Best Prescribes Poems
Dulcet scent of jasmine wafting through the air
As moonbeams daub the swaying trees with silver hue
Luna's glow prescribes romance, the twinkling stars
make love a happenstance, as the wind whispers passion,
perchance ecstasy will ensue.
I see her silhouette in shapely form moving
with the rhythm of the trees, my heart flutters
as she gets nearer, then she falls into my embrace
and our lips meet, and our passion blazes.
Was it folly to believe that our love would last forever
or would it sink into the dank realm of heartbreak
But that thought perished into the fire of our passion
as we blissfully drifted beyond the twinkle of the stars
1-31-19
The clinical sentence was pronounced,
perfumed with the devil’s royal scent ~
a relapse that smells
like an ethereal remedy
as every restless leaf abandons
its luscious green to the grave,
where her heartbeat
still sighs amidst the sleepless sunrise
beneath the loam,
where gloaming once, upon a blood moon,
homed the valiant vibratos
of her laughter,
yet if the only way to remember
is to remain unhealed,
as russet strings
of a violin ring through,
carrying sweet nightmares ~
held within the dusk
like beloved nightingales,
letting my inner calendar
return to circling the date
when she last breathed my name ~
O divine darkness,
let me fade until the face
of September’s stars wane
and phase the sorrow
into soundless torrents of
rehearsed requiems
until hurt sounds like a hypnotic hymn.
I swallowed, O Griefversary,
my penance through turning time,
the italicised letters
chronicling the chronic memoirs
while the tongue of trauma
prescribes crippling anxiety
into my thoughts,
I have long bottled
blurred hope
and summer sonatas,
with every memory crushed
like an autopsy listed as an accessory,
weaving words
borrowed from archived affections
as I leave line after line,
no longer aching
for the dark to understand that
my faith developed a stutter,
my pulse filed pleas for Prozac,
my ink confessed unseen panic,
my skin carried fingerprints
of midnight fears ~
and I still walk through
the black rose maze of memories,
around the season of
her irrevocable demise ~
September, the soulful wraith
of ghosts I love beyond death…
Jaina Dharma
Jaina Dharma, my divine path to Moksha or salvation
to achieve my soul’s ultimate liberation;
through self-effort, non-violence, non-absolutism, non-possessiveness,
renunciation, retrospection, introspection, serenity, and stillness.
I bow in veneration to those already liberated,
traveling on the prescribed paths Lord Jina advocated.
My soul deeply yearns to break through enslaving barriers
of worldly attachments and material desires.
Seeking freedom from the enduring bondage of Karma,
I desire release from the cycle of reincarnation and achieve Nirvana;
to transform to a bodiless state of enlightenment attaining perfection,
infinite knowledge, bliss, power, and perception.
10-18-2014
Religion: Jainism
Contest: Religious Poetry: Non-Christian
Sponsor: Roy Jerden
Placement: 2nd
Note*
Jainism, traditionally known as Jaina Dharma, is an Indian religion that prescribes a path of ahimsa - nonviolence - towards all living beings, and emphasizes spiritual independence and equality between all forms of life. Practitioners believe that nonviolence and self-control are the means by which they can obtain liberation. Ascetism is thus a major focus of the Jain faith. The three main principles of Jainism are Ahimsa (Non-Violence), Anekantvad (Non-Absolutism) and Aparigraha (Non-Possessiveness). The population of Jain community across the world is around 6.1 million.
It isn’t the toil
but drive,
that wears down a man.
Abilities and choices
are infinite,
but where is time
when duties are many.
Man is a slave
to his freedom of choice.
Unable to commit
freedom masters him,
assigns the lot,
prescribes course of action
and makes his fate.
All men are free,
but they put on shackles themselves
and cry out against tyranny.
Defeating own self
man invents demons and evil
to sacrifice a goat that hasn’t escaped.
Restless pursuit of freedom
tires a man down into slavery.
Freedom becomes a dream
men awake cannot see.
Some call it flushing, Some call it flashing
but when mother suffered dad would come dashing
I think he was worried he might get a bashing
but a ten year old boy just couldn't help laughing .
Mum boiling over thinking no one is caring
Under her breath but I can still hear her swearing
Dad should go to the pub but he's not that daring
its a funny old world my parents are sharing.
Dad wastes a crumb , Why did she bother
I heard mum say , He's just like his mother
No one would miss her if she ran off with another
Yet loved by five daughters and their little brother.
Dad pours the doctor a cup of tea
Delighted when he prescribes H.R.T.
Will that return my wife to me
The doctor says he must wait and see.
Over a month her temper subsiding
Mum and dads love was once more abiding
Together into the future they were striding
and a very young boy knew when it was his luck he was riding.
