Guavas Poems

Juggles of Times

The water I see seems to be a mirage.
Facts and fancies, like chameleons, camouflage.
Abysses seem shallow when they are measured.
Within wombs of tombs, riches are treasured.

Sketches that look like walls, in truth, are poles.
Hurdles hold their heads high to wreck the goals.
Beasts that dine on guavas aren't crows but bats.
I cut short my tours, confronting black cats.

Peeping through the holes of towers, I faint.
With colours of likes and dislikes, I paint.
Shouldn't I reach the top? Should I go back?
With loads of despair, my corridors crack.

Incoherence

I knew that the water I saw was a mirage.
Unfathomable depths seemed shallow when measured.
This is a world where facts and fancies camouflage
Within wombs of empty tombs, riches are treasured.

The sketch that looked like a wall was, in truth, a pole.
Beasts that dined on guavas at night weren't crows but bats.
My crammed glance makes the earth resemble a ball
I pause and cut short my tours, confronting black cats.

Peeping through the holes of Qutab Minar, I faint.
Shouldn't I reach the top? Should I simply go back?
With colours of likes and dislikes my walls I paint.
With burdens of pessimism, my corridors crack.

Are these angels I find herein mere illusions?
Are these candours that have been tested, delusions?

Counterintuitive

It's late, lo. I knew that the water I saw was mirage.
This is a world where, often, facts and fancies camouflage
Depths that seem unfathomable are shallow when measured.
Within wombs of tombs that seem empty, riches are treasured.

The structure that looked like a passage was, in truth, a wall.
Doesn’t my crammed glance make the earth resemble a ball?
How could crows dine guavas at night? Lo, they were mega-bats.
Waiting under guava trees, I didn't know, were black cats.

Peeping through the brick holes of Kutab Minar, I feel giddy.
While I could reach the top, are the stairs now playing kiddy?
Each move of being is filled with likes, dislikes, dreads, and fears.
Equally in joys and sadness, as though raindrops flow tears

Running shoes, highway lanes, sleepless sleep, and suppressing thoughts
Each act, as though steering sailboats, becomes threads full of knots.
Is this shop I find between this and this bush mere confusion?
Aren't facts of truth tested in hot furnaces of illusion?

The Joy of Watching Animals

Every morning and evening, I happen to watch parrots, 
A pandemonium always adorns my guava tree;
Each parrot seems unique, having its very quaint merits,
Like angelic souls, they seem in physique and psyche free...!

What a strong jambiya dagger curved bill! Vertical stance!
Green drainpipe pants-clad legs! Clawed zygodactyl stylish feet!
The parrots that visit my tree in green the scene enhance,
In a romantic mood, merrily my guavas they eat...!

Splendidly observing humans, parrots mimic their speech,
So melodious is their Tabor pipe trumpeting song;
Ballet-like they grip, grasp, and at the highest top they reach,
A craft of the master craftsman, they're happy all day long...!

In my melancholic moods, parrots lift my heart and soul,
In gracing the charm of the world, parrots play a great role...!!!

My Garden BBQ Summer Menu

Friends have an open invitation, dusky sky, soft rock music~
It’s all part of the experience of barbecuing—I Am Anaya


Rustic charred mesquite fired up
Aromatic smoke 
Sweet guavas, fish, steak, grilling
Blazed creamed artichoke
Decadent pastry
Black Velvet
Lime

Nature's Dominion Revealed

nature thrives on bestrewn oddness.
earth is tame in its fresh safeness.
the same for the rest of the world.  
yellow, black, and white are all furled.

The geese there on guavas feed.
Cows may swallow the grass and weed
ripe cornflowers peep from the rows
Whelps and brats on each other's paws

From the loud roar of  the flood tide
A swell choir of birds bourns each sighed.
High-pitched sparrows nod while they sing.
As crows with coal-eyes play pied string

calm and cool waters of the bay
clear and blue in the light of day.
but when darkness begins to fall.
it is the root sea's soothing call.

Written: March 30, 2022

Guavas In a Can

Many a fruit I have tasted,
And wasted,
Many a fruit I have flirted with,
And soon broken up with.
Many a fruit I have refused a dance,
And never given a second glance.
Many a fruit has scent that still sucks me in
And its perfect skin forbidding me to throw it in the bin.

My tastes have matured now,
And Guavas in a can, are all I desire now,
My only regret I did not taste a Guava in a can sooner,
And plant my guava tree a few years sooner. 

I will be ever grateful to the one who first put fruit in a can,
As fresh guava down under,
I may never taste, try as I can,
As fresh guava never seems to cross our border down under.

Never mind I have my strawberry patch,
And the peach trees will bear fruit next year,
Never will fresh cream be too far away for me to fetch,
And as there are always ships at sea full of bananas,
Never will I  have to say "yes we have no bananas".

