It suddenly occurred to me,
in a moment
of rare clarity,
that there are women
who buy cuckoo-clock
puzzles,
and then,
there are women
who assemble them.
I am proudly,
the second type,
even if that makes me
belong inside
the clock.
I feel terrible
for whomever
assembles these
inglorious bastards,
aka lasered wooden
pieces (from H-E-
double toothpicks).
That spells Hell
for the slower
readers following along
at home.
I have already
scrounged around,
twice,
on my hands and knees
looking for pieces
that popped off.
Meanwhile,
I ask myself:
“how did I get here?
Is this life?”
If so, I am happy
and the clock
makes sense,
even if life doesn’t
cuckoo,
or announce the hour
on time.
Imperfect true love.
Inglorious vesture robe.
Spirit realm -your home.
I want to be God
Just as I was meant
I wanna be loved
In and out of the tent
I want to be praised
All throughout the world
Want to be adored
By the loveliest girl
And just as the world
Will come to its end,
I want it to be said,
“He was better than men.”
I want to be God
The kind in the book
You’ve perused His name
You’ve heard how it took
I want to go back
To 1247
‘Cause in my estimation,
That was close to Heaven
But Heaven exists
On the top of a pearl
Let’s abandon this thing —
Let’s give it a whirl —
I want to be God
The instiller of fear
Oh won’t that be sweet
To be held so dear
So deep in the pavement
Beneath human feet
The killer of traffic
The idol of meek
I’ll creep and I’ll crawl
Like a certain snake
There’ll be no limit
To the abuse I can take
So God is a question
And God is a snack
God sits on a throne
In a Missouri shack
God does his business
And wipes with his hands
The squalor of reason
Is what God understands
You’ll see the difference
All throughout the land:
The inglorious servant
Will one day gain command
morning in Happyland
As the night dissipated and the modest dawn came
seeping into my room, I looked up to the ceiling
a black cloud hangs over my head
I moved the cloud to the dark/brown wardrobe
where it blended in with the skeptical color.
The closet is very big and empty, I sometimes walk into it when I remember things from my youth, that I ought to be ashamed of; I said “In my youth” These days I have lost the ability to be dishonorable in my daily life, or I have developed the shield of honesty and there is nothing to be
inglorious about.
Coffee and toast, no time to sit down, I have to drive my wife to town to see her doctor about her bones, there will be no place to park and I have to drive home, til she calls for me to pick her up.
I have to renew my driver's license soon, I dread
if I fail, and walking much is not an option I leave walking to people who like following narrow tracks
and get their feet wet in the tall morning grass
with this, I walk back into the wardrobe.
A Fixer’s Change
Lost! He was lost to us all
A son, on whom all hope was pinned,
Lost to the world of his desire;
Substance abuse, needles and wind.
He was a shame, disgrace to them
Family felt bad, knowing his deeds,
But he was in bondage of those highs-
Robbed, cheated to buy his needs.
A few grams of powder to sniff away
To another realm of dimension and space,
Just a few hours then back to the strain
Fixing, sniffing or snorting a chase.
Time was running out, he had to change
Went into rehab and struggled his way
Through recovery, life to rearrange,
For wife and children, once three he betrayed.
He surrendered to God his life so broken
Began to be trusted by kids and wife
Society forgot his inglorious past
Learnt to relive and honestly survive.
In solitude I find silence, in silence I find my voice
In my voice there is song, in my song there is praise
My words near flawless, my ardent aria is Rejoice!
In pneuma I find solace, in solace I upraise
In upraising I see Christ, in Christ I see salvation
My servitude near flawless, my sins abrase
In my heart I have joy, in joy I have jubilation
In jubilation I feel triumph, in triumph I am victorious
My victory near flawless, my fear is not damnation
In reality I am imperfect, in imperfection I am inglorious
My willingness near flawless, my transformation glorious
When I was with my mates,
my pals,
in my age - in that ageless era,
idiots all.
We had fine old rollicking times.
We had Vespa's and Lamberti's
then we had Norton's and Triumphs
leather and hard looks.
We rode drunk on ourselves,
spinning along on our fake paths
into inglorious adulthood,
a green maturity just a few short miles
down the road.
The girls were fast,
they grew up ahead of us;
some waited for us boys
to catch up,
most found men with jobs.
The plain girls that waited
holding a bitter grudge on us
even to this day.
Though in truth
we are blessed to linger on
astride our broken wheels
while we wave idiotically at each other
wobbling along catcalling
to the grave.
A monkey once sat
On a gentleman’s lap
And its antics were truly uproarious
The chain at its wrist
Jangled back to the fist
Of the fabulous Lady Notorious
“Excuse me, dear sir,”
She sweetly demurred,
“I see that my pet’s been inglorious.
I trust this mishap
Won’t land me in the lap
Of a quandary so unmeritorious.”
