Best Sterner Poems
Steve works in a call center
to earn an honest bob
but some days he can't believe
the words that flow from some folks gob
They cus and curse
Then eff and blind -
you'd not believe your ears
and if he wasn't made of sterner stuff
he'd leave the room in tears!
I said to him when folks are rude
to remember the golden rule
Just imagine them sitting in the nude
that way you'll keep your cool!
So when they rant and scream and shout
He thinks of his meager pay
but still tries his best to sort them out
and ends the call with 'have a nice day'!
Posted with the kind permission of Stephen Pennell
10~16~16
Romeo Jaxx had a friend for a fool
So he never thought "Baby's in love."
He fought for his rights
and he slept through your dreams
With his self-centred wolverine paralysed
Drove out of the camp on a bright summer's day
waving last weekend's pass-out goodbye
Phoned Jenny, then Julie, who never complained
Filled his tank, with the world running dry.
Throws off the fatigues now, just too tired to fight,
He will walk to the beat
of another man's drum
sometimes valour's the best part of sin.
With a grin shoves his ring
on the pawnbroker's manicured thumb.
Now this story splits down three parallel lines.
My version, the truth and your lies
You saw him conversing with 12-year-old Jim
in myriad tongues, his back to the wind.
I found him saluting a girl in Key West,
Where admirals croak and malingerers lie.
We both know he broke each old, weary taboo
Well, salmon will leap
when they're straining to die.
Maybe Romeo Jaxx is of much sterner stuff
And never was swayed from some destiny's path.
Straight as a die
but the die is now cast,
the cast are now blind
and the blind are aghast.
Our Romeo sees that there's no one ahead
don't tell him, there's no one behind.
The lush fishing village of Kaloo-Nong
Rich with folklore, dance, and song
Natives thrive in work and play
Through joy and sorrow, day by day
When young Tahina feels lost, tense, and blue
The villagers know just what to do
In the sacred woods they sing tales of yore
Soon Tahina is as happy as she was before
In New York, young Mandy feels anxious, and blue
Her parents know exactly just what to do
An emergency room doctor, sterner than kind
writes a prescription to calm her mind
Months, then years pass, as friends fall away
In a well of despair, Mandy dreads every day
Abandoned and lost with tormenting sensations
Doctors continue to change and adjust medications
He, a seeker after Truth, set out
on an audacious journey
to see his old master
with a handful of blooms
he paused before the open door.
from deep meditation
the squatted figure, looked up.
in a trance, he saw the silhouette of a man.
on gazing intent, emerged distinct
his former disciple, left long ago
seeing his hands laden with flowers,
the master smiled a recognizing smile.
in close surveillance, the penetrating eyes
gauged him through and through.
the master’s pursed lips opened ajar.
from him, arose a single word-
‘’ Drop”
gentle but firm was its timbre.
he dropped the flowers, one by one.
in sterner voice, the master said,
‘’ Drop”
all at once, he let the remaining blooms
go off his clasp
and down they fell around his feet.
folding empty hands, he stood,
waiting for the master’s behest
after an eerie silence,
once more came the hefty command--
‘’ Drop”
stupified, the disciple queried-
‘’ what more should I drop? “
eyes emitted sparks!
‘’ not the flowers, but your ego”-
instant was his reply.
a spear stuck deep into his self.
as by a whirl wind, his body tottered.
he felt a deep twirl inside.
unfastening the hinges
of the imperious shutters,
a boulder rolled down,
dropping to the ground with a thud.
back home, the disciple gleefully walked,
the clogged fog clearing from his head
ego shorn, here now reborn
in a state of divine transcendence
feeling as weightless as a feather
~Placed First~
8. Jan. 2022
This or That.Vol.9. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
~Placed Fifth~
In 'Ego Shorn, Here Now Reborn' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Unseeking Seeker
Before the cedar learn'd the speech of steel,
Or heartwood yielded to the carpenter,
Its argent rings kept covenant with the weal
Of thawing springs and every pilgrim star.
No bough begrudged the tempest what it took;
Each wound became another living book.
Then came the hands that quarried trunk from loam.
One sought a boundary where lambs might rest;
One sought a crossing, calling strangers home
Across the torrent's vehement unrest.
The timber neither gloried nor complain'd:
It served the purpose into which 'twas grain'd.
Long years I honour'd bridges for their grace,
And deem'd all fences born of timid fear,
Till autumn, in a lichen-haunted place,
Unveil'd a quieter arithmetic there.
