Best Meted Out Poems
Passions for expectations with life were none
Till the teenage accepted life as it came anon.
Went to gym, played games, attended school
Swam in the open sea, life smooth and cool.
Might’ve been endowed with great expectations
In gestation to perform later in life like everyone.
Sprouted while in the university educational zones
Both of literature and dramatics as milestones.
Both meted out in career as a university teacher
Not so easy but had miles to go in my endeavor
Was quite fortunate to meet the inspiring persons
Who directed me to perform the righteous acts.
I did meet my expectations later in matured years
Performing Moliere in his own country and theatres
Attending the poetry conferences in three continents
And honors in literature that missed in early periods.
Aimed for the moon but reached the sky amidst
Never complained about the wind like a pessimist
Never expected the wind to change like an optimist
But adjusted the sails like a down-to-earth realist.
+++
October 14, 2014
Form Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third Place Win
Contest: BIO by Regina Riddle
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
~ Frost
by
design
~ delicate,
crafted in the night,
dainty — like lacy handiwork
~ inspirational, like twisted wire, a story told —
details meted out behind heaven’s door, with peculiarities that we adore
~ O
please
inspect
windowpane
crystalline effects ~
~ seraphic white silver and gold —
the finest craftsmanship, twisted with Eden’s treasure ~
filigree beads of angelic hoary-breath, reminders of the invisible God
~ Rime
clings
to soil,
inspired world —
embraced by cold hands ~
fragile tendrils spread like ivy,
intricate cherubic smithing — like spider webbing,
subtleties sensational, O how it sparkles ~ seasonal diamondiferous earth
1/24/2018
The Magic Of Three
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Fibonacci (8 lines) x 3 = 24 lines(pattern- 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 syllables)
‘Out’-discipline!
“Teacher, beaten by student.” “Student stabs another in squabble.”
“Teachers found without Lesson Plan.” “Noise level unbearable.”
Unfortunately, these would only be a few of the sordid headlines;
To duly ‘captivate’ readers, if every school had its own newsletter.
The very fabric of our beloved society has become deteriorated;
Because our homes and schools have failed to function effectively.
The consequences of this failure are dramatic and far-reaching.
Therefore, immediate redress for this chaos, we should be seeking,
Teachers frequently liming; the nation’s youths, we not educating.
Usually unprepared: for work, at work; and, not completing work.
The students are not: studying, doing home-work, nor assignments.
All busy; yet, finding time for gambling, hustling, surfing ****, etc...
The school surroundings depicting ‘pollution party;’ absolutely nasty.
Manners no longer, “maketh man...” nor woman, much-less children.
This is every school’s catastrophe; total, complete, present-day anomie.
Bending/breaking rules, norms, morals or ethics - ‘perfect’ indiscipline.
Indiscipline! Everyone fed-up: teachers, students; even the parents.
Who is now responsible? Corrective measures must make statements.
‘Heads must roll’ for incompetence; ‘butts should burn’ for laziness.
Neither students nor teachers must be ‘late for school,’ or ‘bussing a lime’.
Punishment must definitely be meted out for disrespect to teachers.
Actions must be taken for insubordination, and also for instigation.
Indiscipline must be addressed immediately and harshly, to redress...
We fed-up! We taking absolutely drastic measures to ‘iron-out’ this mess.
End
By: Dion Penville
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn whose beauty never alters.
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawns altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitude that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range yawns it's last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Mens ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephants wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
IN THE SEASON OF HOPE THEREOF
In the season of hope thereof,
There seems to be
Little justice, peace and love
Meted out to you and me;
Except for what comes from above.
Yet, let us not allow the deceivers
Sway us to be as erring as they—
Let us not be duped by Wall St. persuaders
Out to make a profitable mockery of the day.
Peace, love and justice—the triune for which we pray;
Will continue to be the reality we seek on this glorious day.
So in all the merriment thereof, let us not forget the true reason
We pause and reflect on peace, love and justice during this season.
Surrounded by four walls.
I feel disgust and despair.
Why can’t I snap out of it?
For listen: The city hums with listless life.
Hospitals thrive with dying patients,
oft with self inflicted excruciating pains,
more often meted out by egoistic humans
in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures,
of self satisfying needs.
In a quiet moment at the end of the day
sometimes I pray. Alas my heart
is enveloped in inky darkness.
Instead I hear the cries of domestic violence,
of children desecrated,
women raped,
men killed by other men.
I flee my loathsome house,
merge with mindless humanity,
in streets displaying their dirty linen,
intransigent in their cacophony
of indomitable bellowing ululations,
until I reach the quieter periphery
of the endless town.
The night is ebbing. The first rays
of the rising sun touch a silvery dome
reflecting its rays straight into my eyes.
Instinctively I shade my face
yet the light persists. Is it a sign?
Could there be hope for me?
Perhaps there's sense in creation.
So I close my eyes and pray.
Fiction
Lord, I know your love,
but show me Your justice.
I know the day will come
when probation is done,
and everyone will see
their eternal destiny
justice meted out in judgment reality...
I know, I know that day will come
But...what about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the mothers who mourn
for their children war has torn
from their breast
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the young ones who wail
along the bomb strewn trail
of a orphaned future
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the homeless who sigh
while their politicians lie
about shelter and supplies,
and no know wonders why
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the genocide's dead,
and all the senseless bloodshed?
What about the survivors, unfed
reduced to begging for bread
living lives laced with dread
their heartaches left unsaid
Lord, I know of your love,
but show me your justice
before my faith fails,
and every doubt assails
before this evil prevails...
Step....step into the fray
Please...do not delay
Show, show Your justice...
TODAY!
Eileen Manassian
Honey, I miss you
Worry not my appetites
Sue at beck and call.
