Long Arraign Poems
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IF ever I had a country : XXI - XXII
" I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked, nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman a pessary to produce abortion. With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practice my Art. " Excerpted from the translation by Francis Adams in Wikisource of the Oath of Hippocrates, 400 BCE.
XXI
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Health Minister
And if some breach some tort against The Hippocratic Oath reached my ear
I'd rage and storm through ward portals in Olympian Apollonic gear
To arraign the culprit whether Male Nurse Sister Matron or specialist Doctor
Till no patient need fear contamination poison nor Secret Service murder
That is, if ever I were but the Health Minister
And even if I never ever had no country
XXII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Health Secretary
And if some sleepless stateless victim of the Secret Police's Third Degree
Was put under Trileptal and made to undergo Tomo-Scintigraphy
And the operators abandoned the patient to general tonico-clonic seizure in epilepsy
I'd either order the hospital closed or put the service heads out-of-activity
That is, if ever I were even the Health Sec in Gay Paree
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 9, 2018
Some master he was grand,
That made flirtations be.
If were she thereof in demand
And adapt into his arms free.
But it was a bother to bore,
Staying private 'twas best.
Wherefore she locked herself indoors
To block out her aggress.
Indoors she would remain,
Forgotten by society.
If aught there one arraign
She'd undergo anxiety.
That woman none did ever see,
In the small town indeed!
She was in Amherst a recluse
The dwellers did concede.
Yet still she had visits,
With one Judge Lord 'twas physical —
If were he implicit
Before his time most critical!
Her life must've been quite doleful,
Upon a daily chore —
Writing poems tho' kept her hopeful
That the folk would adore.
An eccentric, to linger so,
Teasing darkness inside.
Such a woman wore white we know
And from the world she'd hide.
Her behaviour 'twas worst,
When overly she'd agitate.
'twere a notable lady versed,
In an infamous sate —
And despite, if health grant,
Society had a spot dry.
There one would so enchant
If a call to Boston applied.
But her will 'twas elsewhere,
That made O master come to her.
Ah, perhaps he'll go there
And have his day like he prefer.
Tho' her manner it drained,
Bearing despair through a keyhole!
Deathly themes had her pained
For odd reasons thought to control!
In versed writings she mused,
Creating gospel wit and hue.
Until a nervous illness bruised
Her life all the way through —
Now left in deaths fain care,
'Tis nay a tragic melody.
Who misery sought, and was there
Cast into the wild sea.
Inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
an exotic treasure of another sort held me spellbound
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Guilty, I stood beside a Lychee tree, expectations of arraign
but she smiled with cherry lips, in pale blue she was gowned
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
A delightful scene of refined Chinoiserie, created quite urbane
Lotus flowers, Jin of bonsai, beside the paragon were found
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign
Exquisitely she sat, blush on her cheeks, fragile as porcelain.
I longed to caress her coifed hair, cascading and unbound
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
I feared death, for when she beckoned my heart was being slain.
I bowed before the Eastern goddess in whose beauty I had drowned
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Worthy of gracing a palace, she and the Chinoiserie shall remain
no longer will I find her graceful figure on the ground
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
July 16th, 2017
When gray, we are away
From light that brightly shines
As if around under a cloud
We roam, spirit forlorn.
Our thoughts turn inward
And we dwell in a well
Of self righteous indignation
Which harrows down to our bone marrow
And sap our energy trapped
By an arraign of complain.
The body stricken get sickened
Little will drugs do to reconstruct
For it had all begun without the sun
And we chose to complain and blame
Outside forces for the extinct of our torches.
We must then choose not to loose
Life is too precious to waste in recession
When we are endowed with a soul
That constantly strives for sunshine.
We realize that we can choose to shine
We realize that our precious eyes
Were given to look outward to things of wonder
Not to ourselves to seek to delve
Upon the shelf of a museum, kept
Tied to tinted glass like shackles.
And while we sway in the gray
So consumed with our costumes
We did not see the sudden sunbeam
That broke through to reach to the yoke
Of our awesome fabric, connected to His
To lead us all to a haven we call heaven.
© March 2012
"Order, Order, All rise"
The voice echoes like an aftermath;
Bringing a chill to the Atmosphere.
