jewel of Jesus
oh my God what on earth has become of you
the cross you bore and those days in the cave
torment and anguish all up in the clouds
diffusion dilution of promise and hope
you were to be the miraculous jewel in the crown
devoid of thorns that pierce our conscience
they tore the brilliance and cast it in alchemy
to thunderous applause of greed and contempt
gold myrrh and frankincense gone up in smoke
while divinity kinship humanity now burn in hell
warfare and anger instead of glorious peace
avarice material idols and rapacious destruction
hand me a loincloth point me back to the basics
guide me towards love kindness compassion
relieve me from fear and show me your beauty
you are way more than a historical artefact
a cure for the chill winter blues....jason momoa in
a loincloth
flights of thought suspended
emotions postponed
scintillations unravelled
circular stagnation
levitation time warped
inside the Buddha meets trepidation
loincloth gets looser
scent candles burn blisters
on sandalwood base
fused with a valley of tears
a river flows backwards
in which one cannot swim twice
third time fortunate
he finds middle ground
inspired by expiration
middle way between
desperation and movement
When twist-and-turns, like narrow mount-roads, I face,
When deaths of kith, like winds in fall, bring disgrace;
When my cries, like waves of oceans, surge endless,
I laugh, serving the orphan and the friendless...!
Wealth gone, poverty dorn, when I'm in the pits,
When shelter, in rain torrents, shatter to bits;
Stitching, ad infinitum, old robes I wear,
I laugh with the poor who laugh in loincloth bare...!
When exhaustion and hurt feelings weigh me down,
In floods of helplessness when I sadly drown;
Grasping divine-drawn frail hands as lifebuoy,
I laugh within forgetting every ennui...!
Life is present presented to live the present,
Accepting each good and evil heaven-sent;
As farmers separate corns from hay and chaff,
Keeping away grim facades, I loudly laugh...!
13 November 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh |
Loincloth was his dress;
Truth was his address.
Nonviolence was his armor;
A warrior and a perfect charmer.
A man of progress,
And an epitome of success.
He is the ‘Father of our Nation’;
He is our Mahatma!
Note: My tributes to M. K. Gandhi on the occasion of India’s Diamond Jubilee
Independence Day Celebrations
Second Place
To Honor My Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Date: 12-08-2022
With apologies to Albert Camus
I once was a circus strongman,
Sovereign of midway spectacles.
I wore a leopard-skin loincloth
And a lion-claw necklace.
My club was seasoned hardwood.
I proudly dragged my knuckles
Through the sawdust and straw.
I wrestled the orangutan
And boxed the kangaroo.
I tore phone books in half
With my teeth.
I became a star promotion
With elevation from sideshow freak
To a main ring attraction.
My charisma was marketed
By carnival barkers and snake oil shills.
My future in show biz seemed bright.
My manner was summertime light,
And then came the fall.
The iroko tree,
Wise in the growth
Faithful in its development -
The seer!
Sees good and evil
Brings death to those who deserve
Showers blessing on those who reckon
With Its absolute power.
Oluwere
Effigies from you are always beautiful
Glorious that death envies you
Oluwere stands above the envy of others
Oluwere
Do not strike the erring child with death, yet,
Bless generations with unending filth.
That gives joy to the swarms of bees!
Oluwere
Shall we thrive and rejoice?
Shall we drink the red milk of grief and be seen as
The quantum of solace?
The father's loincloth is gone
Torn, stolen, we know not of.
Yet, the cry of Oluwere hampers
the serenity of the forest!
She searched for faith in disbelief. The Buddha on the mantlepiece
had taken off his loincloth over night and stared her in the naked eye.
A candle from last night’s prayer still flickered and the fragrance of
sandalwood had survived nightmares and irreverent dreams. A mouse
had left some droppings at the base of the statue, must have sought
shelter from the rat race of life. ‘Never hurt a sentient being’. In her
mind Mary Magdalene had kissed the fat belly and in turn her cross had
abandoned its punitive lure.
found peace in disguise
blessing of awakening -
long road to freedom
07th July 2020
I am so very bored with virus I must say
The only thing I want is to go out and play
An atheist myself I even learnt about to pray
Minimalist isolation has become my lonely way
I am a haystack with no needle left in disarray
Descartes says doubt and think and then you are
Plato delves into a cave and looks at shadows far
Freud by the couch puffs on his twenty first cigar
Sartre's existence before essence only seems bizarre
When all that's left appears to be to stare at walls
Jerusalem Jericho China Mexico and no shopping malls
The bricks stand firm and my resilience slowly falls
The flying carpet of my fantasy is upside down and out
Rooftops are closed and therefore I cannot even shout
Confinement slices my emotions like a wicked reaper
Even procrastination does not suffice to make my day
Its difficult to notice feathers underneath the viscous tar
Hung and quartered dark moods proceed as evening calls
A hermit's plight's loincloth draped on my body getting stout
Time to reconsider my dream of working as lighthouse keeper
06th April 2020
Minuetta Poems Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
For love I combed mountains,
hunted hills;
valleys and plains yielded
their cloaked corners.
For love I probed men's hearts,
pried beneath plastic smiles
and painted faces.
I found none.
Up a hillock, on a rugged cross,
hung a marred face stripped
of clothing but a tiny loincloth
that flapped in the wind.
Sun and heat tanned him black.
His head dropped; sweat
dripped, blood crept from a gore.
Who's this?
The wind whispered:
Jesus Christ.
Why?
He brought love to the world.
Celestine S.? Ikwuamaesi
(Feb 14/02/18)
LAS NAVES DE MEDERA (Wooden Ships)
They wanted ships. What they got
was wooden shells
not a farthing from the Crown
for these floating buckets.
Six thousand corks, hastily riveted
into the keel planking, kept them afloat.
Nina. Santa Maria. Pinta.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained said Isabella.
Ah, muchacho, would she ever cash in.
The navigater shot the course
over the main, visions of tapestry and lace
and all sorts of spices in his head.
Gold? Well--Sí, oro.
But he never dreamed.
The natives appeared naked and restless.
In scatted shades of blues and reds,
artists painted skirts on the girls,
long shirts on the old women,
loincloth on the men,
and a pearl studded gilded robe on the king.
Which Chris promptly stole.
His mistake was trying to hide it
from Isabella.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
You come home, sitting on my shoulders.
I bid you farewell at door. Death tiptoes in dark
before looking at the bare hands. A new concept of
ending comes out from crozier. Uncoiling has stopped.
In loincloth a truth unravels the mystery of cells. A
warm transparency. You walk around objectively,
returning the gifts to birds, bees and aspens. It
was time not to put up excuses. The wings are tired
and wind was falling.
Let the dance of nothingness start !
Satish Verma
You come home, sitting on my shoulders.
I bid you farewell at door. Death tiptoes in dark
before looking at the bare hands. A new concept of
ending comes out from crozier. Uncoiling has stopped.
In loincloth a truth unravels the mystery of cells. A
warm transparency. You walk around objectively,
returning the gifts to birds, bees and aspens. It
was time not to put up excuses. The wings are tired
and wind was falling.
Let the dance of nothingness start !
Satish Verma
Death disrobes the body of our fancy garments,
And clothes us with more common fashion:
A mere loincloth of sky blue silk,
So that we may feel the warm passion,
Of resurrection’s gorgeous spring
And the spiritual blessings it will bring.
So sleep on calmly with Jesus,
Beneath your coverlet of blue skies,
And know that the summer garden of ease
Will be there when you arise,
Like a lovely blossom given birth
From a shriveled seed in the earth.
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