“No matter, my dear
You have nothing to fear
For you needn’t think I’m so vainglorious
As to actually regret
The occasional pet … on the lap
by the Lady Notorious.”
I kept chasing after name and fame
From far it looked a flickering flame
Sending out beams of light
Illumining my tenebrous night
Over the sand dunes and the arid desert
I walked looking for its source, alert
I was plagued by an insatiable thirst
I thought I was unquestionably right
More often ruled by greed and pride,
To worldly things my thoughts were tied
But as trials kept chasing me one after another
And problems of life came in queue to smother
I found, after all, I was chasing an illusion
That was leading me gradually to delusion
In course of life, learnt I had to kill my ego
All vain longings clutching me, I had to throw
Bubbles of illusion burst within me
From inglorious thoughts I made myself free
When from me was erased, ego’s glaring blots
Love came to stay and peace lodged in my thoughts
May.11.2022
Placed First
Bubble of Illusion Poetry Contest
Sponsor –Unseeking Seeker
We thought that the inglorious Hitler
was the last of his kind,
was last of the war mongers,
ancient and barbaric war monsters ;
The glorious "Winter of a Land"
that stopped the World War II devil,
Suddenly a man of a modern world
from that winter wonderland,
has put on the kingly cruel coat of a Tsar
to become a war maker evil !
These are not the military days of Hitler,
these are the days of nuclear weapons
which will finally end the world,
if its a third world war !
(26.02.2022)
For what Baptism has left unsolved
Any Darwinian hope for the Newly Evolved?
There mustn’t be another vile scar
From a cheating on a flying car!
Vera should’ve the thing tried at some bar,
Just for her man, everywhere A Star,
To pursuers unreachable because far …
Yes, round The Scandalous had the thing revolved,
The subject not likely to be absolved,
Because of the inglorious lot involved
And an infuriating infidelity scarcely resolved…
A marriage to escape being dissolved
* Angel Falls! Is a fictitious name for a city.
It has nothing to do with angels. *
Do you ever wonder who you are?
Perchance a being , with the heart of a star?
Who in the world are we anyway?
Stumbling on this human pathway!
Thinking we are gods with pens, telling each other
what to do, where and when.
To all this, I say ,Amen!
I have done all of this, too and more.
As if one can buy respect or love in a poetry store!
Sought the applause of the poet crowd.
In the end, you get in your back, a nice, sharp sword.
I am sure poets have experienced this angst throughout
history.
Forgetting, “the other” is far more important and signicant
than we.
It is simply a fact, I wake to now and then.
What good can I do for another, besides
impressing them with an inglorious pen.
Our mortal ends do come sooner, alas, than
we think.
I am certain there is far more to do , than
pen, with my dull, insipid ink!
9/23/2021
Promise is a mind-gladdening assurance
That sets one thinking it an insurance
Also,heart-quickening,
Until its non fulfillment makes it sickening...
Either of two things is sure to befall it:
The second by all means hurting a bit;
The first, of course, its redemption by maker
The second, unforeseen circumstance snatching it from taker!
With made promises are a suspension of bustle and bustle
And relaxation of every body muscle;
A gratuitous delay in getting into ones stride,
A female hopeful soon thinking herself a bride.
Rarely for broken promises people hang;
Just fleeting glum looks inviting no bang
Or inner battling with inglorious shame
And reasonable belief it should never be the same.
A must-buy for a clinic
Insisting that she isn’t for a picnic
The one with a restless siren
The first maker of the deceased’s memory, evergreen;
The driver mover of the ambulance
For the deceased’s sake trifling with vigilance
This way the automobile insanely serving
That way the same ruinously curing
Both the richest of sports for the non -living thing
I don’t need to a diviner bring
To ascertain that it would put them away in some shelf
Still dread fully sorry for itself.
But it’s now inglorious high speed with not a set limit
By a driver trusting or praying not to end up in some pit;
Always the courted, atrocious negotiating movements
Long rehearsed on for daily improvements.
Every sport man’s first ID card,
On him imposing, a period to be on guard;
When the slimmest interest shows in financial gain,
And inglorious quitting is the pain!
Not that affluence one does detest:
Mounting pressures from the east and the west,
One’s body and teeth sometimes rattling
While with an irksome low rating battling.
A time of anxiety about recommendation:
Occasional acting of one under intimidation.
Determined pursuits of excellence before judges:
One can The Amateur see as he sometimes budges.
Not the type to be heard dropping happy hums;
A continual heading for home with paltry sums
Likely to be rather caught writing his elegy
Because of his devalued burnt energy!
In football, members of countryside clubs
Making fortunate appearances in a local league.
On the pitch less of lions and more their cubs
And somewhat destined to enact scenes of less intrigue:
A status that doesn’t much thrills offer,
Its bearers’ faces undisclosed diseases suffer.
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