fastidious Freddie Farnsworth forever finicky,
favored fourteen fixed formulas for fur-making.
Foregoing fantastical features, fiendishly finagling
fine-tooth-comb formulas, flabbergasting a five-star
fleet of flim-flam fellows from Finland.
My heart tells me one thing
My mind quite another thing
My body craves yet it craves
It craves all it can get from her
Should it be that I nurse my hurt
While foregoing a future apparent
Soul ties soul wounds fresh n salted
Where does one go so wrong yet mine
It still feels so right in an intricate way
Yet it is so goddamned fated to yet hurt
pimpernel on my thighs
eloquence and delectation
conversations with the wise
reveal to me which death i must die.
lily in the valley
bravery passion and determination
whatever has to be done
is a puzzling bird song
eyes lifted skyward past the sun
sensitive tranquil and confident
imagination manifests the role
your humanity learned to adore
suspended in the 'not' time
zeal energy and the wish fulfilled
feelings don't get shut down
nor are they the skin of a reticent sound
kissing the pompon undefined
foregoing forbearing sacrificial
the soul has no power in the self
until it is recognized by it
sunflowers begin a perfect day
poised energized and glowing
outside is all within
happiness is on the other side of fear
waterlilies basking in the moonlight
resplendent unobscured polished
dreaming up another dawn
reveals to me which death i must die.
A book of verses underneath the bough,
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread—and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness—
Oh, wilderness were paradise enow.
(Omar Khayyam’s (1048-1131 CE) well-known quatrain (Rubai). Its translation was done by Fitzgerald as above. Now look at the following translation done by me of a Gujarati Muktak by Somsundar Soori (Vikram Samwat 1430-1499, older by about 54 years as compared to CE)).
Nature’s drape of cool sunny sand,
Sunshade of green trees, time in hand,
And buttermilk amply supplied,
Pray, what more would paradise lend?
________________________________
Reflections |22.08.2023| quatrain, poetry
Poet’s note: Both the foregoing quatrains have similar poetic thought. Does it mean that poet Soori copied the thought from Khayyam, who happened earlier? No, similar thoughts do sometimes strike poets.
three thirty, exact
the bell
jangled
gathered my coat
foregoing
the afterschool
match
tuesday
my weekly treat
awaited on gran's
baking tray
I opened
the back door
a spicy aroma
fiiled the air
there
it was freshly baked
my
weekly share
pipng hot
drizzled with honey
moreish&
yummy
a moist
mouthwatering
confection
succulent
sultana delectation
home -baked
by she
especially
for
me
three thirty, exact
foregoing
the afterschool
match
tuesday
my weekly treat
awaits on gran's
baking tray
arriving there
a spicy aroma
fiiled the air
it was freshly baked
my
weekly share
bread pudding
pipng hot
drizzled with honey
moreish&
yummy
a moist
mouth watering
confection
this
sultana delectation
home -baked
in her pinny
especially& just
for
me
Upon my bare bent boughs, the blossoms itch,
‘Tis the high season when pollen count rises,
So much better when I wore not a stitch,
Now one's nerve jumps at nasal surprises
Humans emerge from their winter abode,
In awe of the plush panoramic rush,
Foregoing instinctual rambling code,
Flora slowly chokes below feet that crush
A summit of Bards I steadfast embark,
Beneath acrid acidic fall of rain,
Mini Beasts vie to bite deep through my bark,
As strained soil struggles to feed its gaunt grain
We ponder, Is Spring not all it may seem?
Spring with wise Sapiens would be a dream.
Date: 19 February 2023
Spring is not all Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
If done the shackles, fated to be,
If dusted the fates, bound to thee,
Past them, gleaned, prayers to see,
If downed, glorious, of the, fleeing me,
If pained, glamorous, with the hand plea,
And if gleeful, generous, to up and agree,
That if dated to be the fates, be it and free,
Self from creases and folds of the world as is.
If minding, the spirit of the blinds, then,
Slowly surging, the viciousness from them,
If shaken by the surge, the energy from men,
Stricken down to a point zero, if timed again,
To the core, if goggled and gazed at, till when,
Up and home, and finding strength in them gone,
And scripted, as morals of a fallen angel, divine.
If shrugged, the sanity, severed in the winds,
Find truce, safest in the sacred caches within,
If foregoing, settled, and forfeited the destined,
Find peace, truest to ties and as heavenly ordained.
