Best Minutely Poems
GOD
Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple
How did it come to this?
Lord, now I carry a burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me or is it me who deserted you?
God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow?
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?
God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?
God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?
God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes, I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
I ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?
By:PD
God, You are just so good in all ways.
Everywhere I look I am reminded of Your goodness.
Your majesty speaks to me from the lofty mountain peaks.
Your mighty power merely hinted at in the surging waves of the ocean.
Your loving kindness and forgiveness expressed ever so minutely in the warmth of a mother's arms.
I look up and see the clouds drifting across the face of the silver moon and think no artist ever painted such a mystical scene.
I see the forest in the early morning mist and think how magical a place this is.
I see the roses kissed by morning's dew and think no human could create such beauty.
I have watched my own belly move as the child within me grew strong and marveled at the magic You had created within me.
All my life I have been surrounded by Your abundant blessings.
You have proven Yourself over and over again.
How can Mankind be so foolish as to doubt You?
I am amazed by Your goodness, Your power, Your patience and Your mercy.
I stand in awe of You.
Lord, when You return,
Remember me.
When tears dry up and laughter is not funny any longer
As duvet feathers grind the weary soul to sunken skin
The parchments dehydrated canvas folds the poet’s path
A cliche strewn among the notion ‘it will make you stronger’
Depicts an empty victory pretends to gather strength and win
The prelude of the past in future remains a lonely aftermath
Gone are the days of jolly frolic of showers gelled and Turkish bath
Of journeys tickling monumental Derwish’s allegoric spin
Despairing anger cannot shed an inner war’s destructive monger
With memories and wreaths of praise and laurel turned into wrath
Then conjoined before and after numbness seems your next of kin
A magic oriental carpet’s washed out fabric evaporates inside her
An ancient pleasure cruise shrouded in silence’s muted fanfare
Sails of plain cloth mystery weather worn in droplet’s silent fall
Its time and place and time-place for scented oriental candles
To rekindle a mosaic of epic proportions a glancing care from scare
From feeling so minutely small and festered no recipe for standing tall
Yet seeds of cinnamon and hope might just reset this hold of strangle
Meditation reclusive pastures enlightenment from darkness’ bangle
Retrieved from imposed prison shackles to praise to heal and call
‘I want to be the muezzin once more sing forcefully in ink and dare’
Climb my minaret resolve cacophony write messages to Self and strangle
All those demons massage my dreams and foresight grab the haul
Then conquer quietly as time proceeds ‘I know I can in solemn prayer’
I’ve been empowered to inform you that never again
Will I allow you to light the flame of rage or ridicule within
The walls of my very being.
Never more will you pierce the core
Of who I am and anything I’m seeing.
You are hereby vaporized before my eyes
Into the nothingness of forgetfulness
Which is less than having ever
Lived and breathed at all.
You are smaller than the memory of
Earth’s first turning like a blue-green ball.
Leave me now, you of such baseless insignificance
And return to the pitiful depths
Of your own self-centered, concentric view of who
You think you are and have always chosen to be:
A god among men, legend above legends
Living far beyond the realm of reality.
I see you now for what you really are…smoke
Rising into the night sky
Disappearing toward the stars…
Whose molecules and atoms are so minutely scattered
That collecting them would take infinite light years
To discover how little you mattered.
My only prayer for you is pity
Which is all I have left to give.
Farewell, your myth having been dispelled to the gates of hell
(If such a place exists for those few,)
Whose life was wasted on ignoring, degrading and attempting to destroy
The unquenchable and indistinguishable
Beauty, love and unbounded good graces of humanity,
Like you.
Stand I here upon the Precipice of Time
between madness and derangement-
In a grief so profound
ambiance of rage,
with darkening clouds abound
marring my every breath
Declaration to your joy unsound.
Yet- from this stance
I envision you, my perfect
seraphim of light-
aching for you
Ceaselessly grasping for that which
I have no chance.
Grasping – bent in half
weeping-
My corrupt nature defies
All I hold sacred and true-
You need know
My soul rages in disparity-
Immortally, hourly, minutely, secondly…
ETERNALLY-
I cry.
