Long Astonishingly Poems
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The Mermaid's Rescue
A lost and lone survivor of a sunken warship
back into conciousness the sailor finally did slip
All alone in the vast, vast empty water prairie
fleeting thoughts of home and his sweet Marie!
Hazy, crazy thoughts swirled in his aching head
had he not drowned , O' why was he not dead
Memories of being saved by an unseen guiding force
O' but what a song , what a beautiful angelic voice!
Visions soon appeared for his mind's eye to see
of a beautiful creature rising to his rescue pleas
Hair of radiant gold lying lovingly upon breasts bare
a swimming angel appeared ever so swiftly there!
Now waking upon this small and desolate rock
feverish and deep in the throes of a tragic shock
Suddenly hearing voice began to softly, sweetly sing
his spirit , soul healed so quickly that voice did bring!
Searching eagerly across the shining ocean's waves
for a mysterious hero that did desperate lives save
A wished for vision soon appeared at the water's edge
a mere dozen feet from the jutting rock's lower ledge!
The same beautiful face he saw in his vision's haze
the magical creature he now knew his life had saved
One even prettier than his cherished, loving wife Marie
now it's entire form he could astonishingly see!
A Mermaid ! Heavens how could such vision truly be
strange tales, fictional legends of very magical seas
Could this have been answer to his desperate pleas
a vision so tempting that his faithful heart it did tease!
Singing stopped and that voice began to clearly speak
telling he had been fast asleep for an entire week
A rescue ship would be arriving there that very day
as it appears I must say goodbye and swim away!
Final hours his Mermaid and he did pleasantly share
he in awe of her glory, her sexy body and golden hair
So many amazing stories of many a daring rescue feat
telling of rescues where sister Mermaids even compete!
Suddenly that promised ship raced coming in so fast
sailor knew this was his only chance, his very last
Please, he asked, will you give me a good-bye Mermaid kiss
wished granted , Mermaid vanished into the deep, blue abyss!
Rescued and now safely aboard his miracle life-saving ship
his story told and nary a miraculous part did he dare to skip
His tale he told to all that sat amazed at his strange ordeal
so mythical and strange, even he wondered was it truly real!
Robert L. 05-29-2014
Just by chance once I got acquainted
with a Bengali Writer and Novelist in a festival.
I had special admiration about his writings
which I had gone through beforehand .
He was a very handsome guy running in mid forty.
On interaction I was simply charmed with his orating power.
I developed a feeling like Hero Worship ,
though I was in late thirty then.
As a witty talker he drew my attraction,
but on throw of every third sentence
he was boasting of his writings.
It was irritating, making me feel inferior to him.
Actually his approach pricked my ego.
I am a Mathematician acting as Lecturer
and is satisfied on that identity.
I had never tried to write,
but I was successful in my chosen career.
He took initiative to make my ten- year old daughter,
subscriber of a leading monthly children’s magazine.
Later I started thinking ‘Is writing a big deal?’
Let me try.
My common sense predicted,
fields of stories and poems are too crowded to compete.
So I composed two scientific topics
and sent one to a leading Bengali newspaper
and other to the children magazine which was coming
in my daughter’s name.
Astonishingly , News Paper published my feature on fifteenth day.
Second topic came up on next issue of renowned Children Magazine.
That was the start.
Spectrum went wider broader.
Features on social aspects, scientific articles, fictions, poems
came up in series.
My story and drama got opportunity to get telecast.
All India Radio welcomed me as Talker.
Channel of writing Text Books is opened.
Acted as Editor of a Bengali Science Magazine.
I turned a professional writer.
Later formed team to stage drama on own script.
Life changed : New career started.
Activities in multiple channels flourished .
I recall my having saved something: A special sized box … a uniquely colored rubber band … an old, old hat … or a million sundry other things, thinking that sometime in the future I might find a use or application for whatever it was.
Looking back, it seems like I was traversing a universally large area, without dimensions or size, and occasionally thinking I might need some item I saw or held, sometime in the future, so … I’d save it. I’ve been doing that for nearly eighty years now. And, it suddenly dawned on me this afternoon: I don’t have a long-term future any more.
The limitless sized “room” I have been traversing, has been narrowing, shrinking, lessening in size and scope while I have been paying attention to “things”. The arena of Life I’ve been living in has all the while been diminishing, and astonishingly, I’ve just now come to that realization: Sometime in the not-too-distant future, all those “things” I’ve been “saving for some future use”, won’t ever be re-initiated inside whatever domain I had, at one time, envisioned they would be.