In a Brazilian Kitchen

Cashews and guavas
       luscious contagious odors
          perfume the kitchen

Mango Season

Mango season, for us, is a celebration,
Our eyes are on enthusiastic elation;
In sunlight, they shine in golden green,
We children gather to witness the scene;
Though we have our mangroves, 
Neighbor’s is tastier; reason none knows;
As throwing stones at them prohibited,
And plucking these get us exhibited;
We wait for some good crow or parrot,
To push one for us as though some merit;
Bird-pecked mangoes seem tastier,
‘They’re God’s graces’, some whisper;
When one eats others seem to salivate,
To bite the bitten one, for our turn we wait;
Stealing mangoes is a childhood fun,
The owner’s dog chases us and we run;
The owner joins his dog and leaps,
Though within him childhood peeps;
Mangoes hundreds we may have at home,
Yet, each stolen one is a diamond dome;
Once the season goes we get gloomily shut,
Like the squirrel that loses the mango-nut;
Our dreams we cherish golden mangoes,
Sucking them merrily we dance tangos;
Though not thieves, we do good stealing,
Guavas and mangoes with no guilt feeling; 
If you too have been doing so please tell us,
If what we have done is sin, kindly forgive us!


14 June 2021

Apple Pies

“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." Carl Sagan (1934-1996)

Apple Pies

A welcome task past wayward primes where plucked delights
yon mangoes, guavas, and papayas...
stands a Granny Smith apple tree.

Flour demonstrate a chopping board, rolling pin and
some countertop rests deep dishes packed midst
smooth dough amongst rooted chunks of butter,
few apples blended plus brown sugar, the rest sliced.

What is the stanch embodiment of a well-rounded kitchen's use?

Inventiveness, great apple pie.

2021 February 12

Childhood Memories

"How sweet to the heart are the scenes of my childhood"

Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842



Our journeys in Life are memorable 
by sweet memories that we dearly hold
of childhood days that are adorable

those Life incidents when recalled and told
relish more - I have always wondered why 
stolen guavas from neighbor's tree was gold

catch, to share with pals with no shame or shy 
made me a hero who was bold and brave;
seeing a cricket ball break glass pane high

and scampering when the land lady gave
us a chase was sheer joy that made our day,
parents reprimand was taken as grave 

till the next day, back again we were gay
with our old ways, time in the company
of mischief makers flew, all I can say

with no phones, telly or today's many
we were too ready to play with any. 


21-Nov-2020
Terza Rima Form Poetry Contest
10 syllables per line, Poetry Soups Syllable Counter
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Another Time Another Languages

Joyful times when I
   lived limpid and loose
   in children's language
   that spoke ...
   In the minimalist language
   I heard from the sheep,
   the vegetable language that i
   well translated when
   ate the guavas ...
   Listening times
   and speaking the language
   of the nature, of  the air,
   with the wind ... it was the time
   of merry child man ...
   All hope language,
   dialect of angels ...
   Divine Innocence ...
   Languages of magnificent
   childhood ...

Woody

munching with my mate
   buxom burgundy berries
   autumn pigeon date



( I have a red guava tree which the wood pigeons love, eating 30 berries in one go - just swallow after swallow. Usually leave all fruit for them.)

Home,The Best

I miss home,
Home where am cordially welcome,
I miss the best treats,
Treats like that of a king,
Ooh Mama,am coming home soon.

The roasted giraffe meat,
The boiled duck eggs to eat,
I yearn for the cassava,
I miss the finest millet,
Ooh No,I miss my home.

The guavas are now ripe,
The mangoes are in plenty,
Can't forget the sweet potatoes,
And the tasty ground nuts,
Ooh,how I long to be at home.

I miss my skin garments,
The ones here are a torment,
My open sandals too
The shoes here makes me sick,
Cant wait to be in them.

Good gracious,
Soon am coming home,
Home where I belong,
Home where am needed,
I promise,I will forever stay.

Poet Igweee...

Summer Colors

Summer dances in the hills
dressed in colors of the fields
golden braids sunlit skin
velvet gown aquamarine
veil of flowers lilac pink
saffron diamonds ruby ring 
on her hair a crown of green
with cerulean sparkling beads
chartreuse shoes, coral lips 
rose fragrant lily mix
skipping dancing with the wind
in her arms a basket fill
guavas lemons nectarines
watermelons cherries figs
poppy flowers golden wheat 
chasing crickets bumble bees
till the leaves festive green
turn to golden fallen tears
then twirling waves goodbye
colors mist rise and vanish
with a wink return a smile.

Sixth Place Winner: Brian Strand-No 1291-3/3/24 
Sixth Place Winner: Brian Strand Premiere No 1202-3/25/23.
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-3/6/21

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