Long Abhors Poems
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Unquotable quotes - III
When in Rome, do as the Roman Nero.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the vain and the
insane.
A grenade a day keeps the refugee away.
Cut your coat according to your girth.
The kettle calling the pot back.
Like father, like son; like mother, like neither.
Singing in the rain can get you pain in Spain.
Singing in the rain in Paris can get you chicks who do
the twist with fairies.
A sound heart in a sick body is like a tart groggy with
toddy.
The sun also rises best in the West.
Who said beggars are not choosers: they can choose the
place and moment they beg.
A white tiger abhors orange.
A policeman’s girl always wears handcuffs behind her
back.
A lawyer who licks the back of hands always gets paid
first.
A judge who yells at you tends to reduce the sentence to
a phrase.
Building castles in the air with sand is cheaper by far.
A marathon runner remembers the thighs but not the
laps.
At the end of the day is when you make your greatest
mistake – you go to sleep.
Churn milk to make curd: churn speech to make turd.
Pounding rice as a marriage rite brings no surprise on
the wedding night.
One swallow doesn’t make a drunkard out of a
teetotaller, but it sure signals a dry summer.
Cricketing jargon
The late-cut is the shave you missed out.
The off-cut is the cover drive turned phut.
The leg-pull is the batsman’s bras de fer to the leg
spinner.
The long-stop is the twelth man on the field.
The straight drive pierces the umpire’s reverie.
The full-toss is the fast bowler’s slipped disc.
The ton-up comes after the spin bowlers give up.
The innings defeat is the army beating the retreat.
Test matches end up in ditches for pitches.
A bumper is an un-coded message from the bowler to the
batsman.
A bumper is an overt warning to the inveterate blocker.
Tail-enders get to face the best batsmen all-rounders.
Umpires inspect pitches at the start of a match for coins
dropped by lawn-mowers.
An over-throw is a fielded ball flung by an outfielder at
the umpires and which misses the wickets by miles.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Nature loves diversity
just as air abhors a vacuum.
Stability lives in staged apposition with diversity
as Yang predicts Yin,
as time moving stably forward
predicts time imagined more diversely
as the history of regeneratively slow-evolving Earth.
Stability, without conjoining diversity,
is a highly subjective attribution
when blanketed across a lifespan,
when covering a generation of interdependent lifespans,
even when defining a genetically stable species
across many re-stabilizing generations.
What is stable within a life
is what is reliably conserved,
like a heart beat,
and breathing,
digesting and eliminating,
consumer and producer functions,
economic and political forms of conserving balance,
cooperative survival of the best interdependence
more than competitive Win/Lose frictions,
or all thoughts and feelings of stability
disappear.
Conserving stability over a lifetime
is a highly subjective attribution,
perhaps too broad and sweeping,
too global and universal
too totalitarian
too elitist biased
to be more microscopically accurate
across any one lifespan.
For example,
the growth rate of an infant
could not be stably conserved
throughout an eight-decade human life span,
nor could the constant two-year old questions, Why?
conserve stability
in a four-decade middle-age climate
of chronic crisis
about half-empty ecopolitical ego-stability.
Adolescent adventures in gender-related competitions
over multigenerational cooperations
could not stably conserve
a marriage
or a nation
or a planet
across a regenerative trans-speciating lifespan
of co-domesticating creolization,
democratization of shared wisdom,
health,
wealth.
I wonder if conserving stability
of bilateral mind,
and centering on stability with diversity body
more likely matriarchal than patriarchal,
oriented toward health and safety
across eight positive WinWin regenerations,
at eight-decades of humane life,
facing immanent individual ego-death,
could already be conservatively stabilizing
in the bicameral mindbody
of an infant child,
or even a stuck in adolescent competitions
patriarchal-dominant
nation?
Radicals of PostMillennial Zeroism,
like Fundamental PreMillennial Taoism:
YangMind,
severed from YinBody,
falsely promises
unmitigated monopolistic political omniscience
and monotheistic economic omnipotence.
