Do this, do that
Do just what we say
Work here, work there
All the livelong day
Stand up, stand down
Rest your weary head
Turn left, turn right
Work until you're dead
I wrote this one after watching the miniseries “The Pacific.”
THE BURBS AREN’T SCARY AT ALL
Scarier the skeletons sitting in the suburbs
or the ones being dug out of graves…
the ones in the foxhole,
that you must brave.
It’s all a graveyard,
a horror movie…it’s war.
The setup couldn’t be more frightening.
The enemy was glad to prepare it for you.
Ghosts are all about…hungry,
to tell you what it’s all about. You close your eyes,
wipe away the grime.
The skin-crawling maggots are brought to life,
all the livelong day. The scent of fetid perfume,
no roses to deceive the nose - the stench.
Descending to the bottom of the abyss -
the devil gives you a kiss on the lips.
The burbs aren’t scary at all. The bony mass stares.
Pretty pumpkins, smashed, everywhere.
The tale of Sad Sack Sammy,
So the story goes.
A walking, talking, whiner,
Suffering his woes.
He never ever smiled,
Had nothing good to say.
He whimpered like a sissy,
All the livelong day.
His mood would always swing,
At home or when at school.
Sometimes melancholy,
Then complaining like a fool.
A lousy, luckless, loner,
Grew up without a friend.
No one could stand his presence,
'Cause he ranted till the end.
His fate would change at Fifty,
This local resident.
He chose a different path,
And ran for President.
Now everyone that knew him,
Was caught up on the blind side.
When all the votes were counted,
He won it by a landslide.
The nature has been unruly
Where we laid our chimneys
Pandemonium whirling in the air
The accents terrible was heard
The hatched to the woeful time
Manifest the obscure birds
The clamouring livelong through nature
The earth is peculiar on the diasporic living
All suffering of peculiar dizziness
The assailants dumb founded in their horror act
All is known through the combustion proclamation
The sweetest buds are comsumed by cankerworms
The surrogates abort their oats
Methinks, this is a change of eclipse
A major alteration that bizarre
A kind of colic pinched that toppled lives
Who will save the world from this horrors
Of black and white mind and flesh
Who will ease the diasporas?
Or the Matthew 24 has arrived to pass
Peter Popper's Poem-Popper
played and popped out poems
all the livelong day
But one not-so-pleasant day
Peter Popper's Poem-Popper
stopped producing poetry
What did Peter Popper plan to do
He took his broken Poem-Popper
to the Broken Poem-Popper Fixer-Upper Man
where the principal poem-popper fixer upper
applied a dandy poem-popper fixer upper patch
'Goody, goody,gumdrops!' cheered Peter and his friends
but their cheers were premature
the Fixder-Upper didn't work
Instead of 'pop-pop-pop,' it went 'ping-a-ling'
So back went Poor Peter Popper
to that Fixer-Upper Man
And he demanded Poetry this time!
The owner gladly mixed in silly-putty
But all the poems came out nutty
Peter-Popper told the owner 'Put in Pets!'
Every kind of pet that you can get
So he did ~ but Pete's not holding his breath...
Police told him 'bout a compound word
~ Owner called it 'Popper-Death'
richly hued summer
lives along a golden stretch
blooms sky sand surf sun
spectrum changes hour to hour
dawn to dusk people laughing
bright swimsuits green youths
beachballs and ice cream flavors
fresh scent of blue sea
from far out where it meets sky
fragrant blooms the livelong day
Parody of :
Im nobody! Who are you?
by Emily Dickinson
Original Poem
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd advertise -- you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
______________________________________
I'm unmarried! Who are you?
Are you unmarried, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd force us-- you know!
How dreary to be married
To spend money on family
To be responsible livelong day
Let's live for self and enjoy!
I've been working in the crematory,
All the livelong sob story,
Can’t you hear the gas jets breathing?
Play too close and you’ll get urned.
Plus we only queue up two-a-day,
So you could really mess us up,
too.
Till six o’clock when on the dot,
The valves are turned to plumb true,
The breathing stops,
Yabadabadoo.
The innocence of youth
of the sweet child
O, that I too could laugh and play
without a care the livelong day
Yet the child wants to be older
sure as I would be younger
Driven mad by our limitations are we all
to reach beyond our ken, tumble and fall
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : VII
(Thoughts on a fast-receding fearful Me-Too Year)
IF you pull a long face
And you can't make it go away try as you may
No use putting on a pretty smile on the face
The smile will likely turn leer in a day
If you pull a long face
And it keeps coming back every other day
Then it's an illness at the serious phase
No doctor can tell you to call it a day
Yet if you only pull a long face
On certain days in the week like Sunday
It might mean you're allergic to Holy Mary grace
Not much Good will it do you to choose, say, Friday
If you still keep pulling a long face
No matter which church-going week day you pray
No doctor can save you from losing face
Best to wear a Monte Cristo mask all your livelong day
So if you must pull a long face
The sledge kind Santa Claus pulls on Xmas Day
Make sure no Me-Too Gals your drinks lace
You might live to regret it some far-off day
© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 29, 2018
It was a happy town
People liked each other
Whenever someone they did greet
They'd call out, "Hey there, Brother!"
The Mayor he did work for free
His job's worth he couldn't measure
He wouldn't hear of a salary
To take away all his pleasure
The children laughed and sang and played
Happy-as-could-be the livelong day
Old folks too had a smile on their face
Mighty pleased with how they'd run their race
Poems like this often end up sad
Not this one! Now aren't you glad!
At times I wish I could pray
All day.
Start before seven,
And finish after eleven.
I can't of course.
No one can.
At times I wish I could study the Holy Books
Without giving the clock a single look;
Or contemplate His mysterious ways,
Until I die--or the end of days.
But I can't, of course.
No one can.
How often do I reflect
On just the right phrase to inject
Into my supplication
For my people Israel, for my nation?
Not often enough, I suspect.
Not often enough.
How often do I give proper thanks
To Him to Whom all thanks are due?
In deepest awe and gratitude
For all the glorious things He doth do.
Not often enough, I'm afraid.
Not often enough.
Have I shown enough Love to the One High Above?
Have I walked in His ways throughout my livelong days?
Do I always tremble before Him,
Or do I frequently ignore Him?
And must I end this rhyme
With a plea for yet more time?
As far as this mind can remember
The tales I was told where of a fair maiden
Living in the shadows of despair and pain
Longing for a new life over the jealous hills
So she can be made anew in happiness.
Then there was a new champion
A well-made lad who shone like
Golden penny in the bloom of light
He would come battle the dragon
And lead the fair maiden to her livelong day.
We need new fairy tales
Ones in which the soft maiden finds champion in herself
She summons the courage to slay the dragon herself
The power to walk over the hill she can overcome
And she is not like the weeds waiting to be cut out.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE
If you pull a long face
Just because you had a bad day
That’s alright you won’t lose face
Everyone’s beset some hapless day
If you pull a long face
Day by day come what may
Better know it’s really out-of-place
To pull a long face in every way
Yet if you pull a long face
All your livelong dark day
You had better make an about-face
Or you’d end up in a fray
If you pull a long face
‘Cause none with you will play
Then you have lost your birth-place
You’ll not save face even if you pray
So if you pull a long face
No matter what or who comes your way
Give a damn who looks you in the face
Then you’re made of sterner stuff, not clay
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
I dream of Themyscira
A place away from all this madness
I dream of endless lullabies
Rocking me sweetly on the seashore.
I want to be forever young
And watch each sunrise down the forest
I want this moment here in time
Near-far joys of each livelong day.
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