Best Sone Poems
Vaccine Maia
Oh, joy, the magic, potion is here!
To be injected in the arm, not my
derrière!
I am no fool to buy like eternal swishing via a potion.
This is sone magical health revolution.
I'd rather die, by God's voice.
Nor Big Brothers demanding choice.
Like worms is a fresh apple they've taken freedoms away.
People hide and are depressed
and their emotions sway.
With masks I can take no more...
And no, in front of this face, I will
not sport a plastic door.!
No,you may not tell me with whom
I might dine,
Nor fine me, because my life is mine!
Stand up for your freedoms, stop
being fool's fear ghoul .
Fear of the virus is their the politicos' main pain political tools.
Rise up nations, make your case.
You are about to have all freedoms erased!
11-24-2020
Think globally, act locally,
The desert shall rejoice
And blossom as rose,
Man has been endowed with reason
With the power to create
So that he can add to what he's been given.
But up to now he has only been a destroyer,
Rather than being a creator
Forests keep disappearing
Population keep increasing.
Rivers dry up
Landslides occurring from the top
Glaciers are melting
Water is vanishing,
But shame on humans
They aren't improving.
Wildlife's become extinct
The climate's ruined
Everyday the land is growing poorer
And the crops are growing uglier,
Make it a green peace
Thats the point
But what to do,
We are just lost in a woo.
The poor tread lightest upon the earth
The higher our income
The geater the outcome,
The more resources we control
The more havoc we wroke.
What would the world be
Once bereft
Of wet and wildness,
Let them be left,
O'let them be left.
Long live the weeds and the wilderness,
Kindly be possessive towards the environment
After all the destructions,
When we will be left sans of (sans- Pronounced sone meaning without)
Every natural beauty
All that remains for us
Will be of no utility
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel.
A boutique, and a swinging hot spot,
What have we done to the earth?
What have we done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and did her.
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down
I think that i shall never see,
A billboard lovely as a tree
Perhaps, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all
Its a sincere request in the end from my side,
Save the Environment, save our Mother Earth!
When they joined sone were sixteen
In the war of 1914 to 18
They were young and gave their life
Some not even able to get a wife
They all joined for what was right
Freedom and humanity being their fight
Their basic training was not very long
Thier bayonets were at least a footlong
They were trained hard and taught how to fight
Told they would live if they got it right
But this was false and the war went on
Mustard gas and tanks came along
Over the top when that whistle blew
What layed ahead no one knew
Wire entanglements and craters smoke all around
Explosions, gunfire and shouts of help the sound
Keep moving forward as best they could
Step over the wire and the burning wood
Pinned down by the enemy by that gun
Thinking of home that this is not fun
Sat in thier foxhole looking for a way out
Rounds whizzing past hear another shout
Grenade is the call and then a large bang
Then you hear metal on metal clang
Gas is the next thing they hear shout
Quick quick pull that mask out
As the smoke goes over they lay and wait
Constantly checking on their mate
All clear all clear is now the order given
Their still here and are really driven
Back to the their trench they have to go
Stepping over bodies of friends and foe
This goes on until 1918
The eyes give away some sights they have seen
That spritely young man who went away
Not the same man who came back that day
Alas there are none of these hero's left
Families still sad and feeling bereft
Remember these men and others who follow
Without them we would have no tomorrow.
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
He's a disgrace to the Red Duster someone said:
don't say anything or he will slash you, he warned,
puking over you like a sea of spray upon a proud rock
or to stab you with a marlin spike as if splicing a wire
rope: doubting which he would do this was certainly true.
One in four, one in four
Casualty rate, a quarter of all
The seaman hunched over supported by sone under bone,
he was rhythmically sick, wrenching a regular as the waves,
waves, as uniform as a River Dart steamer's pistons in Devon,
as he swayed in the breeze like the British blood Red Duster.
One in four, one in four
Casualty rate, a quarter of all
Until Putin yesterday - until today no British Arctic medal
Britannia just swabbed her salty tears away with ol'
Red Duster anger now being assuaged as 'Justice'
sails into the haven of heaven with Mercantile Men
a decade or so ago yet their families' pride will remember
One in four, one in four
Casualty rate, a quarter of all
Some under the Red Duster were so foreign too
whether Chines or Muslims remember them too
if on the frostbite convoys they sailed too, then medals
for them or their families too defeating the evil of Fascism
One in four, one in four,
Casualty rsate, a quarter of all
Remember, remember this day, twenty-six of February 2013
as 'Justice' had her day in the Court of Humanity for the
One in four, one infour,
Casualty rate, a quarter of all!
i was on facebook the other day
just to see what was new
i decided to check under your name
and found out i made a mistake.
i decided to read your posts
and now i am sorry i did
i found out what you spend your time doing
later that night i cried.
you spend all you time with her
never thinking about me
everything you do she does too
she follows you around like a puppy
as i did to once upon a time ago
but now i have learned
you care more about your stupide mafia wars
and your drinking wars
and farmville
to care about me
now i understand
the reason you dont like me is becuase
i dont play a victory sone and give you a
virtual trophy
whenever you decide to do something right for a change
instead i love you
i care for you
i write you cards
i draw you pictures.
but now i understand that all those sentimental things
dont matter in your wotld.
no, getting drunk out of your mind
and killing vitrual people does it for you instead
its nice to know you still care
its nce to know that i still have a father in you
but now i know that i could never replace facebook.
or your trusty computer.
i love you too dad, i really do.
