Best Xxii Poems
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXII
IF you pull a long lonely face
Standing all alone near or on a busy airport flyway
Sans kith ni kin nor traffic police or friends en surplus
Hell you'll be mowed down by plane's landing gear out-lay
Now if you pull that lone long face
Since with none you can co-habit you say
Too true as that might be do as penance purchase
A man-sized mouse-trap stick neck in and pray
But if you pull long neck out to save long face
Don't blame me if by chance the spring gives way
Mouse-traps are made only for rats running in rat-race
If you want out post (on this site) your sworn statement apostasié
Yet if you pull your changed-mind long face
Take vows of celibacy eat nor enjoy flesh either way
Even as anthropophage Andromède chew on Ethiopian rock face
None'll make a shrine out of bones buried under compost pourrée
So if you must pull a lone long face
Seek not other lone long faces who pray and flay
Their backs and with cat-o'-nine-tails their face
Lacerate till Antonioni films Sophia L. with St. Francois d'Assis in Mandalay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 22, 2019
It's the middle class t-rump attacks
This ass dumps our social contracts
For Inc(s) he does care
And for-the-rich welfare
Disguised by his off the wall acts
IF ever I had a country : XXI - XXII
" I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked, nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman a pessary to produce abortion. With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practice my Art. " Excerpted from the translation by Francis Adams in Wikisource of the Oath of Hippocrates, 400 BCE.
XXI
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Health Minister
And if some breach some tort against The Hippocratic Oath reached my ear
I'd rage and storm through ward portals in Olympian Apollonic gear
To arraign the culprit whether Male Nurse Sister Matron or specialist Doctor
Till no patient need fear contamination poison nor Secret Service murder
That is, if ever I were but the Health Minister
And even if I never ever had no country
XXII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Health Secretary
And if some sleepless stateless victim of the Secret Police's Third Degree
Was put under Trileptal and made to undergo Tomo-Scintigraphy
And the operators abandoned the patient to general tonico-clonic seizure in epilepsy
I'd either order the hospital closed or put the service heads out-of-activity
That is, if ever I were even the Health Sec in Gay Paree
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 9, 2018
That blade which takes
I took that made
what cuts I did
so did I bleed
and took my road
that dust and blood
the path my blade
had cut for me
end-roads!
::~::
How bold revival leaves us both at home,
to scavenge the refridgerator store,
as gin and vermouth soothes the ice galore
Martinis' clink to toast ones connoisseur.
Whilst, 'sexual healing', sung by Marvin Gaye,
has repercussions soaking up romance;
canoodle with me, one more time I say,
I'm sure there's plenty time for us to dance.
With alcohol your beast it's safe to drink,
no place to leave, get killed or feeling bad,
to rearrange your travel makes me think,
for cosy nights shall rearrange this pad.
Could nightclubs stoop in jealousy's outrage
By leaving them behind for home to stage.
M,
In forests deep where nympth do hide
I seek out guise of nature's bride
flit of light, dipped in heaven's milk
immersed in eyes of emerald's moss
skin of silk as long legs cross
majestic mind and fleet afoot
earthen bound with tangled root
lain in fields of grace, where beauty rests
familiar face here fierceness nests
visceral and virtuous
the flowers speak
colour bloom, shades of pink and blue
impervious
n'er angst nor sour mood
in winds of north and soul of south
feelings gift
hearts to mouth
to hand and back to heart
soften sand to frozen land
surf to snow
weaved in sun and moon
the river flows
blood touching blood
never ending
the river flows
Awaiting a light
To guide us down the path
that composed our eternity
For no woman I have swayed
In quite the fashion as I for you
For no woman could I have swooned
as I swiftly as I for you
and if ever there was a chance
to seize the pendulum
‘tis your constant amour
Then the risk would equalize
The value you illustrate
When recurring dreams
Take you back to that moment of
Growing up—living that younger mind,
Where you first loved—first feared,
Breathing in purpose that is now past
Nostalgic aromas pervade the nostrils,
Taking form in memories—
Child body and voice—inventive mind,
Tracing scent-filled reminiscence
Into some dark place,
Where dark deeds birthed,
Where perhaps enlightenment came
At a strange hour of surrender
Into some dark place,
That haunts the subconscious yet still—
Traumas and miracles weaving your life
From the moment you screamed Born
Until breath too is a memory
That that present inhales
2.22.20
Note: I've been dreaming a lot of the house I grew up in. From all the people I have spoken to, this seems to be a common thing. I wanted to emphasize my weakness of the past. My mind is glued to it—both fascinated and traumatized by it.
