Galled Poems

Tea Time

Written: January 16, 2024
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Strength of herbs oozes vivacity and harmony
Chamomile elixir elevates mood,
Innermost wassail dreams. 

Galled, gurgling water groaned
A shining auric foil, ebullience in water,
Watching koi carp float sends us into zen.

In a bucolic corner, sipping a hot emollient tea
Warming, calming, and flower-scented,
It whistles with the birds.

Ethereal beam of brightness finds its way
Into every steeping cup,
Fetching a warm grin with each sip.

These leaves warm our hearts
Drinking it on a cold night is a thrill,
A nostalgic aroma of pride soothes minds.
 
Visions of China brimming the psyche, 
a lambent tour of exotic, distant lands.

Migration

The child of a certain perception,
Among your kinfolks poor reception,
You just can’t endure irritation:
It could make you leave your own nation, 
White men’s world declare your new station,
Face the challenge of imitation…

Then, it’s all yours: A quick migration,
Your legs not swollen for gyration;
On foot you cross waiting borders,
Dumping your unreceptive brothers!

For those with no more trusts in their world,
Now, fully sure elsewhere they’re being called. 
Poor rating at home has their hearts galled;
They’re bleeding guys beasts have mauled…

Really, the future of stark dreamers,
With hopes to play to the hilt schemers,
As a first step they arrange a flight,
In their countries tired of the fight:
A will to understand a new clime, 
Note their guiltless actions now a crime!

Still, migrants to keep in mind Swallow
Foreign life they can’t continue to hallow
Some might question “What sort of fellow?
For life to a foreigner “Hello!

How To Use Condom

Grandmas I teach how to suck eggs:
Marathoners long use of legs,
Soon hurting Enlightened People;
Might sooner unleash a ripple;
What would she say: The Western World?
Possibly, a heart is now galled!
Yet, will I this brash task perform
To a condom culture reform...

Thumb and forefinger on its tip
Making sure the two don't off slip:
For air removing at its tip,
Before facing your partner's hip;
Its space for Ejaculation 
That fetches congratulation!
Condom roll over your organ 
Like perfectly does Morgan,
Not rubbing off lubricant;
You won't end up communicant!

Job finished off slide no spillage
Or else one should query your age;
Your used condom for disposal
A vital point in espousal.

Child Laborer

I was pulled out of the school; doomed into hard labor,
To my home, at budding age, I became a life-saver...!

When kids of my age, with stylish satchels, proceed to school,
I, in cracker-workshops noxious, chemicals heat and cool...! 

With my tender hands, I shape cute beautiful fire-works,
When I see, you crack them, my wish to do so, within sparks...!

The fumes and toxins I breath, I know, are deadly harmful,
I cannot just shun them, as life toward me is scornful...! 

I am squeezed in often, into damp, cramped throttling spaces,
Where, doctors say, children catch incurable diseases...!

My fingers and hands get blisters; they often itch and bleed,
I cry loud within often, who could, my soundless noise, heed...?

When I, owing extreme aches, from mounting duties relax,
Manhandling me, my master, like a galled gory goose, quacks...!

Rules and laws, they say, made for our benefits, are, many,
They remain in books, and for us, never earn a penny...!

I have just one request, to you, dear friend, who's of my age,
When you meet one shabby like me, do not flare-up in rage...!


18 March 2022

I Wish To Thank

To my sorrows I wish to thank,
The grief that galled me, wish to thank—

Adversities that chased all life,
To my sad state I wish to thank.

Troubles, stumbles, pains, tears, sadness—
Those that caused them, I wish to thank.

All the failures that fed success,
To those stabs in back, wish to thank.

In love when I asked, you declined,
To that ‘no’ of yours, wish to thank.

All who mocked me, pulled my poor legs,
To those sad stories all so dank,

I’m thankful God to all my crimes,
Your punishment I wish to thank.
______________________________________
Ghazal |06.09.2021| Free verse

Inspired by a Gujarati poem by poet Yuvrajsinh Solanki (Agam)

Fishing For Floaters - Warning Its a Poopy Poem

Have you heard about fishing for turds …
It’s for children and maybe for nerds
For brown floaters you’ll fish
Or there's nets which you swish
For once I’m almost lost for words!

My granny was shocked and appalled
Suggesting this toy be blackballed
Cos small kids may copy
Real poo’s (firm or sloppy)
If this happened I think I’d be galled

Thanks to my super friend Sundae for telling me about this toy!