My needs are fast and few
Be well meted out by Sue
(On the morning of February 25, 1983, the great dramatist
Tennessee Williams was found dead in a New York hotel suite.
He had choked on the plastic cap of his eyedrops bottle, which
he habitually held in his mouth when applying the eyedrops.
The alcohol and pills he'd consumed suppressed his gag response.
This poem is (we are asked to imagine) the last thing he wrote,
a flurry of notes scribbled on hotel stationery.)
Why don’t I just go out and meet some bum?
for I confound hell in Elysium.
Romantic anonymity, just like
you’re lost out in the rain, Ciudad Juarez …
No human thing disgusts me, if it’s not
unkind, or violent.
I feel good, now.
I’m jacked up, and I’ve got my Seconal wind.
Where are you, Merlo? I’ve spent too much time
alone. We make decisions - is it will?
Well, character is fate. (Those eye drops. Damn,
where are they?) Walking out on Mom and Rose
was something which, although it had to be,
required a holy selfishness of me
that was spectacular.
The Rose Tattoo.
The only thing I wanted was to love –
was that too much to ask? Somebody’s Stella –
Stella for star. We muse too much on cruelty.
The pain’s no bane, so long as there is love.
Who cares what people say, after you’re gone?
I just wish I’d been lighter, funnier.
Camino, Orpheus, Sweet Bird of Youth:
they’re all so miserable – I’m not like that.
I think I’ll do a comedy named “Playwrights Dead”.
They always seem to go in silly ways!
There’s Hasek, Aeschylus and Ottoway,
and Orton, too. And Marlowe, most of all.
I need an epigraph that’s frivolous,
ironic, ludicrous, nonsensical.
(Ah, found my drops.)
In spite of all life’s dangers
If “proud”’s allowed, two things above the crowd
still clamor loud. I love the Texas Rangers,
and casual kindness, meted out by strangers.
What fools do sing of Karma?
Justice meted out like some kind of sick equation as though
any thoughts or theorems are constant.
I'm sure Pythagoras and Euclid would be very proud of all of us.
See this place and time:
Sigma batwings beat like boomerangs,
doors slamming out the dust-choked sunlight,
trapping sinners in the saint saloon.
An argument!
There at the corner table where
pink flesh meets inlaid wood and
the oily leather squeaks and cracks around the
ultimate geometry machine the
steel bed for brass and lead and rifling.
This is bar-graph justice, an
erxcercise in mean and percentage, or
was it median?
Bam!Bam!
Like a prophet fired from the kiln those bullets eat the air
between the foresight and the torso.
This is aborigional justice come
'round full circle on a decent man.
“...He said his wife in bed with another man,
she thought he was at work, he cried out ‘Tramp!’
Eric then, he lost control,
white hot rage claimed his soul,
and he bashed in their skulls with a lamp.
“Now they say Eric’s money wasn’t clean.
And he had some mob connections, rather mean.
Some came to the house,
cleaned up and carried bodies out,
nothing by the cops was ever seen.
“The investigations all turned up nothing.
Eric played the part of a spouse grieving.
With no witnesses to talk
for the deed Eric did walk,
and the two were chalked up as missing.
“At first he felt he himself free and clear,
but that lasted exactly for one year.
On the anniversary of her death,
he got himself out of bed
and started calling for her as is she were near.
“I didn’t know what was wrong with him,
then at the very hour of his great sin,
he ran up to that room,
stared in upon her doom,
and screamed for hours, dying again within.
“It’s been that way every single day now.
He sees her sin, then his, and screams out loud.
It seems to me that the Big Guy
didn't want him getting off light.
He meted out His justice, and lord how!”
Jo was stunned, and stared, jaw agape.
“If all this is true then why do you stay?”
Ellie just gave her a shrug,
Said,”You’re still hot and young.
But I got three kids, and this job really pays.”
What happened next, as if there was any doubt,
Jo gathered up her things, and walked out.
Ellie didn’t fear the worst,
She wouldn’t be the first.
All the while mad Eric just continued to shout…
The worst kind of loyalty, is often
meted out blindly
It’s an entrapment, and it always
ends badly
I once thought to try it on for size
But I couldn’t afford its high price
I found it made a rather merciless
and relentlessly evil master
Pushes its ardent fans, with all the strength it can muster
Under its spell they are suddenly rendered senseless
It appears they deem common sense as rather useless
Happy to replace it with a pair of blinkers in the end
Soon tunnel vision sets in, to mess with the head
Goes ahead and trades in all logic for herd mentality
That stubbornly refuses to face reality
Pretends to honour patriotic duty with such fake regality
Yet another crafty way to justify injustice
And satisfy the lust for collective prejudice
In the end it's bound to kill a nation's rich heritage
as moral decay spreads down each lineage
A fruitful legacy lost just to appease entitlement
And blissful ignorance relished as divertissement
Such a waste and a steep decline to self sabotage
It's a tragedy within a mixed media collage
A strange reality where biased perceptions are well renowned
In a world where critical thinking has long since been renounced
in our measure of time
there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight,
that give or take away --
the indifference of time that measures man,
in cycles round 'bout heavens span,
meted out in lines that grid the world
in constant sorrow, Saturn stuttered,
disappearing today in some further loss of tomorrow,
yet we also know that ticking clocks in circles go,
'til time enough for love is lost to reasons chains and at what cost;
the God of Time in cycles go, around, about, a-circling slow, fast re-turned,
they come, they go, there's time enough for love you know.
though I spend my time,
scanning the horizon with my mind's eye,
seeking the curve of her Venus belt,
a circumference of sunset reds spanning the sky, she is on the face of it,
a timeless piece, a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in the sanctity of the night, rolling
on a sweat-slippery field of red-ocher bliss and
kissing with the same kiss, it's just then
as I watch her rest,
time stops
and takes my breath away