The Dragon’s shadow awaits me.
Shapes, wraithlike and laughing-
clawing… dragging…shadows
eerily baffling.
Veiled obscurity- most refuse to see
This sickening reality
Tis only righteous- to set you free…
Paled I am by another’s word-
his creed, I allowed this blasphemy
Unable, enable, culpable-
Guilty, frailty, unreality, liable.
Covet, yearn, anticipation- keen ambition
overshadows any austere regulation-
We two do stand upon this Precipice of time
My love stands as most depraved of crimes-
Stolen and deceived- Options extinct
Surrender is an unnatural ailment for me.
- dedicated to my Seraphim
I'm kind of taken by Jeremy Corbyn, the man and his success,
And believe that for the leadership role he may be able to dress;
I think what’s going unsaid is that he’s kind of in a way funny,
Minutely, not gloomy like Brown or Miliband, but kind of somewhat sunny.
He’s a breath of fresh air on the economy and education,
‘Cos he’ll tax the rich more and increase the tax of corporation,
He’ll set up a National Education Service for any and for all,
And restrict free schools so that upon liberality they will call.
Tax evasion will be dealt with, so Amazon and Starbucks can cower,
And housing rents will be controlled, to let the hard-worker flower;
Immigration will not be dismissed, and welfare reform will be opposed,
And Trident will not be renewed, as political solutions will be supposed.
The renationalisation of energy giants will stop high electricity bills,
And Europe will centre in British politics and system safety drills;
The NHS will not be privatised but with social care it will be warm,
And women’s workplace rights will be proffered in a massive, great big swarm.
He'll have a Minister for the Arts, to trophy art, music, literature and poetry,
He opposed the Iraq war, and will work with Russia at diplomacy;
He’ll fight for socialism and its beliefs, but in a modern way, considered,
And he’ll represent normal people, because he comes from Salford.
However, I don't like John MacDonnell, the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer,
Who should be more for the centrist view and a conscientious people reader;
His right-hand man should be someone who gives the opinion of the party’s right,
To offset Labour Leader Mr Corbyn and his radical, militant, socialistic fight.
But all the best to you, Jeremy, I hope things go your way,
And you stabilise the country with the left-wing policies of the day;
Although your shadow cabinet should be more representative in its views,
I hope that the economy rewards you for your heartfelt unionist dues.
You can read some of Jeremy Corbyn's poetry at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/Jeremy_Corbyn/11844716/Published-at-last-the-poems-of-Jeremy-Corbyn.html
The Untold story of a Sitar 1 of 3
.
.
Few days back
I got hold of a strange gift
Of an old and slightly broken antique Sitar
It must be older than
Seven to eight decades
Or maybe it came to see the first light
On Earth
Around a century ago. 01
.
My heart was throbbing and almost jumping
To think and imagine
That I posses something
Of unprecedented beauty and melody
With an untold story
Still breathing
In its heart. 02
.
Thinking that I may get success
In adding again
A replacement of those
Strings and knobs
Which may bring back
All its missing tunes and music
Which the Sitar has lost
With the passing
Of many decades of time
When the Sitar got forlorn and neglected
And gradually
It lost some of its most essential
And dear body parts. 03
.
One day I was watching it minutely
To appreciate
The beauty of this antique Sitar
When I suddenly found
A name ‘Tan’ written
On one of its broken keys
And unknowingly
I began to anticipate
That with the perhaps
With the passing of time
The Sitar would have shifted
From the soft hands
Of its first owner
Whose name was perhaps ‘Tan’. 04
.
And surprisingly
This name ‘Tan’ was still
Faintly visible
Written on one of the broken knob
Of that antique Sitar
Which I happened to posses now. 05
.
I imagined and presumed
That perhaps
It’s unseen owner Tan
May had left that beauty mark
By writing her unique lovely
Name ‘Tan’
Which still appears to be
Singing silently and shining dimly
After many ignored decades
The untold love story of Tan. 06
.