An ancient rail, half-vestured now in moss,
Kept not one flower, yet shelter'd all from loss.
Beyond the hill a broken arch was thrown,
Its patient span relinquish'd to the stream.
The river mourn'd no less, yet journey'd on;
It would not counterfeit a perish'd dream.
Some crossings, once unfaithful to their end,
Grow holier by refusing to pretend.
Then first I saw the oak had held no will
To part the meadow or unite the plain.
No fibre cherish'd malice, good, or ill;
No grain distinguish'd blessing, loss, or gain.
The tree gave only what its nature could;
The hand alone interpreted the wood.
I search'd my heart and found, with inward shame,
How many fences I had call'd a scar,
Though they preserv'd what tenderness became;
How many bridges bore me from my star.
For every road I should have left untrod
Had ask'd my feet to wander out of God.
There are estrangements mercy ought to heal—
Proud silences no sunrise should forgive.
There are departures only fire can seal,
Lest dying falsehood counterfeit the live.
Discernment is the rarer, sterner art:
To know which timber waits within the heart.
So now I bless neither the flame nor nail,
Nor praise the wall, nor crown the spanning frame;
I ask but this when love and judgement fail:
What keeps another soul more true to flame?
For wood remembers only how to give.
It is the hand that teaches it
whether to divide—
or let another live.
Balcony moods
Morning offering;
Song of bird duo
By the yard edge
Bird frolic twitter;
A cheery quartet
Song fills dawn
Sunlight slants;
Window view sparkles
Last night's rain
Wet grounds betray;
Uneven footsteps traced
Joy after sorrow
Traces of old grief;
Ushered out abruptly
Old sepia memories
Silver nitrate etchings;
Old time photography
Haunting faces preside
Mother and father;
Yesterday's courtesy
Today flings
Doors wide open;
Strangers in paradise
Prayers on altars
Everywhere we go;
Living burying the dead
Can you hear
Sounds of old strains;
Voices calling in echoes
This life we live
Takes sterner stuff;
Hope feeds effort
Do you notice
A common melody;
Swirling time after time
Mundane routines
Calls time for after shocks;
Trauma feeds norm
When I listen
Do I hear
Sounds in the silence
Trip to market
Buy and sell;
Barter for things
Hate is fear exposed
Let love attend trade;
Poverty lives painful hatred
Look up and see
Dawn in a flash;
Insight reveals truth
Leon Enriquez
15 July 2014
Singapore
She measured only five foot tall,
With her stooped shoulders, even shorter.
Towered over by her strapping son,
My mother and each other daughter.
Grandma came from sturdy stock.
On her own strength, she relied
To raise her five young children,
After my grandpa died.
Mother was only six years old,
She could barely remember when
Her daddy died of consumption.
That’s what they called it then.
There was no such thing as welfare,
So Grandma was left alone,
To find a way that she could raise
Her family on her own.
Opportunities for women
Before the First World War
Were almost non-existent.
The wolf was at their door.
So my grandma took in washing,
Ironing and clothes to mend.
The enormity of her labors,
I can’t even comprehend.
I have pictures of her and her family,
All so neatly dressed
In crisp white dresses and starched shirt,
Attired in their Sunday best.
Did her children know her sacrifice,
How this woman had to strive
To see they were fed and sheltered,
And to keep them all alive?
My memories of my grandma,
Are when she was old and alone.
She was frail and ill but managed
To face life on her own.
She had her little garden,
And planted by the moon.
She bragged that no one in the town
Was eating fresh peas so soon.
I never heard her grumble
About her difficult life
Or that she had been a widow
Much longer than a wife.
My grandma had the steely will,
That has made this nation grow.
Without her kind, we wouldn’t have
The ease that we now know.
So when ever the days are rainy
And I’m feeling sorry for myself,
I start to remember Grandma,
Take her album from the shelf.
Surrounded by life’s luxuries
Of the kind she never knew,
I wonder at my grandma,
And the way she battled through.
She barely knew of radio,
And would have been enchanted
With television and its wonders,
Which we take so much for granted.
Grandma was a true pioneer.
Her road was long and rough.
Her granddaughter should be ashamed.
To claim she has it tough.
I salute you Grandma and love you.
I was proud to call you Gram.
And no one needs to tell me that
You were of sterner stuff than I am.
Debbie: Perhaps we could have another category such as "Provider"
.
You find in the slime of indecency
The rotted hollow of an empty skull -
A mindless mind allows redundancy
Repeated repetitions till it's full.