YinBody becomes spiritualized-denatured
empty womanized
invisibly purged
recessed
depressed
repressed
suppressed
voiceless
powerless,
eco-normatively absent
lacking positive nutritional flow trends,
panentheistically dormant.
Just as Holonic Spirit/Nature abhors vacuums of appositionality,
insides divorced from outsides,
there is no such physical dipolar divide
as either of these bipolar metaphysical extremes
might imagine
just as there is no such thing as Yang MindSpace
without YinBody's bilaterally evolving sensations
of not ANGRYpast and not FEARFULfuture
panentheistically omnipresent -(-0)
co-passionateMind/pleasureBody
peace-full NowTime +/- 1
midway in-between
polymathic polynomial equity.
And, their divinely humane ecopolitical stage
balances MidWay Wu Wei
issuing advent of M.L. King's (et. al.)
non-violent powers of love
Beloved Climaxing CoPassionate Community/Communication,
Health/Wealthy Indigenous Wisdom Family,
organic/sacred EarthTribal Peace,
and any other polypathic/polyvagal
eco/neuro-logical
bilateral YANGformation YINflowing system
we might care to nondualistic bicameral wealthyMIND
and polyculturally healthyBODY
co-arise together
Like a primal positive
peaceful co-relationship
between monotheistic FatherSun's enlightenment
and panentheistic EarthMother's empowerment
Renewing
reconnecting
reweaving
re-ligioning
wealthy plutocratic YangMind's
sacred omniscience
healthy democratic YinBody's
organic omnipotence
Regenerating
bicamerally nondualistic omnipresence
RePresenting a choice
deeply felt within each Sage/Muse soul
between win/lose 0-sum Business As Usual,
continuing irreligious anthropocentric retributive wars,
or re-ligious EarthTribe
restoring win/win
+1 = -(-0) polynomial peace:
For both Radicals of PostMillennial Zeroism
and Fundamentalists of PreMillennial Taoism
Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
I don't belong or get along, my ways are different from the rest
as hard as I try it just does not fly, I can never pass that standardized test
I cannot figure on whom to pull the trigger, I simply had enough
when my blood boils to toleration zero, I can't help but fly off the cuff
Imagine here you are, and put into a situation
being told there is no need for contemplation
so just another robot you are expected to be
would you not do whatever you must to set yourself free
Living this life for so very long, waiting for a miracle to feel you belong
where is the chance to redeem yourself, this internal pain seems to prolong
calling to those claiming to be your friends, please come now to my aid
my dilemma is certainly an emotional one, you have nothing to be afraid
What can I say, it's a broken heart I have today
who not in my position, would they be able to relate
so I am left with only this one thought in mind
with no alternative, predisposed to accept my fate
I am trapped in my own reality, with this being at the core
and only recently have I been able, beginning to explore
and, yet, my senses tell me, what my heart already knows
it's a punishment from above, because of what I did not long before
You see my friend, it is true that in the end
we will all be shown what our lives were all for
having been brought to this world, was not for naught
all of our deeds, to be weighed with a heavenly score
Our lives have been recorded on video, where all that has been done does reside
and after our lives have been completed, with all this will our judgement decide
to be applauded and forever lauded, by what we have done while we were here
or to be decided differently, and forever this shame will we be forced to wear
It is not too late, I reiterate, while the breath of life is still yours
freedom of choice gives you that voice, avoid what the Almighty abhors
only days and years to us remain, to the moral and upright you should cleave
because Satan awaits to take what's his, why for an eternity should you bereave
My muse died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or amuse
what was never mine to use
as I see fit,
hear fitness,
feel fitfully?
This muse dies tonight
not from old age
as I had long predicted
must be my sad and unread case,
but for a new voice
or vice,
for deeper lyrics
and wider melodies
and globally local choreography
perhaps a ridiculous younger person's game.