That faintly written name
Appeared to me
As the last impression and effort
Of a beautiful skilled
Musician woman in love
To immortalize her name & musical lore’s
By mildly engraving that name
On one of the knob
Of this beautiful Sitar
Which for me was
No less precious
Then the Grecian Urn
Which was spreading the same
Beauty and stillness
With a difference
That the Sitar was still capable
To reproduce
The vibrations of all those sweet melodies
Which got lost on this unique
Musical instrument of the last century
With the passing and change of time. 07
Ravindra
Kanpur India 13th April 2016
You create them
You give birth to them
You nurture them
You raise them
All the while seeking to rearrange them
For you insist on always owning them
Kids are forever
Children are our saviour
Dynasties become prolonged
It is never best to have just one
Mirrors of one’s ambition
Apple of our critical eye
A mini me who is never contrary
A vessel to fill with my life plan
Someone to control till I die
Pride is king
The family name is nirvana
The façade of respectability must never crumble
All and sundry must toe the line
For the world must believe all in this household is fine
Be better
Be all we wish you to be
Attain heights we never grasped
Never let our ambition lapse
Caged and thus unable to be free
Longing for a faraway glimpse of liberty
Dying to show some level of individuality
A life on a road to eventual calamity
Secrets and hopes
Are encased deeply
In a psyche that aches gloomily
Insular and depressed
They contemplate university
They exist from day to day
Awaiting a long list of all they need to say
The dress sense must be perfect
Their manner never abrupt
Everything is done to give the family
A social step up
Grades must be exemplary
A career path must show economic sensibility
Friends must be vetted minutely
Who cares about your sanity
Do it all for our vanity
You can never grow up
We own you for life
Fly the nest and we follow
We are your bothersome shadow
Letting go is hard for us to do
When we made you
It was not only because we wanted you
Our future plans have always revolved around you
Smile and never let the world know
How dismally we have wrecked you
Those that must forever be
The centre of another’s world
Have a big responsibility
They are clones
And will always be second best
SUNFLOWER
All yellow and big and radiant
Commanding a tiny city centre lawn
Looking top heavy and a little nervous
Bright smile at all the sullen passers-by
All too hot and hurried to notice her
Holding tightly to her pole
A tip-toe ballerina swaying minutely
A proud one-leg Masai with a spear
Looking directly in my eye and saying
You’ve never seen a flower before?
Too busy to stop and chat?
Ok, go on by, but remember -
This garden is mine, and I rule here.
God, You are just so good in all ways.
Everywhere I look I am reminded of Your goodness.
Your majesty speaks to me from the lofty mountain peaks.
Your mighty power merely hinted at in the surging waves of the ocean.
Your loving kindness and forgiveness expressed ever so minutely,
in the warmth of a mother's arms.
I look up and see the clouds drifting across the face of the silver moon,
and think no artist ever painted such a mystical scene.
I see the forest in the early morning mist and think how magical a place this is.
I see the roses kissed by morning's dew and think no human could create such beauty.
I have watched my own belly move as the child within me grew strong,
and marveled at the magic You had created within me.
All my life I have been surrounded by Your abundant blessings.
You have proven Yourself over and over again.
How can Mankind be so foolish as to doubt You?
I am amazed by Your goodness, Your power, Your patience and Your mercy.
I stand in awe of You.
Lord, when You return,
Remember me.
It started a long time ago.
How this came about I just don't know.
But that whisper, that little voice,
actually told me to listen. I had no choice.
It started minutely just a soft whisper.
Built itself louder and it was like a distant drifter.
As I grew I was reminded by the whisper that Jesus was in me.
So as I grew in knowledge the whisper grew inside you see'
It was something I could not evade,
The whisper told me of Jesus and I listened to what it said.
Not to worry though as I grew it grew too and I still have it.
It comforts me in the tough times, on rainy nights, and knowing what is right.
Whispers have a way of turning the noise level up.
With the Lord you can never give in to sin, you drink from the Spirits cup.
Whispers turn sometimes louder still, too louder matters and things.
It also leads you to a Spiritual life and all the gifts it can bring.
The Lord gives his Spirit to a life long drifter,
Who changed his mind often but now he's a Spiritual giver.
His road was already planned for him by His Father a long time ago.
