from ceylon island fair
sri lankan charm to share
ruby in a cup
warm brew pick me up
bold and brisk taste affair.
The Perennial
On an overhang, where the mountain slopes gently towards the lowland and the sea
there is a crooked tree with long roots embracing the mountain
Is the plant an asp or a birch, the leaves are compact and sturdy
It has to be as it is the first who catches the winter wind or the salty haar from the sea.
It is also a tree that catches the first light of the day and the last
To see the disappearing day, the first to see how wonderfully clear our firmament can be.
This tree will not risk the indignity, of being dressed up like a tart
have gifts in the colourful wrapping of favour bought under duress and be thrown
on the waste heap when the party is over
This tree will not be an elegant mast on a clipper sailing to China and Ceylon and
one day run aground on the hardy coast of Norway and be sold off as planks.,
This tree is art because someone looked up and said, look
at this, its true art and has a natural beauty and emotion only great art can provoke.
Just one cup in the morning; no added flavor
Ceylon tea or Assamese is my preference
Each drip and each sip I so favor and savor
Betwixt too light and too strong. This makes difference
Its red-black-orange mixture I fondly adore
My chocolate face waves betwixt its white-ash smoke
There's a fragrantly sumptuous taste in its core
To sip this nectar with me join a few townsfolk
It's poured into my cup in a hundred-degree
I start sipping. It does not hurt my lips or tongue
The process goes on till I, finally, could see
Not a tinge is left, and I feel extremely young
A cup of hot black tea is the day's protector
Can't I compare it with the heavenly nectar...?
09 February 2023
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Fair-minded whale playground, compass dismisses
Ceylon sapphire zero horizon echo orchestral chamber
Forge rolling bow voyages of uncharted distance
Cut water instant recovery, oily onyx giants' undulations
Gleefully refuse gravity's hard ground insistence
Halloween door creak elaborate speak, torso of paisley
Gyrations ridicule keel knife edge flow resistance
Harried sails flap before collapse with human impatience
Dugongs admonish monolithic ships gritty missions
Adventure crave creatures flank vessels for playful races
Delight in the chase, never capture small victims
Allure fluid, serene serenades resonate clarinet cadence
October 31st
Ceylon it was
Sea land to mean
As my guess going
Sri Lanka the name
Ceylon gone a long
Around Sea coast
A pearl like of course
Horn Haiku.
To be culpable,
You do not need to complete,
Any obstruction.
Trump is never nice;
With his vice he does entice,
And sins shall suffice.,
Truly a lost cause;
Qualities not redeeming;
Sets poor example.
Trump lied while we cried;
He had killed figure of speech,
Being blasphemous.
Trump has been lazy;
Always sitting on keister;
Never getting off.
Sri Lanka so sad;
Once was country of Ceylon,
And now death does part.
He fought off our foes;
We know that Jesus arose,
After death He chose.
You should think about,
All of the things that I wrote,
Then read them again.
Jim Horn
Biobab ever sits unable to stand but a tree.A broad trunked,huge like rocks,from silk-cotton family fruiting for paper,cloth and rope suiting.
Bab is gate in Arabic and the tree is an African origin.A gateway between Asia and Middle East kept opened for centuries.Ancient,heavy,immemorial gift from Arab traders for shadowing the Sun hitting Mannar soil in then Ceylon.A mark of gesture of Arabs on their merchandised soil but no a trade mark as traders hail.
Hats off dear Arabs for your kind hearts.Biobab a tropical being sits smart for half of Adam’s age in the coastal belt of Northern province of Sri Lanka!
Ceylon Cinnamon
oh how the scent stays with me
red rose's envy.