Dream once I saw
Of Jeannie coming raw
Asking for three wishes
As early as asking dishes
I saw list so long
In front not wrong
Decided to ask for three
Me, My nation, Humanity free
Firstly asked to remove
All sorrow down move
Secondly asked to make
India first to take
All its past gain
" Sone ki chidiya" again
Third was interesting
Which will keep flying
I asked to play
With my grand son's son
On the top 5th floor of golden palace
That too happily
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Sone ki chidiya means "The golden sparrow"
Earlier India due to having too much gold was nick named
like this
by:-
Vrushani Thaker
Sone ka too qatara dhoondhe
Kab tab usako chalaega
Pahaad khodakar jeene vaala
Khud Heera ban jaayega
Dariya kee apanee pahachaan
Ek boond se banata jahaan
Sooraj kee roshanee paakar
Chaand kitana jagamagaega
Sone ka too qatara dhoondhe
Kab tab usako chalaega
I have listened to,your stories
Heard your talk on Human Rights
It’s warmed the cockles of my heart
On many a Bastion night.
The next time I come across,
And I know I surely will
The indiscriminate victim
Of a Taliban kill
I won’t get upset
Or have any sleepless nights
I’ll know the Tali did it in defence
Of his version of Human Rights
And when we leave this country
After years of combat and bravery
And the Afghani woman are
Returned to their Burkha’d slavery
And ISIS cross the channel
Because our security is so bad
And unleashed chaos on the streets
In pursuit of their Jihad
And they demand Sharia law
In my native England
I’ll try to stay calm
And try to understand
And I won’t get upset
And try not to hate
Those religious fanatics with views
Five hundred years out of date
For I have listened to your story
Heard you speak of Human Rights
It’s warmed the cockles of my heart
On many a Bastion night,
Written sone years ago, but the repression goes on with women being denied education and treated like chattels/
Alexandra Tolstoy, lost it all, the bamks just
Threw her to the wall, held her funds
Locked her out, her fault?
Her Russian husbannd no doubt.!
Although he'd left for many years she took
The hit, expetienced fear; according to some
Info held she lived in Monaco sone records did
Tell, sh'ed visited twice..is domiciled U K, her
Absent man had alimony not paid.' Despite these
Facts it was claimrd otherwise on the flimsiest of
'False; facts' some company filed, not much of a
Bank of records in truth.' Then She got some air to
Tell her truth, nat-west did a u-turn paid her money
Yet the story morals are hardly funny, so be aware
Of subjective 'truths' watch out your info is not
Fool-proof, fact checking' today? Is as we know.'
Not real kosher, yet why is this so..?
I stood across from the small dilapidated
house and let the memories crash into my soul
The dark nights alone, the beatings from the cold hand of hate.
Such was the fate of my formative years
Spent in bruises and tears, for year after year
Carrying this ungodly fear
The dark cloud overhead seemed quite
fitting
And from where I'm now sitting
The memory of ear splitting screams
Induced my tears to streams
I guess a happy childhood for me
Was just a wasted dream
Now all that's left is dreams of the monsters breath
Giving me no rest, daily expecting an untimely death
This house of pain, left a lasting stain
And the reasons life was mayhem
Is now very plain
But a loving God and time
has restored my peace again
I have forgiven years of heartaches
though the monster never changed
And through a loving God in heaven
I will have that happy home sone day.
Written Sept.5 2015
I pray for the world
I live for my life
I shed tears of love
Knwoing everything will be alright
For these are things that can get me there
A place called Heaven
So calming and soothing to my soul
For these are sone of the things that will make me whole
With his unconditional love
I see no point in return
A world that's so demanding and lost within
Look all around you and ask me again
Should I stay or should I go?
There's only one person in this world who really know
I have fought a good fight
A battle in which I stand firm
Take me almighty God
You are the light of my life
The strength of my appetite
Pull me closer to your heart
Carry me under your wing
For you God
I do so many things
Here
Take me by the arm
Only in your presence
I feel no harm
failing health
all by him self
sone look insane
from the legs pain
and other things
THE
MAN ON A CANE
The Inland Algarve
The landscape so oddly shaped
Had once been a domestic landscape
Walking along narrow cart-wheel
Tracks I often come across the remnant
Of dwellings that once had housed
Poverty-stricken people who had
Ploughed small and reluctant fields
Olive trees had grown wild and tall
Bearing bitter fruit.
Sone walls had no purpose sinking
Back to earth becoming rocks again.
A haunted landscape in the inland
Algarve and no one saw it doomed
Beauty.
Rabbits and boars dominated in peace
And sheep grazed in the glooming.
Stillness yet I sensed voices that once
Had loved and lived struggling
Against poverty and early death.