~Laura
I rounded a street missing a lantern,
the heat in my eyes was starting to burn;
It felt like gravity was all but gone
my sharp fangs extended as I walked on;
Creeping closer still hidden completely
Fable stood a few feet ahead of me;
‘Recommendation: Don’t do that again.’
I said this but knew she would not abstain;
Knowing this I came an inch from her face
‘I’ll make you disappear without a trace.’
Being guided by such an angry force
every word was more than a little coarse;
Glowering at me she said ‘They will hunt you.’
‘They may’ I said ‘but respect I’ll accrue.’
People are Good
Their Creator made them so.
Yes, they do go wrong
And even when they mean well,
They constitute Misery to others
Some other times, they release themselves
To be used by the messenger of misery.
We do Bad things
I mean, very Bad things.
Not that we are Bad,
But many times, our choices are Bad
And sometimes our Good turns Bad,
Leaves us helpless and Misunderstood
But, we are Good People.
@JULY 2017/©M.H.O.G Unveiled
"Out of many one people" should not be read or spoken lightly
Untold heroes held arms with the unsung to make this a reality
Trouble teeming they defied, no obstacles could their will defy
Marching from plantations, hungry roaring in their bellies, these
Ancestors: noblemen, farmers, slaves, dreamers of a new place
Nation builders, warriors, though fragments of that mighty race
Yearned, planned, toiled, fashioned the flag blowing in the breeze
Omniscient God we give you thanks for love and the guiding hand
Nurturing in us gold of spirit that we may always believe your will
Eternal is to prosper us green as mountains, golden as our sand
Proud of this heritage carved from the black of night, and toiling till
Energetically through darkness into light, O God, we give thanks
Onward now for the golden tomorrow, green in vigor and in youth
Patient in virtue we march together, solidarity binding our ranks
Love that made us, love eternal, and love the motive in every heart
Eternal Father, bless each one, and each determined to do his part.
betrayal ain't gift - pored present:
sassy seal soiled strength, leering lent
callous content, cussed confetti,
felon fosters, la-de-da wills
betrayal is not a rough robe:
moistened misery solely sewn
throbbing thread, porous passion plagued
smothered style, feeble fabric's flesh
betrayal is all but sworn skill:
saucy syllables shredding fills
smithereens of spelled silhouettes
tracing dark dribbles on int'llect
think not yourself wise when you cheat,
you're a shadow of what you think!
'20:06:21:09:35
Note: of bounty betrayal.
I must have dropped my unconscious mind
in the home & garden aisle yesterday
in a dream the intercom
crackles to life, tickling my ears
a familiar voice calls out
reminding me that I need
to water my houseplants soon
These are my early poems, or juvenilia.
Analogy
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 19
Our embrace is like a forest
lying blanketed in snow;
you, the lily, are enchanted
by each shiver trembling through;
I, the snowfall, cling in earnest
as I press so close to you.
You dream that you now are sheltered;
I dream that I may break through.
Published by Borderless Journal (Singapore)
Keywords/Tags: Early poems, juvenilia, college, analogy, embrace, forest, snow, lily, dream
Berthe Morisot* looking at you
the inner woman comes into view
An artist herself- an equivalent
with feelings so ambivalent