Best Xii Poems
Earth's Porch, Sunny, Sweet Summer Breeze,
Sonnet number VI of XII
Barefoot and walking white beach sands
waves meeting shore gentle splashing
Sandcastles built, kids busy hands
all about, their bright smiles flashing
Beauty of Life, this glowing scene
peaceful calm enters eager soul
Seeking more, those rambunctious teens
yet unaware of world's great toll
Feeling cool winds, deep need to pray
for this dear happiness will flee
Ask God's love, be blessed to stay
with full faith in the trinity
Earth's porch, looking into abyss
Humanity begs more of this.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-17-2019
original June 15th, 1989
Sonnet in eights.. ( Earth, Mankind And Deeper Thought)
Note: Brought from my private journal.
Today seemed a good day to give it new life and light...
Emerging in the dark,
A pale ghost cast by the moon—
Authenticity—
With the glow of rawness and power
The song of truth so precious
On a tongue that is pressed for
Change—submissive change—
Cradled in the prospects of devotion
The clouds covering the perfect circles
Penetrating through a lens
That magnifies true, imminent light
Of gleaming giants in velveteen skies
Fearless revelations
That accomplish alluring awe
The conundrums of life
Beyond us—beyond words—in us
2.12.20
Note: Those alluring mysteries...in us...if only we knew how to reveal them like the thin clouds reveal the soft circular shape of that glowing moon, as it floats so carefree... yet so purposefully in the sky. I like to compare our vulnerabilities and our abilities to the universe. They are vast, and can reveal such beautiful things about us.
My name's Rocky Balboa,
Some say I'm old as soil;
An' if you call me punchy,
My blood begins to boil!
Mickey's gone to heaven,
Apollo and Adrian too;
Now I'm stuck with Paulie,
A bum without a clue!
I'll wake up in da' morning,
Right at da' crack of dawn;
Shuffle for a block or two,
An' pass out on da' lawn!
"Yo Paulie!"..."Where are you?!"
It's time to start our day;
Don't forget da' liniment,
I only use Ben-Gay!
Let me box my shadow,
For 'dis I have a knack;
"Whoa!!"...I must be crazy,
My shadow punched me back!!
"Drop 'dat Seagram's, Paulie!"
Come help me to da' ring;
Did you pack my 'focals?
'Cause I can't see a thing!
I float like a fire truck,
Sting like a flea;
My feet are tired an' swollen,
Sit ups make me pee!
Ev'ry time I skip rope,
My feet get tangled up;
Who says I need a mouthpiece?
My teeth are in 'dat cup!
Da' punchin' bag's too lumpy,
Push ups makes me sick;
I think I'm gettin' dizzy,
"Somebody help me, quick!!"
I had my millionth fight,
It didn't go too well;
I couldn't leave my corner,
'Cause I never heard da' bell!
Put 'dis one in da' books,
I'm feelin' like a fool;
Have you ever seen a boxer,
Get knocked out on his stool?!
It's time to go home, Paulie!"
We'll never quit 'dis scene;
Get ready for da' sequel,
I'll see you in 'Thirteen!'
Variations on the Malay Pantun : The Old Man and the Short Story - X -XII - Continued
for Georges VOISSET, the "Master Keeper-Nurturer" of the Malay Pantun
(The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf " Poietics of the Pantun ", pp. 49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad : Cyberwit, 2008, xix-244p.)
X
Go West on horseback and fire pistols point blank
Union Pacific galloped at City Lights
The Wench prefers red-hot fire not bullets blank
Old Men let horses ride bareback on Wench sans tights
XI
Go West on quick-shunting trains and let fall frontiers
Go East on horseback and churn Post-Colonial craze
East or West the Wench licks the Master's rears and tears
Not so the Youngster his Beat poems Old Men praise
XII
Shunt not trains which Kipling coupled lest they break wind
Old Men returned from the East rest traumatic
The Wench can take any Beat grind save the hind kind
Not so the Youngster e'en pistol-packing mama flic
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 12, 2018
Unquotable quotes – XII
To catch a monkey, you need a young coconut with three holes for eyes ; bore a hole in one and wait : the monkey will thrust its hand in to grab a mouthful and will not let go come what may.