Friendship can prevent a blip,
By steadying the ship
And steering it clear of a rip
So it does not start to tip,
And the mate does not need to look for his whip,
With nobody needing to strip,
Do a flip,
And into the water slip,
Resulting in a broken hip,
Or a bruised lip,
That starts to drip,
Making it difficult to share a nip,
Or even one little sip,
Which gives one the pip,
And the inability to take a kip,
Until the doctor makes a snip,
That looks like a zip,
And prescribes a pill for a long trip.
Big crowd gathering,
Street mime motions;
Silence speaks loud
By this bench,
Mall-side pavilion;
Busy feet greet
Shoppe sales,
Brisk human traffic;
Up sell more stuff
City mall heat,
Air-con breakdown;
Sweaty auras
Fauna and flora,
Wild flowers bloom;
Singing in the rain
Lovely lovebirds:
Octopus tentacles;
Shyness absconds
Morning psalm
Sparrow songbird;
Balcony recital
Window view slant
Bamboo pines sway;
Dancing in the breeze
Traffic jam horde
To conquer the world;
Financial district
Hospital visit,
Sick relative;
Laughter prescribes
Slow motion fumbles,
Ageing constellations;
Dementia flowering
Leon Enriquez
26 Mar 2014
Singapore
A new religion
That can the future divine
A new god
That can tell us whence we came
A nirvana of nonsense
That only increases our ignorance
A dismal wreck to people’s conscience
We fight among ourselves
To shed as much blood
As a sacrifice to hatred requires
We have long since forgotten
What bits of our philosophy are true
We rarely say to a brother
“I love you”
The latest craze
Is a thirst for equality
The building blocks are still the same
Only a different caste
Wanting fame
Ambitions abound to make utopia
A realistic goal
The will exists
In blinded enthusiasm
Only checked by petty obstacles
That flummox those
Who cannot calmly take
A long term view
When change is being prescribes
For any ills
Mockery and mistrust
Can saddle one with Spiralling doubts
Causing a catastrophic implosion of will
The comfort of familiarity
Swaddles the mind tightly
Preventing sightings of a future anew
The strength to overcome must be conjured
Out of a black-hole of anxiety
A new set of myths is needed
That promulgate ideas
Which lay bare ones hand
With no backing of reasoned empirical dogma
That can slay some persistent doubts
Selfishness often mires a good cause
Those that scream for a revolution
May only want self-interested change
It is often impossible to know the enemy
Who looks just like you and me
Survival is essential
For a battle royal
Leaves no one standing
The prize is of no use
If none can claim it
Change should be beneficial
But Actions have reactions
Goodwill can create
Unintended disasters
That no span of time can dissipate
It might be that one day
We will all get along
Till that day of peace
We must struggle on
Family life
I ask myself what is wrong with borders well-defined places
with interior freedom and rules;
yes rules, the liberty to do what you want leads enslavement
break- up of families and chaos.
What`s wrong with having your banking system and our
money of choice with a picture of a nationally famous, skier
and what Is wrong with discipline,
children becoming a little monster because we are so liberal
We talk about their right…what rights.
Look out of the window in any city what you see is flotsam
People who have no purpose a river of drugged people
Who never learned a thing?
What is wrong in saying a people can only absorb to fit
In refugees at a slower speed,
by all means, they are welcome
we need educated young people, in Europe were women
no longer care to procreate.
The glass ceiling is more important and men to think
their career comes first, and children are neglected
sent to a psychiatrist who prescribes pills knowing well
what the problem is.
But of course, we can say nothing and if we do, are
called a fascist
Leaking pontoon predicts my departure
Impatient yacht chases nautical next
Mislaid terrain erases my history
Grim authorities in obvious places patrol
Timidity prescribes aghast of tranquil abiding
Windwaken, I'm admiring the Sea of Revolt
Remarked upon in wonder, venture presents
Treasure indiscernible beneath tumbled tumult
Bold abandon condoned by bow of rationale
Faithful lungs serenade the speed of sails inflated
Turning back causes hair whipped vision to opaque
Potential's yell propels me from return's persistence
Society's twine allured by Twitter lunacy
My social media expels expiring bubbles
Sunk with rusty ruins of past governing
Continents are considered impediments
Ballast beckons ocean of observation
Jubilation journeys my adjournment
Angels guide navigation wide eyed
Fleeing seabirds call for recognition
Wave over waves of sweeping search
Unlikely dream festered in slumber of time
Shaken awake by inspiration's finger nails
Carries message of necessary momentum
Voyage for knowledge graces me
Extremeties are empty, planets drift
Virgin space accommodates galaxies
Originally written April 2020
Submitted for John Hamilton's
Free Verse of 2020 Contest
I’m not an animal or creature, I’m just a human being
but if the wizard can’t help, then from soup I’ll be fleeing
The wicked soup witch says my poems are dire
she declared I’m past it and that I should retire!
