For inside I'm whole in this broken world
Our special song sings prayers to the lord
It sings praises of glory for God's metaphor
Is this world civil? I think not, I implore
Realize now his plans our bigger than mine
We plan a house, and He plans our eternal design
If you could listen to my song never sung
Perhaps my heart would never again get rung
We all come from somewhere they say
But it is only with Jesus we find our way
And they say all who wander are not lost
But at what price and what the cost?
By Susan Mills
The thought of my village makes me nostalgic
Memorable days spent over there were unique
Anchored in a cool and serene environment
It is exuberant with pleasure and entertainment
Rising early in the morning to breathe the fresh air
Arouses consciousness in the villager about health care
Chirping of birds are pleasant to hear
As they enchant the ear
Embellished with flowers and greenery
Which project a lively and beautiful scenery
On a fertile land which is very suitable
To produce one's own vegetables
With the dawn singing of the cock
There is no need for the clock
In the town everywhere it is so loud
But my village is far from the madding crowd
A locality where every neighbour knows each other
Ever ready to help without expecting any offer
Reminiscent of my friends and school days
My village transcends me to my heyday
With the outbreak of jealousy and sorcery
I was obliged to part urgently
Now my only wish is to return in your bosom
Ah! miss you since you are my kingdom!
She covets luxury so unprecedented
especially a lingerie made by a thousand hands
with sparkling diamonds out of bounds to human sight
and covers made out of a century of crafting.
He wants a green eyed Caucasian female
with typical African voluptuous curves
and an Asian radiance and rare brilliance
rendering an unthinkable level of submission.
They want a colourful and commanding job
giving a bank-staggering salary which is inversely proportional
to its official tasks and responsibilities but go hand in hand
with luxurious benefits and jaw breaking allowances.
We want a locality made up of
Australian cities, the British police and German manufacturers;
Swiss leadership, Chinese flowers and Italian designers;
French delicacies, American entertainment and the wealth of Arabia.
Thus the world of our fantasies is limitless
and the map of our imaginations is borderless and endless
even as our wishes and good life temporarily date,
we should always shake up the senses
to the realization of the actual existing world
while we pursue in all honesty, the one’s within our reach.
written on the 6th of January 2016
sponsor- Broken Wings
One night returning home from the marketplace
Street lights suddenly went out.
I could see the road curving in the headlight of my car.
After driving for some time ,I reached a place
By the side of a streamlet.
Yet there is no streamlet in my locality
Nor on the way from that market place to my home.
Confused I turned back but reached at another place.
This time by the side of a rill ,water hyacinth floated,
Some houses standing quietly in the darkness
On its other bank.
Again ,I failed to know where I was;
It seemed nature disguised herself in another garb.
Then, to my relief, in that lonely atmosphere
I saw some local youths loitering.
I asked them for directions to my locality.
One of them gave me directions of the routes
I should take
I resumed driving my car to the direction he indicated .
After driving some distance on the right turning roadway
I saw some women standing on the roadside
A pressure lamp placed before them.
Oh, a beautiful girl I saw among them !
She seemed like a maiden in an oasis
To a tired wayfarer who lost his ways in the desert.
I politely asked them for direction to my locality
Not sure, although told by those youths which direction to go.
One of them told me to go further till a crossroad
There to turn left and drive to find my locality.
I again drove my car.
Then the street lamps illuminated the dark street and I knew
The place where I was .
Oh, that was the place I frequented, and it
Not far from my locality.
I reached home, finally out of a big puzzle.
But I felt that night I had roamed to unknown places
Exotic in the darkness of the night .
It was an exciting experience .
25th April 2008
Those who knew me—no one lives in the neighborhood anymore
Play danguli or whistle with lips, those who knew me
no one lives anymore, not everyone’s life goes same
Probably all know or no one knows at all
Heard the name? Rustom, who could knock one down
enough to forget dad’s name, was from our locality
and broke his few teeth in a rowdy danguli game.
A nightmare ruined sleep. Mum said not to go out anymore
Those who knew me—no one lives in the neighborhood anymore
Women gave charming, lopsided looks through the window, curly hair
The air stopped blowing. Walk away my boy, I say
The fire’s gone out; has he really forgotten the painful memories, too?
Those who knew me—no one lives in the neighborhood anymore
Move away of the road; jackals, one or two, might get crushed under feet
With her in my sight,
Her breast did i long to clasp.
Then,did her display elate me,
But now she'd wroth a story.
The radiance of her eyes,
Toss me around like a dice.
And when she push out her lips,
In enjambment did my hand give them tips.
Then,her gown swept away locality,
But none can again fit her charity.
Her beauteous beauty and it sorts,
Is now away from me: virus bought.
Oh,how i wish i can again clasp your breast?
And again peacefully on my pillow with you have a rest.
C.2017
Life, life, life
So many people confused about its clarity
Chasing the wind, not knowing its vanity.
They do this to destruction with stupidity.
How can we stop this insanity?
People trying to defy gravity
Always amassing, and never thinking of charity.
Well I am not a fan, nor care for popularity
I want to make a mark,
and not just be hailed like a celebrity.
Yeah, I want to be proud of my nationality,
Would like to have an impact on my locality,
Though I know its vanity,
I want to live it in its entirety.
Singing praises to the heavenly,
Till the day I’ll leave this earth to eternity.
Life, Life, Life.......
A lot that I see that makes it beautiful,
The flowers and trees they make it colorful.
The rivers, the ocean, the seas, make it wonderful.
The birds, they sing and fly make it joyful.
Because I want to see more of this I became prayerful,
So as not to lack, I became dutiful.
It breaks my heart to see tears, so I became merciful.
I stand aloof, in solitude, to get a chance to be thoughtful.
In all his I praise Jehovah, and I am thankful.