They say
not to write, unless you must;
Not to paint
or sing
or dance
or become a prostitute
unless you would otherwise eco-bust
ego-lust away this lifeline.
If you can live with something,
most anything, else
to occupy your time
and pay the rent,
then do
and be those more civil relationships instead.
It never occurred to me
perhaps because They didn't say so,
I might do most everything else
so I could retire into writing
and reading
and singing
and dancing
But not prostitution
because no one would pay
for what I can not give away
with integrity intact.
I miss this muse already
but doubt she even remembers me,
a right hand
useful
responding to her labored demands
too ponderously telling,
psychic yelling,
when I longed to show in grace
integrity's newest face
rhythm pattern pace
divinely humane race
robustly timeless space
without dissonant disgrace
Showing
not telling,
Belonging
not longing,
Dancing
not marching,
Singing
not shouting
to and with and for
tomorrow's mute muses,
today's deaf listeners,
amusing to move on
with overflowing emotions
not mere museless motions.
Now I have broken
my only two rules of unself-conscious writing.
1. Never mention the muse aloud
or dead
for She abhors a nonvacuum
of light,
and
2. Never write
about writing,
For the same non-reason
that optimal sexual
sensual
neural experience
cannot happen
if my sole
and sold-out purpose
is this Great ******
of we-consciousness.
My more retiring amusement died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or ever timelessly muse
what was never mine to use?
A handsome and well groomed man he is
Usually very neat with well combed hair
A middle aged man of relative height
Wearing a warm smile that demands a response
Of wearing a scent I know not.
He is one of the few good men remaining in the world
‘How do I know? And how sure are you that he is good?”, you ask,
When you spend time with him that’s when you will realize
What a treasure he is, what a gentleman he is.
Lucky is she that found and keeps this treasure near her bosom.
Principled is just an understatement and for lack of a better word I will use it
A man of good character, integrity and honesty
Quick to make amends and reconcile for a wrong turn made
Thoughtful and considerate of other people feelings
A listener who will listens to you whether you make sense or not
Many have tried to ensnare and catch him
But he is ever so careful and wary of such people
Dismissing such kind politely and as humanly as possible
Able to keep confidential information as it is supposed to be
Treating all persons with dignity.
He is an early riser and a diligent work
Working till late into the night
For his family to be comfortable
To give what he may or may not have received
To lead a better fulfilling life.
Integrity and faithfulness are his core values
This has kept him going almost quite literally
He knows the importance of these virtues firsthand
He do not entertain unfaithful people
Those without integrity he abhors.
“This is too good to be true”, you say
But am yet to get to know about his weaknesses
I can only say what I have seen and heard
I know no one is perfect and he is no exception
Am yet to find his imperfections though.
He may or may not have hidden his imperfections
Or maybe they are hard to come by
Could be there was no situation to bring them out
That I was able to witness
And that is one of the reasons why it is an ongoing observation on my part
To really understand and get to know the person
Form:
‘Get the motor running head out on the highway looking for adventure’
Well it is only the council road with potholes but Oliver races his pushbike
Walkman headphones sound ‘Born to be wild’ or Attention Deficit Disorder
But there is no doubt in the bikers’ mind that winter is recycling fast time
Orange banana saddle ape hanger handle bars and Che Guevara bandana
Another day for many revolutions as the wheels keep turning in tandem
He abhors bicycle clips as Oliver needs torn jeans to be one of the gang
No leather jacket so the hand me down brown corduroy one takes its place
Pedals turning downhill at full speed hard breaks and sharp swerve to the left
Another 360 degree circle wonderful skid marks adorn his pride and the road
It was easy today because morning dew and pink purple petals greased the path
For once the corroded chain has not come off after that creaking gear change
Countenance smirks on his face because has done it again and he feels so much
More achievement than if he was doing his homework left pathetically languorous
At home where his goody two shoes brother calculates tangents and radius
Oliver is an action boy full of mettle and metal and his scent is lubricant oil
‘Take the world in a love embrace and explode into space’ and dear emotions
Run high almost octane fuelled while his well-behaved sisters play octaves
From Amadeus on Bechstein or Steinway pined to bored ebony and ivory keys
Oliver hammers down wildly as the way forward beckons driven by freedom
He is oblivious to fragrances blossoms and bloom and the sweet scent of nature
Could not care less about chirping birds and the warm temperature resides only
In his teenage blood and guts as he rides through a pile of litter in which rusty
Debris mingles with pneumatic tyres and a very loose spring punctures the air
16th March 2019
Spring Is In the Air contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
31.