I’ve cried bitter tears until my eyes are sore
my muse has gone, I just can’t write any more
So I silently slink along the yellow brick road
hoping that the wizard can lighten my load
It’s way past midnight when I finally arrive -
I’ve had to walk as I’ve not learned to drive
Dorothy and friends all had their wishes granted
I'll beg the wizard for my muse to be re implanted
I climb the winding steps to visit the wizard
he reminds me of a scaly wizened old lizard
I said ‘Wizard please can you help find my muse,
she’s upped and left, so I‘m here to schmooze
I’m desperately trying to become a good poet
but my poems are awful and don’t I know it’
He said ‘stop the tears, I don’t want to drown -
write intellectual poems, stop acting the clown!’
The wizard peers at me over his 'say ban' glasses
and prescribes three tablespoons of dark molasses
I ask ‘wizard will that bring my muse back to me’
he said ‘don’t be daft, it'll sweeten your poetry’
So I’m guzzling molasses three times a day
and I hope my muse will come back and stay
Off to see the wizard contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
11/25/18
Different moods, Different tunes
For guys different females
For women different dudes
Certain environments and multi-foods
Can cause the infection of a bad or a good mood
Unusual vibes, certain bribes, and sometimes what the doctor prescribes
Can have you feeling queasy inside or better yet bona fide
Everything that you encounter can be a relief or a downer
Like a disease that will never cease not even with a prescription of the counter
A relief is happiness that brings peace during or after the encounter
Like when your lost and you ask directions because you an out of towner
A friendly person will pass the infection of relief when they answer your question and get you in the right direction
Such a pleasing strike, the infection
(where I was born)
A land where guns are no longer fired in anger
But in deceitful dreams.
A land where people starve for a peaceful recipe
Till they are no longer hungry.
A land where hypocrites trade divinity
With symbolic rituals.
A land where obituaries and condolences
Cost a lifetime's earnings.
A land where a gang of dropouts burnt a library
Demanding a script.
A land where illiterate grandparents shed spiritual tears
Over the illicit affair of a god and his concubine.
A land where mongrels and swine debate upon
The wisdom to rule or serve.
A land where vision takes a back seat
And the cart pleads for progress to a reluctant horse.
A land where a sick politician prescribes antidotes to
The sedated, like a seasoned harlot who moans like a virgin.
A land where a poet wonders aloud,
Though it's against the grain to ask:
Who caused the ripples?
NOISES AND VOICES
( By S.Jagathsimhan Nair)
In my hotel room
I am abridged to a cube of light
I fold up into silence
The room is now full of noises
I took nine months to notice its
Paint’s tint. Its off pink brazenness
Its saffron aloofness, its overall
Oneness with my mind’s divisions.
Masons’ toil and owner’s order
And the combined craft receives
Caparisoned flesh and fleshed souls
Flesh that knows not openness
Souls that know not oneness with space
Despite its fast format of flux
It’s but its very same sameness
Wound up histories live side by but
How are the living mere actors
This strange physician with a stare
Prescribes a drug- god dichotomy
For cure. Another inmate kills his
Cancer with liquor and cigar
A plain youth plays cards with his peers
Occasionally a bedlam
Keeps mum or an argument mediates
Meditate incurably or
Float dead-flat in a rock-hard cot
Caught in its vortex I am flying
To its fringe. Is this bruise
Showing out of the earth. Is it
A piece of news blessing the battered
Here now I’m once again abridged
To a cube of nonchalant light
I wake up from my silence
The room is full of rare voices.
PRELUDE TO "THE DANCING!"
Driven asunder, the sword sliced, hacked, and chopped at the bloody mangled thing that was once a stout courageous man, in a black suit, on his way to accounting school.
Incredibly the heart still beat and the head, even though severed from the neck, saw and expressed opinions on the other's dancing...
"THE DANCING!"
No more dancing!
I'm over here dying,
And your over there dancing!
No one respected me in life,
Why should I expect it in death?
I had everything going for me,
And now I'm taking my last breath!
You all had a wonderful time,
And a jolly good laugh.
Like a slaughtered fish,
I get to bathe,
In a luke-warm bloodbath.
Go ahead dance!
And why don't you also sing?
Sing! Damn you sing!
You might as well sing,
While you dance.
A happy little tune,
About hedonism.
Oh, and wear the funny little hat,
Yes, you must.
And use the cane, nice touch!
LORD JESUS CHRIST! I'M DYING!
The doctor prescribes dancing...
You don't have to lay here in a puddle of blood,
With your flesh torn open, your organs hanging out,
And your head down at your feet,
Making observations, forming and expressing opinions,
With your hat still on!
Your dancing...Thank God I'm only dying!
AFTERMATH OF "THE DANCING!"
I'm quite dead now...
Lying in a black oak box six feet underground.
There's a tombstone and a plaque in the ground above...
It reads, "DEAD MAN HERE"...
And the damn bugger’s dancing on it!!!