Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
In this world a continuing monstrous feud
Men women and children's lives constantly hued
Environmental vandals a desire to denude
Extinction seems likely one must conclude
Unless from within self love we must include
Pray that joy and truth and laughter will forever exude
Papa bear, no longer there?
Who are you? This can't be true.
Gone are you smiles, our distance is miles
Poor Vinnie wants peace, but you dance to the beast
Greed is you shame, wish we did not share a name
The dad I once loved, to be held to be hugged
Your motives are clear, but grandads still here
Much to your angst, oh just piss off to France!
Leave him to me, we'll be fine him and me
Long live the king, I won't let you win
Go off on your jaunt, but know this will haunt...
Lost your only flesh, now as for the rest
Don't know how you sleep at night, what you've done isn't right
But God is swift these days, you'll get karma for your ways
Julie too, crocodile tears are moot
You can both whistle, she's prickly as a thistle
Me and mine are just fine, going alone in our prime
They look at me with folded arms,
eyes sharp as winter glass,
as if love were something borrowed
and not something earned.
I came with open hands and hope,
with laughter stitched into my dress,
but their silence weighs like questions
I was never meant to answer.
They guard the past like a kingdom,
and I am the stranger at the gate—
loving their son with a heart
they refuse to understand.
Still, I stand where love has placed me,
rooted deeper than their doubt.
Time will soften even stone,
and truth will teach them who I am.
Until then, I wear my patience
like a crown they cannot take.
For love chose me —
and love does not apologize.
The love that knows no boundary set by clan;
The clans that know no love except for war;
The flower that dares to bloom, but never can;
This then the story Shakespeare told, in core.
And what the nature of a petty feud?
Where pride replaces peaceful, prosperous life;
Where little things as mountains are construed,
And things far greater die within its strife.
How might a lesser quill have writ the tale?
One family good, the other dripping ill;
The timeless lie, the righteous must prevail;
And happiness the final act to fill.
But not these things, you had much more to say:
And that is why we think of you today.
Leisurely running
Scrumptious donuts and ice cream
Pounds pile on me
___________
The heroine indulging in quarrels (kalaha)
with her beloved, might well suffer remorse
later, and try to end it all.
__________________
Not dagger, even aversion robs life,
My Love, I know it is no less a knife,
Pray forget my harsh words,
Let’s be the same love birds.
O try and look me through my heart,
If wish, even split it apart
To see if ye find anything but love for you,
Tell me then where I failed, give me a clue,
Why hast that vast store of love dried in you?
Why in place of love-showers this sky blue?
Recall, we had pledged together to live
And walk one day together to life’s eve.
_______________________
Natya Shastra | 06.02.2025 | Rhyme,
Note: This is sixth of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Kalahantarita is the sixth of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
Talk of an Oasis feud is over,
Brit-pop the corks for the supernova,
fair play to those Burnage boys,
tour dates set to make some noise,
they'll walk in sunshine, champagne and clover.
what we would conclude
did find a horrible feud
which we had ensued
The battle well fought,
Blood drips from the blade.
Clans kill each other,
A grave history made.
Women and children weep,
Men driven by fear.
Prejudice handed down,
Death year after year.
The torch forever blinds,
The flame of hatred burns.
A sad lesson taught,
But no one ever learns.
With malice in their hearts,
The war will never end.
The righteous always rise,
To do it once again.
Over solemn matters men brood.
Whoever does not clearly crude;
One is anxious to win a feud:
The face of Jude facing The Rude
And I say: it’s the right mood;
The countenance of The Shrewd,
For when it is shrewd follows food.
Over the life-changing I brood
As I wish to hear The Good;
Not like leaves shake where I’ve stood
Or, soonest, start mouthing The Rude
And sorrow drowning in The Brewed.
I was eight when she first talked about her mother,
Thought she was raised and bred by only her father.
I had known her father since I was an infant,
Thought while growing up, mother was recalcitrant,
I couldn’t ask questions before she departed,
‘Twas later I knew she had had her depleted.
I knew she had taken her off her memory,
‘Twas her older sister who told me the story.
I was told that their mother had abandoned them,
Taken off to explore and lace her garment's helm.
I was told she faced her work burying motherhood,
This in the end took its toll on her and her mood.
August 27, 2022.
no one recalls what the fight was about
or why it happened
it divided the family in three places
funerals and weddings are no longer happy events
those who will not be with others
picking and choosing to come based on who else is showing up
this has gone on for twenty-nine years
their parents are older
their dream is to have their children together again in one room
It happens after their death
but the grudge remains
and they refuse to speak to each other
none of them remembering what it was
just knowing that it is.
I waited, anticipated
Hopes were high, bloated
It was too much to ask, inflated
I lowered my sights, deflated
Tried not to be hurt, shielded
Numbed my senses, phlegmatic
Checked the date and time, could be wrong
I fought back and forth, sparred
Willed a lunge, parry, riposte, touché
But, when it came, it fizzed
The expectation feud,
blew out the candles.
A sunken tombstone lay on either side,
The wall itself enswathed in moss and fern,
Fragmented, as the bond of blood which died
Before the grave envelopped each in turn.
Two brothers who had once been closest friends
Who ran through fields and forests hand in hand,
Too proud and hard of heart to make amends,
Had forced a subdivision of the land.
Their Father, by such hatred torn apart,
With his own weathered hands had built the wall
Each brick ripped out a portion of his heart
Partitioning his sons once and for all.
Now woodland hides their memories from sight
But passers-by will often stop and stare
To contemplate man's universal plight
And wonder why the rugged wall is there.
10.10.20
A Wall In The Woods Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
N/A COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (28)any form any theme Brian Strand JUDGED :10/18/2020
Hm's And Na's October 2020 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
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