Cogs in a wheel turning round on a run,
As sparrows share their madrigals at dawn.
The tulips muse about the idol, Sun,
Iconoclastic papal paragon.
Once baptised in the bounty of my birth,
Religion's regal razor ripped and flayed;
When double mothers claimed one child of earth
The mighty sword of Solomon was raised.
A wisp of willow in the wind will bend
As will the will of wiser men who found
The sterner tree is broken in the end
To join the lowly loam below the ground.
" Long be his journey to death! ", someone hollered
as he dragged his feet into the rising dust hotter than sand;
only a defeated and tormented soul would have admitted
looking ahead," Much innocent blood I have shed! "
Gazing sterner than a warrior or merciless king,
he was fearless of what was prophesied by twilight
to him in a temple veiled in crimson and white...
although he claimed his usurped power with a ring.
His palace adorned with ionic, glittering columns
of pure gold stripped off Troy's temples...they were carved by the hands
of slaves, but their phantoms pitifully stared at him begging for their return
to the sun-gilded murals so that they would breath once again.
" Alexander the Great is coming from the North
with a mighty army, even the stones make away
for his conquest as he holds up up his victorious sword...
let him in your city, open the gate and obey! "
A few days passed, then the young conqueror appeared
wearing a shining, silver armor as he gloriously towered
over fortified Athens, the city that later will be conquered by mighty Rome,
and resuming his gallop, he hailed," Long be his journey to death, let him roam! "
BLANK PAGE.
Again I have to cross
A blank page for travel
A wide desert spread
Spaces to far away lands
Which seems even sterner
For the words to instruct
Vehicle of subtler thought
Movement for the select.
Perhaps with a magic
Hand of chance
I will take plunge
Into the inkwell
My fingers wide spread
To write
To find hidden furies
Being born of some dread.
With my solitude
I will come alive
With devilish wide smile
To bail out
Into a liberation
An antiquity of versification.
BLANK PAGE.
Again I have to cross
A blank page for travel
A wide desert spread
Spaces to far away lands
Which seems even sterner
For the words to instruct
Vehicle of subtler thought
Movement for the select.
Perhaps with a magic
Hand of chance
I will take plunge
Into the inkwell
My fingers wide spread
To write
To find hidden furies
Being born of some dread.
With my solitude
I will come alive
With devilish wide smile
To bail out
Into a liberation
An antiquity of versification.
You there!! Be happy and smile
Over sorry days don’t whine
Never lose heart, never resign
Time is sterner to the supine
Keep the faith the world is thine
Tomorrow the sun you’ll outshine
Nothing deserves a Man’s cry
Your tears for once do dry
Felicity your likes do vie
Soar the skies, free do fly
Go high, and high and high
Hope has never been a lie
Ahead for ever do go
Your head never bow
Strong, winds may blow
Recall only the marrow
Chasing a storm the rainbow
Green regenerated meadow
Come and sing along
Join your voice to this song
The world to you does belong
Life will recover erelong
Be it here, there or by the Mekong.
BLANK PAGE.
Again I have to cross
A blank page for travel
A wide desert spread
Spaces to far away lands
Which seems even sterner
For the words to instruct
Vehicle of subtler thought
Movement for the select.
Perhaps with a magic
Hand of chance
I will take plunge
Into the inkwell
My fingers wide spread
To write
To find hidden furies
Being born of some dread.
With my solitude
I will come alive
With devilish wide smile
To bail out
Into a liberation
An antiquity of versification.
Again I have to cross
A blank page for travel
A wide desert spread
Spaces to far away lands
Which seems even sterner
For the words to instruct
Vehicle of subtler thought
Movement for the select.
Perhaps with a magic
Hand of chance
I will take plunge
Into the inkwell
My fingers wide spread
To write
To find hidden furies
Being born of some dread.
With my solitude
I will come alive
With devilish wide smile
To bail out
Into a liberation
An antiquity of versification.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE
If you pull a long face
Just because you had a bad day
That’s alright you won’t lose face
Everyone’s beset some hapless day
If you pull a long face
Day by day come what may
Better know it’s really out-of-place
To pull a long face in every way
Yet if you pull a long face
All your livelong dark day
You had better make an about-face
Or you’d end up in a fray
If you pull a long face
‘Cause none with you will play
Then you have lost your birth-place
You’ll not save face even if you pray
So if you pull a long face
No matter what or who comes your way
Give a damn who looks you in the face
Then you’re made of sterner stuff, not clay
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017