on the threshold of my last held breath
my loss of you my grief because of death
will fill my heart, not with air, but despair
though I would know it ineluctably
my loss of you my grief because of death
to never walk by your side with love abide
though I would know it ineluctably
still my sorrow gathers tears indelibly
to never walk by your side with love abide
will fill my heart, not with air, but despair
still my sorrow gathers tears indelibly
on the threshold of my last held breath
4-27-21
Our last thoughts Poetry Contest
sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch
by Michael R. Burch
Love, with a small, fatalistic sigh
went to the ovens. Please don’t bother to cry.
You could have saved her, but you were all tied up
complaining about the Jews to Reichmeister Grupp.
Scratch that. You were born after World War II.
You had something more important to do:
while the children of the Nakba were perishing in Gaza
with the complicity of your government, you had a noble cause (a
religious tract against homosexual marriage
and various things gods and evangelists disparage.)
Jesus will grok you? Ah, yes, I’m quite sure
that your intentions were good and ineluctably pure.
After all, what the hell does he care about Palestinians?
Certainly, Christians were right about serfs, slaves and Indians.
Scratch that. You’re one of the Devil’s minions.
If brevity‘s the soul of wit, why then
All life on Earth is well and truly droll.
We hardly comprehend it all, just when
Too soon, we find ourselves before the goal.
At first our ignorance may keep us safe,
Distracted from the truth that all is brief,
Without unkind reminders which might chafe,
Or lessons which might breed in us belief.
We, heedless, draw the water from the well,
Assuming an unending, cheap supply —
Presume existence is a tide whose swell
Will never turn, remain forever high.
But ineluctably, time’s ceaseless flow
Will trap us, helpless, in its undertow.
A lagoon on the wings of a butterfly
Jasmine, myrrh and frankincense flutter by
Shadows bury secrets of forests deep
Pond's ripples extend beyond water's sleep
Ere the season dons new make-up reluctantly
Embrace its effervescence ineluctably
It has no name
this chasm of abyssal depth,
where ineluctably diverge
what definitely will be
and all that might have been.
As moments pass,
mists of time
swirl and confuse,
and we grow
reticent to choose.
But not to choose
is to choose and thus
join the myriad footnotes,
worthy of no more
than simple glance.
Assuredly then,
destiny surpasses time
and those who made the fateful choice,
their soaring arc transcends
the ordinary and mundane.
And as for you and me,
where do our fortunes lie?
Secured nearby with lock and key?
Or well beyond both earth and sky?
Intentionally left blank for you.
youngest progeny Shana Aubrey Harris did need
recipient (thine offspring)
received private lessons to help her lead
a supposed "normal" life,
thus this biological papa did heed
and amenable, lovable, valuable rudiments
of classroom ABC's a challenging deed
for thee lass aye helped beget, yet
a quiet riotous soiree
along information super highway got set
within my imagination
achingly longing to compose a poem
for this righteous dignified dame whose net
whose, incalculable interpersonal worth
voiced melodically ineluctably seduced, sans mirth
and athletic physique
goaded this married father
to attempt some organization awakened image (to be,
or not to be dwelling) within remote hamlet
with rustic cabin crackling hearth
dormant libido (bereft within marriage)
toward some unknown outcome,
yet how grand to parlay pregnant girth
without intent to convey any further details
cuz message of unequivocal charm
minus additional intent for physical interaction
brought joie de vivre deliverance on this Earth.
Umbrella
When, picking up from where it left off last,
the gales begin to blast the good rudders,
anchors or anything that underpins
a muslin day or when, ineluctably
caught up in the searing frenzy of
earthly pangs shaking up the innards of
another silken day or again, when
the carefully manufactured myth of
social ceremony needs to be propped
up with the vigorous mien of a noble
bearing, one seeks out the folded up,
dormant vitality from some corner
of one’s psyche, dusts it, opens it up
and finds under it relief, rest or class.
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Form: Sonnet
27-3-14
For Kelly Deschler's contest
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