Salvation
For lack of better judgement...
I perished far sooner than I thought.
Having never made a payment
For the salvation I now sought.
I am beset with want and worry...
Not sure how my death would be...
But I have a Mother safe in Heaven
Who thinks the world of me.
The End
32.
Deserving I Must Be
She loves me more than I deserve...
So deserving I must be.
Though it certainly begs the question,
What does this woman see in me?
I've honestly pondered this dilemma
With no answer there to be
Thus making the cowardly assumption...
She's not the gal for me.
The End
33.
Are You Silly
Are you silly? Just a little bit
To mitigate the severity of life.
Do you mock both form and function
To make light some future strife?
Do you laugh when others scowl
And in laughter start to cry?
Do you chuckle as the winds of fate
Cause a well-laid plan to go awry?
Do you temper all misgivings
To stretch the nature of your soul?
Do you frolic with the Ferryman
Knowing all must pay his toll?
You now grasp the Human spirit
Embracing its foibles and quirks.
But if you exist both drab and muted...
You should find some other work.
The End
34.
Freedom
Freedom is a curious thing
To treat with disrespect.
To grind into a nothingness
And thus perish from neglect.
But Nature abhors a vacuum...
Thus the dregs will have their day.
If I submit to their ambitions...
Freedom slips away.
The End
35.
Think Kindly
Think kindly on this poet's rant
If there is kindness in your heart.
If an open mind is yours to grasp...
We'll both have done our part.
But if chaos slakes your very soul...
My words may not ring true.
I'm well aware... we've all been there...
You have better things to do.
The End
Omni-pre-sent
Are we yearning to remember
Are we learning to forget
Living in the mind
shows we're not there yet
Are we earning to remember
Are we turning to regret
The present past
knows we carry the debt
along the line that is cast
beyond the moment
Not meant to last
beyond the movement
that is here and now
Free from imprisonment
Infinite presence
trapped in time
We give our consent
We dwell to fill the void with an event
We fail to feel the abyss we invent
Nature abhors a vacuum
Imagination adorns the room
or a new flesh suit
Degradation takes root
Assimilation or annihilation
A simulation of creation
A spiral unwinds
Energy powered by intent
of our mind-created emotion
that spins the wheel
into dualistic motion
Earth bound
or heavens sent
in opposite directions
As Above
So Below
Omni-connections affect the flow
where we direct our attention
We Will to grow
Be still to know
Be in warm fluid
between the high and the low
Balanced achieved in combinations
of harmonic partnerships
Creating beautiful illustrations
in loving relationships
Giving and receiving light
We are as day as we are night
Equilibrium
We are shadows cast out of sight
from a magical medium
You and I are truly seen
by the unveiled eye
behind the shielded screen
Hand-in-hand
Letting go to understand
the mind trapped in the brain
The opening of a dormant gland
to descend or ascend the insane
in the body of humanity
Primal instincts of depravity
SET free
DNA activated by Scalar technology
to hijack the host
Father
Son
Holy Ghost
From beneath your feet
to above your head
BE aware in the present
Wake-up in your waterbed
Reclaim your divinity
Know you are truly able
Don't name your sovereignty
with a man-you-fractured label
Find your own way in the dark
until you see another spark
that helps illuminate the path
to the Higher Self within
You lose
'I' win.
David Moule/Verso (15/10/14)