To the beat I dance and I am cheerful.
Don’t take it for granted I beg you.
If you are wise, you’ll be careful.
I know you are bitter, and tend to be vengeful,
Look at the sky, the sea, the birds they’ll calm you.
Whether you are good or bad, the sky will shed tears on you.
The seas wash your feet and cares not who you are.
If you so appreciate me, so says life,
Don’t hold on to pain for too long.
Free your mind from pain,
There is more to life, than just faking up reality.
Poem written by Kolawole Ogunfowokan
Originally mine.
World stills of nature's hospitality
showing modesty and humility.
Sunlight dapples the hill's locality
winking through pines peace and tranquility.
A living, breathing, viability
cascading aquatic agility,
fluttering independent entity,
shine purely within the vicinity.
Dark trees, ferns, await dawn's stability
alive in amazing facility.
Birds sing providing audibility.
Brilliance with mental capability,
My mind's eye exceeds my ability
course the utmost responsibility
becoming a part of me willingly.
Warm seasons ebbing a reality,
winter will follow in servility.
5/27/2018
JERKS OF JEALOUSY
Two thick n' lovely friends, friends forever type
Ugly poverty had its brutal curse on both of them
Thick n' thin of life, equally did they share...
Both good at sports, budding athletes of their locality
New contest announced, In prize-trophy, sports shoe !
Both took up challenge, preparation on in full-swing...
Motivation n' moral boost-up, coach and the trainee, both were for both!
Arrived the D- day - One lost , One won!!
This is the point where story takes a U-turn..
One who lost got jealous, best moments till date
dissolved and diluted.
Wicked jealousy corroded his mind like sulphuric acid...
In fit of jealousy burnt he the shoes won by his own dear friend...
Another contest declared in neighbouring town, winner friend said,
I won't partake due to ligament tear.. but buddy you have to win this time
The new shoes I won, you wear and keep it as my gift all yours!
Good luck my friend he patted and left, still unaware
about shoes' fate which he had kept safe in chest.
© Anulaxmi Nayak, 2015
Volga – 4
to the homoeopathy phial
standing on the traffic-island
why it appears
within her womb
the number of germinated nights
stolen without a kiss
is too little
is then it true
if all the chanting of Harinam
can’t be withdrawn from the alcohol
the body-odour of the running tamarisk-shrub
will enter into the circuit-house
and that devouring of the parchment
brings to the feelings of the non-veg ant-hills
the let’s-go-cure
gathering in the sauce-island
Volga - 5
coming to this ironed canal-side
every auto-rickshaw
wants to know and let other know
the mystery
behind the rice-rain
from the cirrus
the shame in the eyes of the seal containing signs
supplies the whole-sale dealership
of the civil disobedience movement
to the locality
the role of the hammer also
wakes up early in the morning
to put under its own tongue
an antacid
is it possible that the spits
used in the observatory
be made a little more fast-moving
manuscript of the basement of a well
the biography of the pond-heron will be scripted
even-then the productivity of the merry-go-round
wouldn’t be uttered for a moment
no sir, such has never been expected
in the liquefied banana-blossoms
too many hot breads resulted from the season-change
continues to bat vehemently
and climbs to the peak of heart-throbbing runs
they in a group will go to the
aqua anetha of the mole hill
to organise a folk-song
to understand this
no arbitration of the cactus is required
notwithstanding
it is heard that the thread was pulled
by the violin of the wife of the moon-god
from behind the screen
here in the eye-front
is the basement of the morning-well
on its one page lies the faulty crow-caws
and on another some sun-shines
swinging on the hanger
after some pages in recurring …the chicken-pox … the boot-polish …
within the two covers of the dance-drama
also comes the creepers and herbs
grown around the melting point
of the arm-chair
whose legs are broken
if each pore on the skin of the river-lily
becomes so much known
then in the background of this low land
let us have one game more
the last tram passes away
the boy
who is the owner of every parted-kite
sits lonely on the empty bench of the park
and makes it enlightened
in one pocket
he has few pieces of dry breads
in another
the air to play on bamboo-flute
the night is filled with
mushroom
all the shout within the dialogues
gradually becomes weak
and vanishes
there is no tangle in the
hair
the bier of the hindu-satkar-samiti
runs away
causing a quake in the locality
some needles
small medium and big
are doing their morning-walk
on the thread-line
that is the secret of a phoenix
Weird, strange, illusion, dream, nonsense; words plenty since ever
To overcome fear, avoid confusion, maintain commonsense or whatever!
But this story of mine is an experience I record as game of nature;
Revisiting it, wondering on the hows and whys over the years as I grew mature.
The answer only he held; the one who wished to live life careless and carefree!
Then one day he sunk in the marsh and died, setting her widowed mother free
As if of all frustrations and reproaches from kin, peers and so many in the locality!
A good soul he had met once who admonished him, patiently
And left him in some good hands who could guide him start anew.
He tried to change but at his own time, as of what was in future he had no clue.
What thoughts in mind and what visions froze in eyes closing to death? One phone call to the good soul after a year; as if from other realm, a message.
His name he left, saying to tell that good soul he had called; was it a presage?
That good soul ready ever to help called a friend who related to him in melancholy;
That very morning, he had been to the boy’s one year after death ceremony!
The good soul sat in shock; he didn't even know about his death a year back.
In trance he walked to his fiancée's house; over night he talked to her about him, in flashback!
(I wrote a short story on this. Based on true experience in 1993, some months before my wedding. It was during the “Pitra Paksh” (Fete des morts in Hindi) – here we are actually in this period which ends on 1st oct 2016. The boy met my fiancé, a youth worker, who had some words with him and his family. He never met him again. Among Hindus the final after death ceremony is performed after one year of death and it is believed that the soul, if not departed earlier, has to after the last and final ceremony)