You gave life to me
I was not an easy child you see
You gave unconditional never the less
I was just so young, I guess
There were many nights you cried
Praying on your knees at your bedside
That God will guide me on the narrow
While I flew around like the sparrow
God knew what to do
Although it made me really blue
Your arms open wide
You held me till the pain subside
Today you are gone
I can’t make you anymore Ceylon
I wish it is all a dream
I pray I find you at a stream
Surrounded with colours from spring
I can see the all joy they bring
Now it’s my turn to cry
While you are with angels high
Beetle fobs on a trashed out war plane equals the dogma of a hidden few. Vessels whisper in a breeze. And no ant could utilise its soul. As all have a duty. All firm a line. Military precision in a cute cut curve. Jeopardy is an anarchy. And upon ancient lands. Monarchs were monarchs when they did rule. Now no more. Cease to confuse. Adorn a painting with a guilded leather wand. Induces a coma of though to exact a mighty wrong. Si tail end of feathered beats should never be ignored. Taken to the bosum of the wide oak torso. In unison it strives to live. Lead. Leads. Lead. Leads. Led. Leaden. Community forms. Arrives justice in panned out pancakes. No to planning. And further more no more £% or €$ and prevailing is the wishes of the smallest tapered shrew. With a snout for a nose and in tune wars. To unblemish the smoked sand. And then the Sanskrit will outsway the doctrines and fly over and over and over and over and over the fantastic plaza of ancient soil. Mishpa deyoo Ceylon crinna elloo fatma imman imman imman Dijon xxxxxxxxx valour vapours z.z.z. At 0% of an applet ha ha ha ha ha ha ha xx xx xx love you lots xxxxxx kisses kissing kiss. Xx
Stones in life strong like stones,
As a weapon,
As a tool,
Shelter over the heads of souls,
Even beyond the Era of stones,
Stones in plenty and in varieties,
Gems,stones,Gemstones,
Rare,durable,colored,long life and beauty,
Weighed and valued in dots and drops,
A dream for the poor,
A desire for the rich,
Crowns without Gems not a King,not a Queen,
Taj Mahal minus Gems not a world wonder,
Ceylon turned Sri Lanka known Island of Gems,
Marco Polo toured and admired,
The Portuguese,The Dutch,The British much cared,
All stones are not Gems,all Gems are not stones,
In stones Gems,
In people some like Gems!
The beautiful birch stands proud and tall
When wind blows in autumn some of her leaves will fall
Suddenly as the air grows dense the angry skies pull in the soul
The dark cloud in the center of the vortex inspiring awe as the thunder will roll
The fury of the storm is like devil himself would spawn
The separation of everything to maximum power has its dawn
The force continues to expand eon after eon
With true time being absolute because it has to be and word absolute is dead on
In this true time the existence of reverse death will fall
Beyond all control
As on birches bark for protection is written key to the soul
The benign light of the divine appears beyond the thunder smiling upon all
It will be ability of mage hereon
That will come from unknown land maybe US Africa Europe maybe even Asia or Ceylon
At his visage light will shine upon
And he will break out of his shell like life breaks from inside the stone
for Thirugnanamoorthy
Remorseful, the noonday sun
Frizzles with the stealthy wind
Under the rubbery mountain green.
A calmness has come to rest
From having tossed in its sleep.
The forest has taken leave
Of the hunted horn and drum.
No more the tapper late of nap
Scurries to the haven of a nest.
No more the rattle whisper fades
To nothingness in a lonesome rest.
No more, no more, for the heavens
Sleep and all the troops sleep too.
The sinewy python stretched past
Clumsily the ragged rock and branch.
The Owl has called its reveille at last.
And the forest sleeps with the wind
Gently fanning some whisper closer
And closer, every wave, a venomous flick
Of a serpent, a kiss of rest.
(Letter describing the situation in Malaya and denouncing
treachery, written in 1952 to Thirugnanamoorthy who was banished
by a British magistrate to Ceylon in March 1952. The letter never
reached him.)
© T. Wignesan, Seremban, 1952. Pub. in Tracks of a Tramp : a
first collection of poems, 1951-1961. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore :
Rayirath Publications, 1961.
shrub
Ceylon
laurel bark
kinnamomon
spice
The day was glorious, sun splitting the sky,
Sat down in utter bewilderment I asked myself why,
It started round with one miss Mckay around 5 years ago or so,
When i think of you i wonder what I meant,
Your hair so black like the darkest of nights,
Your eyes they shone like the brightest of lights,
Your skin so soft yet tanned to perfection,
From the island of Ceylon a Godess among the living,
Your voice it carried on the morning breeze,
What could you see in a man like me,
Whenever i saw you my heart skipped a beat,
I was bereft of my senses, my train of thought lost,
Speachless forever it was like I was lost,
Lost at sea like a wandering soul,
Traversing the void like a ghoul in days of old,
It makes no sense to me at all,
Why do we desire what we can't attain,
Life is about surviving, defeating the mundane,
But love oh love it destroys my heart,
It sends me deeper and deeper into the black,
But i beg thee head not my words of woe,
For love the destroyer, it can also make you whole.
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