A screen door
creaks
small incursions
into rip and hole.
Unseen, a creeping grub and thriving,
chitinous mandibles
munch upon the desiccated dead,
thrive in the thrash and mingle.
Corruption forms its disorderly queue,
jointed question marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry
where slick eggs incubate.
As time swings its metronome,
splintered chips
flake away, wood
cracks its rotting bones.
Internal scaffoldings
crumble,
mold multiplies,
mildew clings to
muck.
A festering wriggles forth.
"Honey, can you oil the back door,
it's creaking again."
I scrunch my butt deeper into the sofa.
"I'll get on it after the game." I say,
making a mental note
to get more beers in,
Tomorrow, slap some paint
over the wormholes
maybe.
There are going to be incursions, invasions,
military and terrorist strikes,
we look to the future, yet nobody can see
beyond tomorrow.
Earth and ash confirm
that there is a spiritual fire
in the heart of any battle
at the heart of all life and death,
The world has always been on fire
even without the aid of mankind.
What we see as reality
are those flames shaping all appearance.
If war comes
just know,
that conflagration
is a daisy flower blooming,
Combustion is nourishment,
it is we that burn up those calories.
Feu de joie, lamps and beacons
the small flame of a viper,
see how the grass it passes though
is green with an internal fire?
The bonfire is within and without.
see this, and you will not be
afraid
no matter how hot
a gun barrel gets.
This is an ancient land lapped by two seas in the south,
flanked by lofty mountain, the highest on earth.
Many mighty rivers flow across this fertile land,
brisk monsoon rains bathe the country of my birth.
An eon old civilization thrived in west flank,
pervaded the native races of the land.
They assimilated flux of foreign incursions,
made unity in diversity so grand.
Imbued with Vedic culture and karmic way of life,
takes due pride in the invention of zero.
In the midst of medley of customs, tongues and beliefs,
modern times have surely come at a pace slow.
Time will come for the nation to take its rightful place
in the world stage, regaining its lost aura.
Superb sun of eminence will shine on the blessed land,
light the future of my country, India.
___________________
(The form used for the poem is Doha which is a
Hindi poetic form of self-contained couplet in which
each 24 syllable line is split into two unequal
parts of 13 and 11 syllables)
May 31, 2023
Contest : If Your Birthplace - Country Was A Poem
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Motived by self interest and the chance to explore,
walking with prerogative as though above the law,
without any opposition an unstoppable force,
there’s nothing irresistible in scavenging rewards,
when suddenly there’s danger the hunger is no more,
invasions are incursions when there’s no will to endure
prerogative evades when the fear knocks on the door
it opens to reveal a coward, oh how the mighty fall
in the screen door
a small hole
corruption forms its disorderly queue
black fuzzy questions marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry into disrepair
lay slick eggs in dabs of dirt and dross
incursions creep unnoticed
until what was clean is mixed
with the dead and decaying
some rot easily scoured
yet as time swings its metronome
small bodies are secretly grown
from the ceiling
darkly smudged miniscule things
hang
dangle
and spew
nothing gross yet to the eye
a festering unseen
miniscule excavations
where
grubby nests
will soon wiggle forth
and teem.
clearly one hears clearly
in the silence of the mind
solitude does not preclude
relationships entwined
beauty's often mistaken
by those without the key
perception’s combination
ultimately sets it free
defending fortifications
a knight quietly serves
repulsing suspect incursions
protecting treasured reserves
draw not your sword with anger
or revel in other's defeat
rather seek to conquer
standing on your feet
to a knight in silent armor
humility comes with honor
I say hello to everyone, I do,
a friend, complete strangers, they're all the same,
one word is all it takes, no matter who,
so simple, and does not require a name.
Most folk return the word wrapped in a smile,
or maybe just a nod, that will suffice,
the lonely, with no contact for a while
are glad that somebody has broke the ice.
But there are some wrapped tight within their zone,
uneasy with incursions on their space,
a reticence that shows itself in stone
upon a passing bleak and lonely face.
'Hello' ,the chain's first link, give it a go,
as every treasured friendship started so.
Before the black man's turmoil was his foster
And race amongst them was an imposter too
No wonder I grew to watch from a black and
White television set... from infancy to juvenile
Ages had past, each day break Ma got rinsed
Busking became a hobby... Never was I eager
To question the brother's ill treat, I grew too,
To acknowledge his inflictions and incursions
Now that I had proudly waved the colonial fleet
As the show got clear and clearer, letting off
By-gones be by-gones another race was being
Bred... Blackism rose. Brothers upon brothers.
The spirit of Madhibha never sort Xenophobia
Zulu ramps BaShona, Mfecane of the 21st century
Africa now a war zone tribe against tribe awry...
Nehanda was this your plight Ma? Clues I thirsty for.
Fertile Crescent
Ghosts of pharaohs
Branded timeless in stone
Reigning order
Condemning the vilified,
as it is published by
The Royal Geographical Society:
Syria as the Gateway between East and West
Leonard Woolley
The Geographical Journal
Vol. 107, No. 5/6 (May - Jun., 1946), pp. 179-190)
And why shouldn’t this be so?
Beowulf, an earliest epic
Of Old English
How proud and agile to be able
To confer your legacy in written format
Onto your generations and incursions ~
Stinging breadth of vast expanse
with the haze on the water heavy and dense
Blue birds litter the ocean ways
with tail feathers no longer needed
Barges float a weightless wonder
under the breath of the rolling thunder
Grey steel bolts with rusted tears
staining the hull with visions
Flags rising out to declare bright hope
as the cold graves settle on a final note
The pride of the crew still mystifies monsters
which hum under depths with their vibrating sonar
allowing the shadows to block out their sunlight
and bleed oil blood crack of doom
Shoulders of mankind heavy with guilt
settled in ocean's souring silt
Egos will break into egg shells and boil
as the depths vomit out all the ocean's incursions.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.