To catch a false monk, you need an orphan.
To catch a thief, you need either a camera or a cobra.
To catch a bluffer, you need to make him believe ya.
To catch a fly, you need a spider with a parlour.
To catch a poisonous snake, you need a retracting loup on a long ten-foot pole.
To catch a giant, you need a sling with a stone.
To catch a Pharoah, you need his sister with a hisser.
To catch a priest, you need the advice of his Chief Geist.
To catch a stool-pigeon, you need another stool-pigeon.
To catch a plane, you need a valid ticket.
To take a train, you need a ticket-puncher.
To board a ship, you need to rise with the tide.
To catch the woman next-door, you need to wait until the paramour goes out the back-door.
To catch a ripe durian, you need to have a hard or an empty head.
To capture a girl in a burqa, all you need is another burqa.
To capture a rat in a hole, all you need is a secret service mole.
To capture a pirate ship in a canal, all you need to do is to lower the water-level.
To catch a polar bear and her cubs, all you need to do is to raise the level of your exhaust fumes.
To catch a lark on a bark, all you need to do is to click your camera.
To catch the sun in the morn, all you need to do is to sleep with your window open.
To catch cold, all you need to do is to stand stark naked bold.
To catch forty winks, you need to be full of drinks.
To get on peoples’ nerves, you need to step on their toes.
To catch the pox, you need to meet a certain lady who lounges around the docks.
To come to grief, all you need to do is to rob Fort Knox.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2016
SPEED – JOURNAL XII
It’s hard to keep up
The world is
changing so fast
On the news, fast
talkers
We ancients need
motorized walkers
What once was
considered speed
reading
has,
apparently, become
the norm
Eyes travel slowly
over familiar
phrases
These trigger
memories, disturb
concentration
Lines disappear
prematurely
Fiction-wise, there
are, for us
experienced sages,
no new plots
Even the variations
are multi=traveled
All interest fades
in a fetid pool of
boredom
Film producers are
wise to the
over-taxed plot
And try to stimulate
public interest with
fast-
moving, noisy,
violence
Which manages to
lack any sort of
sensible
organization
No, all is chaos, at
least to us old
timer’s tastes
In these last few I
shall try to harvest
those few
inner moments
Which stir a sort of
over all activity
This I call
faking-oneself-out
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XII
IF you pull a mighty long face
Such as even Bollywood can't display
Put not the blame on the mixed human race
The fault most likely comes from animal DNA
Now if you go on pulling that long long face
People'll rightly think you're going out of your way
To attract attention to your you-think handsome face
And some might wish you'd look in the mirror right away
Yet if you insist on pulling that long-gone face
The kind Penelope pulled with suitors in Odyssey
While Odysseus loped with sirens on Scylla & Charibdis
You risk adorning some niche at museums in decay
If you can't resist pulling that long-tired face
Whenever your siblings marry and are whisked away
Remember Sita pining for Rama in Ravana's Palace
Even if some still wonder at Hanuman's role in epic play
So if you must still keep pulling that long face
Favourite sport with chicks watching films from Bombay
Just keep watching Beau-Boy Khan in tear-jerking DEVDAS
The all-time record at pulling faces in every love-sick way
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 7, 2019
In bed Don loves wearing his gold
Where billionaire's come to the fold
They need not hold loins
But just buy Trump coins
While we work till we're dead and old
Trump’s deals concern what he can break
It’s how this Don hauls in his take
The rich on him spend
As they must depend
On what they’ve kissed his ass to make
His son’s payoff struck them as bad
Republicans hate Hunter’s dad
But they won’t ascribe
Meme coins as a bribe
And part of Trump’s theft launching pad
IF ever I had a country: XI - XII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Admiral of the Fleet
I'd issue an edict to keep ships out of foreign waters
I'd order all on deck on or off duty curse-under-breath sailors
To fish out of oceans crushed cans and twisted plastic bottles
And whatever else poisons sardines dolphins sharks and whales
…………………………………
…………………………………
………………………………..
………………………………..