Just ask the whisper, (it's in all of us') His whisper will tell you and you will know.
GOD, YOU'RE GOOD
God, You are just so good in all ways.
Everywhere I look I am reminded of Your goodness.
Your majesty speaks to me from the lofty mountain peaks.
Your mighty power merely hinted at in the surging waves of the ocean.
Your loving kindness and forgiveness expressed ever so minutely in the warmth of a
mother's arms.
I look up and see the clouds drifting across the face of the silver moon and think no artist
ever painted such a mystical scene.
I see the forest in the early morning mist and think how magical a place this is.
I see the roses kissed by morning's dew and think no human could create such beauty.
I have watched my own belly move as the chilld within me grew strong and marvelled at the magic You had created within me.
All my life I have been surrounded by Your abundant blessings.
You have proven Yourself over and over again.
How can Mankind be so foolish as to doubt You?
I am amazed by Your goodness, Your power, Your patience and Your mercy.
I stand in awe of You.
Lord, when You return,
Remember me.
Judy Ball
That chilly night in Bucharest
As I lay down in my bed to rest
Torrents of thoughts assailed me
Avalanche of questions tore my heart apart
As I reminisced over the events of previous days
I felt the world moving in collective dementia
As disasters and heinous crimes of every shade
Broke minutely to confound the troubled world
Scores of souls roasted in the belly of Ethiopian whale
Worshipers pulverized on the altar of extremism in New Zealand
Furious flash floods kill and displace in Indonesia Papua
Cyclone Idai hitting hard in Zimbabwe and Mozambique
Man is endangered in his natural domain
By his daily contrivances for gain
His garden must be cultivated with better care
To produce trees where every bird can perch freely.
RECIPE: “Poulet Roti” French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 6
(NOTE: This French “ballade” is being composed on permutations of the number ONE repeated twice, I.e., 11. Eleven syllables to the line in iamb or anapeste, interposed with dactyls, I guess, and of course with the ENVOI added. Eleven lines to the STANZA in eleven in res media “instalments”involving the minutely PERSONAL in interaction with the larger hoi polloi in relation to the STATE and its tentacular authoritarian apparatuses designed to keep the independent INDIVIDUAL always nailed in limbo.) T Wignesan
STANZA VI
“So why don’tya get out of this Third World hell !”
Near-East stronghold now in Maghreb stranglehold
Where Asians and Africans mingle pell-mell
Where the French affix sign-boards on their soil: “SOLD!”
The moonlight flit now turned to Indian rope trick
Where East Europeans come thick and homesick
To join the ranks of those from South-Euro lands
Who make much of the Far Right extremist brigands
Les français de souche* still commute to keep jobs
Like they once nostalgic did in foreign lands
The migrant refugee does odd jobs and robs
ENVOI
French lasses push prams with babes sunburnt inlands
No Tariq Ali* need turn back for want of bans
May the World colourless be sans hapless gods
Or will it taken over be by hooligans
The migrant refugee does odd jobs and robs
*Les français de souche: the French of stolid French ancestry.
*Tariq Ali, the Berber Moor alighted on the rock of Gibraltar, in 709 C. E. , with 30,000 horsemen, and by 711 had over-run the Iberian Peninsula, but Abdul Rahman al-Gafiqi, the Governor General of al-Andalus, who tried to extend the conquests further into Europe was halted in his tracks by the Frank Charles Martel at the Battle of Poitiers/Tours in 732.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
How finely twilight applies lipstick to the sky!
His brush touches each fold as the sky does shy.
Eyebrows and eyelashes he so minutely paints,
As though powerful prayers and blessings of the saints...!
Why do Nyx and Hyades at this juncture weep,
As though widowed by Zeus lost their eternal sleep?
Maiden stars get wet and miss their timely twinkle,
Rain, as though hysteric, on clouds showers sprinkle...!
The moon, entering, like a bold ballet dancer,
Blinks as though to the night's quiz he has no answer;
Nature, as routine, her seasonal games enacts,
Nyx, Hyades and Zeus act as per rhythmic facts...!!!
03 March 2023
In Bloom Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May