09/15/20

My Tragic Sad Childhood

I was adopted as a young child
Throughout my life I’ve been reviled
All my emotions ran so wild
                    My tragic sad childhood


I was breathless when mum called
but at her words I was appalled
and they left me sad and galled
                    My tragic sad childhood


Forsaken by my mother
who chose one over the other -
she preferred to keep my brother!
                    My tragic sad childhood


Separation broke my heart
I was given a fresh start
Destiny kept us far apart
                    My tragic sad childhood


FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST

Rhyme and Refrain Contest
Sponsored By Broken Wings

5/1/18

Throw Off This Earth

We wear this earth
                 and bear the heft of stones,
  glacier-galled, polished by 
                            eons of slow crawl
                                     toward far-too-distant views
                                                                   which call us from 
   our blue thin-air shell,
                                  this shallow soil where, weak,
   the hold of roots restrain.  
                             We struggle to break free
                                                      from such restricting strata --
 and to expand, as bubbles rise and glisten --  
                                                  to throw off
                                                               this world -- to emerge
      new-born from natal egg 
                                    and -- freed -- to flee among the stars.

At Last It Came To Pass

As this fevered vision comes to pass
these saviors with their plagued feet
grinning lips bereft of truth and teeth
sorely hunger for our wealthy carcass

Armed with a legion of noisy mosquitoes
billboards, loudspeakers are screaming out
glossy party programs from north and south
hide in shiny boots ulcers of a leprous toe

Heaven on earth, Utopia upon this earth
fills this polluted air with a fog of expectations
empty bellies, potholes and dry taps yawn in frustration
to these aired slogans trampled in to their death

Beggars in suits trail along with their plates
marching in crescendo to galled pipers tones
crumbs will buy souls truly branded ill fortune
whose chalked fingers met no lettered slate

To the royal banquet of a nations carcass
strewn by violence, greed and poverty in plates
chokes off earnest prayers that arrives so late
as our rotten saviors gasp, sigh and pass

Awed we stare at their remains in animated shock
choking upon their loot they run out of sheer luck.

I May Not Be Your Best Option

I may not be that man you so much wanted;
That man you carved in your deepest imagination,
One who is too good to be human and whose air graces the eye.

I must have threaded a path,
A path I so much dreaded
But fate only laid me bare
Just like an iron lay bare in the hands of a blacksmith.

I may not be your best option
Among thousands of your would be suitors
Each with his resume of dainty degrees,
Heaps of galled grammars, Stools of Sacredness,
Crew of Cars, and nobleness in names.
And if asked where I lie,
There among the sun burnt lawn I lay in anticipation.

Like an Hunter in the forest,
I woke to the mockery of the grasscutters,
And to the soliloquy of the afternoon bee,
While the thorns inscribed words on my flesh
In my quest to bring home a prey.

I can boast over a shot,
A shot I am still to make
From this angle that I lay
While in my mind I do pray.

I may not be your best option
One who could bring you all the happiness you do crave,
But if you believe in a better me,
From our imperfections, we can be brave-
While sailing along this matrimonial sea.

Raped By Rejection

Imprisoned in the four walls of Rejection’s cell
The world stone deaf to the screams coming from this hell

I throw myself at the padded walls, frenzied…appalled
Self-loathing spews into my mouth leaving me galled

You see the face, read the words, but don’t understand
Rejection is pounding me down with iron hand

He shouts obscenities, strips the robe of esteem
Hand connects with my face, knocking clear every dream

He forces me down, and I lay splayed on the floor
Kicked by the memories of all he’s done before

Blooded and bruised, I pray for the end to be swift
In and out of consciousness…my deranged thoughts drift

The straight jacket of pain, he tightens every day
Oxygen deprived, each lucid thought goes astray 

Too despicably weak to break free, try to fight
Done with gruesome work, Rejection turns out the light

Tortured about the motive for his perverse glee
My need for affection makes a prey out of me

Rejection has raped me and left blood on the floor
Nearing death, I pray, he’ll lose the key to my door

Eileen Manassian Ghai

These Stones

For every stone I lay I bleed
Bone batterers the pile at my feet
Are foundations so I succeed
Making my triumph out of defeat
Brick by battering brick I laid
Each flesh fanged stone rising up
Against being sore and afraid
Grimacing but gulping from the cup
Of spite, of jealousy, of hate
Offered me; their secret hemlock
By which I am galled by fate
Poisoned since the auction block
With al my feathers littered there
These stones are my babel of despair.

Seasoned

We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.

Seasoned

We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.

Weep By the Tide

As mist descended far and low, 
dark storm clouds stirred the sea. 
Upon the rocks a maiden lay, 
weep by the tide did she.
 
Fair English rose, her skin so pure, 
awash with salty dew. 
Now tarnished, long cascading hair 
once glowed a golden hue. 
 
A sailor's charm did claim her heart 
when first he stepped ashore. 
He courted her, imbibed her love, 
then told he'd stay no more. 
 
His soul betrothed to ocean's breeze, 
firm land was not for he. 
Horizon-bound, his ship set sail 
o'er black and verdigris. 
 
As tempest ragings galled the waves 
beneath the moonless skies, 
a haunting sorrow chased the wind, 
midst echoes from her sighs.
 
'cross briny depths she cried her vow 
to wait eternally. 
Forever on those rocks she lay, 
weep by the tide did she.

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