#August_2022
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade
I’m not going to be the Grand Marshall, of course,
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
I’ve given thought to a Shriner’s tiny car charade
Actually, I’d prefer a fancy-clad palomino horse
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade!
My best friends have suggested I visit an arcade
Indulge my imagination without possible remorse
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
At my age my children say I should be more staid
Foregoing my grand illusions, I consider the source;
Someday soon, I am going to be in a big parade.
I promise you, I’ll be sporting my finest brocade
As I’ve never been known to be tawdry or coarse
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
I’ll be tricked out with a necklace made of jade,
And I’ll be tossing candy and cheering until hoarse
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid!
Written July 31, 2022
The meadow has come alive with sight and sound
As I go through the gate, I hear buzzing all around,
The bees are busy working on milkweed flower
Waist-high daylilies and coral honeysuckles tower,
Enticing a few hummingbirds into the crowded field
I snap a piece of sassafras which is carefully peeled,
Soon I see three cottontails on the path up ahead
About the same time, a cardinal flashing by, all red,
I hear the call of a tanager and a mourning dove
Today, there is so much here in the meadow to love.
The narrow pathway is overgrowing with wild carrot
Originally blown over here from a nearby cattle lot
Breezes are stirring up the gnats and dragonflies,
And I keep wiping floating pollen out of my eyes.
As I expected the mother deer has weaned her fawn
I’m surprised to see her here so long after the dawn,
The afternoon sun beating down is now aggressive
I should have known better, it’s becoming oppressive.
I’ll head toward home, foregoing a walk to the river
A sunstroke is threatening; I have begun to shiver.
Written July 16, 2022
“What is this strange place we find ourselves in
Trapped in the open, we are free within”
----------
Trapped out in the open
By hope beyond hoping,
Desperately groping
Down passages sloping:
We've been here before.
We're faintly perceiving,
Our senses deceiving,
Till monsters, we're seeing
Arriving and leaving
Behind every door.
Is there a spoon, or what?
Not easy to rebut.
Foregoing quick shortcuts,
Change deep inside of us
Awakens, wants more.
So, blue or red pilling?
Be blind and unwilling
And settle for shillings,
Or find that life's thrilling,
With much to explore!
—————
for The Matrix Poetry Contest
sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Written 03/23/2022
When doors were reopened my heart and soul continuously berated for you, I don’t want to lose you again. Hoping these feelings are mutual we’re both starting over and climbing this ladder of past mistakes seeking to forego and keep striving to rebuild a new chapter of our lives. Relationship are not perfect full of ups and downs feeling like a roller coaster ride disagreements and agreements constantly seeking solace and nurturing to continue to grow repeatedly at full bloom foregoing.
Monday comes and my thoughts turn to fleeting things;
I wrestle to run from it
yet I lean on and on.
chasing the wind that brings soul resting
was far too gone.
I know I needed the things that last forever;
Not the ways of the wicket
Nor the likes of the onlookers.
Nosing around where I shouldn't be
Noting down excretion that daunt me down.
Notwithstanding the foregoing, I saw the only way the truth and the life;
To twirl around the imperishable
Adorning the unmerited favour.
Louder and clearer His tender care shall bloom.
Let Me Live, not Exist
Written: by Miracle man
5/12/2021
Just let me live life, my way, until I die,
Let me do the things I do, not inquiring why?
Well meaning people advise, you ought, or shan’t,
I’ll do the things I can, foregoing things I can’t.
Let how I confront each day, determine what I do,
Don’t tell me vacuous conversation should be taboo.
let my day’s activity be dictated, by how I feel,
and should night sleep come early, it’s no big deal.
Many years were lived unburdened by constraints,
but now, each day comes equipped, with restraints,
As a young man, cancer ushered me, to Jesus’ face.
and God has prepared for me, a better place.
Not looking at my peg out day,
just say’in.
Tom
three thirty, exact
the bell
jangled
gathered my coat
foregoing
the afterschool
match
tuesday
my weekly treat
awaited on gran's
baking tray
I opened
the back door
a spicy aroma
fiiled the air
there
it was freshly baked
my
weekly share
pipng hot
drizzled with honey
moreish&
yummy
a moist
mouthwatering
confection
succulent
sultana delectation
home -baked
by she
especially
for
me
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