As the highest in authority infiltrates the inhabited chambers.
to the commoner, I am known simply as Magistrate or Judge;
To the elite, Adjudicator, Expert Connoisseur.
All walks of life situate themselves before me with one thing customary ILLEGALITY!!!
With the aid of my two abettor solicitors, whom have rehearsed their part in this cavort.
One to vindicate the appellant,
The other to arraign arbitration without plausible dilemmas.
listening to the monotonous rigmarole, on and on and on,
Mutter, mutter, mutter:
The thrill of just banging the hammer, interrupting the nattering and shouting:
" LIFE IN BONDAGE, OR TO THE GALLOWS OR HANG HIM TILL HIS DEAD!"
Appeals to my better nature.
For I see it, who so ever stands before me should suffer maximum punishment;
Be he innocent or guilty, he should not have got caught.
But, alas, the cat has to give the mouse a sporting chance,
Then I will make my judgement swift and quick.......
(Out of Eden IV)
I’m cross as I cross The Cross
And wonder as I wander
My Spirit has rejected the spirit in me
For fear that it’s fare is fair.
The cause of my ‘coarse’, of course
Is as tied, as the tide betides
Fight then the fete of fate with faith
The feat, by the feet, defeat.
The bait of my bate the debate
As I bare the obeah that I bear
I’m taut with thought of tort I’m taught
Indecent descent to dissent.
Now, Requiem of Carpe Diem
Like a fool, I lived life to the full
My sinews of sins are a scene of obscene
Whether it’s seen or unseen.
It’s whether I’ll weather the weather
Just pray that I’m not the prey
My life is a life, in life, for life
Too dear and so dear to ‘dare’!
Please pass me a piece of peace
And sing me a song sung strong
To laud The Lord as loud as allowed
His Reins shall arraign to Reign.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
NO TEA PARTY
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song,
Likewise my energy wastes itself in air,
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
I left my true self with your vulgar throng
Now drawn and quartered, they arraign me with a stare,
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.
To have believed in you, and not in long
Speeches of your drab affair –
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
No one pushed me, but I see that I was wrong,
I’ve said it all, but I won’t bow, so there!
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.
I should have known it, and the bells can bong
Each Sunday of the year without our heir,
Don’t call me for the christening, I’ll be gone
I did without a wedding, honeymoon, even the pong
Of babies, so there’s no joy for us to share –
The lid is hopping on the kettle’s song –
Don’t call me. When the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.
BY ROSEMARIE ROWLEY
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY…
V
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Minister of Justice
I'd keep an open eye on covert fascist lechers
To arraign dodgers from witch sick woman's clutches
Who annul marriages the Holy See blesses
To mask her lewd tantrums in the Secret Services
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Justice
And even if I never had no country
VI
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Home Secretary
I'd make all secret files on all dignitaries
An open book on the art of rape incest or adultery
Pedophily sodomy perversity y compris
Not to mention lodge-keepers' skulduggery
That is, if ever I were the Home Secretary
And even if I never had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Eyed in midnight's milieu
mistakes can be illusion, see
like branches of a tree
lop-sided and set free to play.
Settling sides works this way -
all angles on display to those
who wrongly presuppose.
In morning's light, two foes can find
mercy and truth aligned.
Forgiveness of a kind breaks through.
We all know this won't work
for some who want to shirk the blame,
for those who play the game -
bringing others to shame with lies.
It's cruelty's disguise.
And so forgiveness dies? Oh no!
This is where hope must grow.
What the midnight would know as pain -
Love’s Dayspring holds as gain.
How does our Lord arraign his church?
*written 06-10-14 as a Vietnamese form - luc bat
One never want to wait until the Midnight hour to make his choices regarding forgiveness.
Who are you to have ever claimed loved towards me,
someone whom you’ve yet even seen..
but a fool you are, if when passing by, obsess and attest
that for me you would die.
But would you forgive me?
My credulity intact…
If I claim without reason to trail away from deceiving…
Stubbornly amused,
Seemingly lost a friend again,
caught up in the tangents.
so uncouth,
to ennoble ones self through an enmity loaned.
and intoned upon the able fact that without our pact
there would be no tract…
no able pinned feature to allure,
to distract?
How would you abstract in this world,
filled with truth,
‘pon these features we’ve gleamed as it seems to arraign in us
a meaning, a trust…
Our personal tribunal of mutuality…