I'd see to it that all our ancestors of the primal soup deep
Were brought onto land with all their shredded creep
And to the tune of the Divine Land's Anthem make all weep
In solemn burial ceremonies commit such memories to keep
That is, if ever I were but the Admiral of the Fleet
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, June 28, 2018
Trump hates hearing from CIA
Can’t stand the things they have to say
So news he'll filter
To keep us off kilter
By singing, "It's a Perfect Day."
Author's note: The new national anthem lyrics are being changed to "It's a Perfect Day" as sung by Hoku on Youtube. It was funny for the movie with Witherspoon, but really? Is the world Legally Blonde?
loud bus stories -
rattling windows
restore serenity
Fruit Soup
The prize is a sackful of loot
Just write me an ode about fruit
The rules will be binding and strict
No cheating for I wont be tricked
You may deem it rather unfitting
I’m judging and I won’t be quitting
So don’t sit and moan, groan or whinge
Or say nothing rhymes with orange
It’s likely the winner will plan it
And include something like pomegranate
And then without being obscene
He’ll win with one word... aubergine
19 January 2019
For Rhyme Battle XII Contest
Sponsor Juli- Michelle
Earth's Porch, Beyond Its Heavy Gate
Sonnet number I of XII
From dawn, its rays boldly gleaming,
spring flowers covering new fields,
Nature, beasts and plants both teeming
their bounty true, as treasured yields.
In this world, sun gifts us power
tho' we oft waste its deep treasures.
From its passing we judge our hours,
while racing seeking more pleasures.
Upon night's falling, its black veil
Lo! The blackness and its dark walls
Fear, we see black as its own hell
and inside rings low ghostly calls.
Earth's porch, beyond its heavy gate.
Arms of fury held, Time awaits.
Robert J. Lindley,
January 25th, 1989
Sonnet in eights.. ( Earth, Mankind And Deeper Thoughts)
Note: Brought from my private journal.
Today seemed a good day to give it new life and light...
Talipariti elatum
Latin like sugar on my tongue
Or hip curving music
That cuatros make
Lifting the soul above the common height
Where I have seen this Blue Mahoe
And flowers like an hibiscus kite
Dancing in the morning light.
Talipariti elatum
I want to know the meaning of your name
You who did the first Taino's heart inflamed
And made him pined
To caress the flesh and muscle of your bone.
Talipariti elatum
The model for the vision here
Changing flower with the changing light
That goes from color to color
So that whatever change may come
We are Talipariti elatum
We are Jamaica
A strong people and a proud land
We can fish with our bark
Or find food better
In the beauty of a flower.
And when you build
Remember us
Great projects come from simple dust
Our heart is wood, strong and good
The oils from us that come
Talipariti elatum.
"Take shelter this eve
with the merchant
guards, found upon
the merry courts
of the south-western
district. Upon your
arrival, they will send
a messenger to inform thy,
your dire needs for
labor. Assistance and
comfort will be
offered and in secret,
for the King. . . I am
grievous. . . usher you
ill-sorrows if discovered."
Alarumdives, the troubled
Prince of compassion, met
his love, eye to eye, sharing
tears, they did embrace.
"Geinere you must
leave Wales upon, I
am sorry."
"Alarumdives, I am so,
so sorry. . . ."
As Geinere found
refuge her labors
came quickly, within
days. The merry merchant
guards, at no delay, jestered
and provided for a
midwife to aid Geinere.
Amidst the burdenous
nurturance, a gentle
baby boy was brought into
this dark world of hate
and envy. Geinere
vowed to herself
to love this dear child.
A world torn apart,
hers to divinity and
righteousness.
His name Adamme,
rightly chosen
out of sin,
for the essence of
God did answer
poor Geinere's demands
for redemption.
For it was upon
the child's first
birthday, that Geinere
was enlightened and
faith instilled.
A parchment read
while living amongst
the commons of great
Scotland,
". . . the Prince Alarumdives,
now King of Wales, to celebrate
his one year reunion and
exaltation to the kingdom
of thine, glorious Wales."
As this bit of revelry
chimed within Geinere's
soul, she discovered upon
inquiry, that the late
King of Wales had fallen
ill and to his grave,
one year prior. . . .