That realization made me remember, when my mother passed away and I and my family members wandered through the collection of her belongings, began to fathom just how many “things” she had collected for “future use”. They were contained there, where she had left them in drawers, closets, wrapped in plastic grocery bags or newspapers. They never realized the “future” she had foreseen for them. They never would. The things that were her important “usefuls”, became just discarded items once they were voided of her
imagination of her future needs. Our dreams and aspirations are of the same ilk, just as our well-meaning “intentions”. Once we are gone, those intentions all evaporate into an invisible void. Maybe one of the saddest, empty utterances of mankind is: “I was going to …”.
So, beginning tomorrow, I think I’ll commence ridding myself of “future” stuff, lying here and there for no real reason. Oh, there’s no doubt, as I touch and pick up each of those former “future” pieces, I’ll stop to ponder what my original thought and vision had been for it to be placed, and still lying, in that dusty box.
It’s gonna be a long, memory-messaging day, I bet.
Driving along a coastal road
The top drawn down
On a magical seaside day
She, thumbing through a magazine
Reaching for the stereo dial
"Stop," I say, she smiles
The wind, dancing about her hair
Waltzing, she seems so, astonishingly beautiful today ~
Her reddened lips, her darkened eyelashes
Her blushed cheeks, and, her perfect nose
I try to sing along, with Peter Gabriels song
"In your eyes, the light the heat...."
I smile, as I gently caress her brow
She, lovingly leans into my hand, and my heart is warm
I look back ahead, and then toward the west
Thinking about....thinking about....thinking....
Her precious voice ~
"Can we dear," she says, "can we"
I smile again, as she softly kisses my ear
My eyes glance toward the mirror
A tiny heart, that still lives there today
Next to a cross, that she once did wear
Lost in thought again....
So magnificent, this moment it seems
As I glide my fingers, through her soft and waving hair
Slowly, across her shoulder, and down, her silkened arm
Until, our hands become intwined, as one ~
One, within her endless 'Splendor!'
"In your eyes, the light the heat...."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lift my head, from upon my pillow
I look at the clock, I look at the day
My eyes drop, lost in dreams again....
I glance beyond the door, and across the walls
Until, her picture sitting there ~
Never very far, never far from my eyes
I sit up, I touch it, I hold it....
She, wearing her favorite whitened sundress
Her smile, as a beckoning light~
Her golden skin, smooth and glistening, radiant ~
Walking upon the waters edge
Gliding, atop the sands, at sunset
The oceans tides, gently about our feet
"Can we dear," she laughs, "can we"
As I lift her up, as I lift her high, twirling, into the air....
"Forever my love" ~
"The light, the heat, I am complete...."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I step outside, onto the balcony
A cup of coffee, within my hands
A tad bit nippy, I think, today
As I look, upon the waves....
(Continued).
Form:
I am like the air
Smoking it up in here
I am like my hair,
Rising above the ashes without any fear
Like a phoenix in middair
I am like the air
Provoking me to stare
I am shedding no tear
Up in here
Up in here
High as high can be
I am set free...free...free...
I fear the unknown
I am all alone...on my own
Express yourself freely
Be who you want to be
Who cares what the others think
This feeling of neglect is making me sink
Heartless hopelessness personally weighs me down
I am a mess in total distress and it pays me a frown
Sorrow smiles my way
Can't look away
Can't look away
I gaze at sorrow
There is no tomorrow
Unless I smoke this joint...
Up in this house of get-to-the-point
Moisten my lips of doubt
There is another route to go about and run in - there is another way out
Glisten with me
Where have you been?
I thought we were free
Once again, you and I aren't a ten
We exhanged merriness
Uptight and fatigued...
I am such an epic mess
Understand - I'm intrigued...
And fond my bizarre things
I am enlightened by these flightful wings
Wings
Wings
Afraid of drifting away
So, I smoke till I choke
Today, I choke in tears of shame - I pray
You don't provoke me...
Anymore
Anymore
Anymore
I am embracing air
And your despair
Life is not clearly fair
I long to see beyond my stare
My stare
In this mirror..
I am just this mighty blur
I wurr in the abyssal spirals of her...
Beauty in the air...
Her breasts of fantastic flares
Gives me no more nightmares
Throwing chairs in the air
We are a perfect, yet imperfect pair
Regret me not up in this air
Of smoke from marijuana delight
Delight
Delight
Time goes by too consistently and speedily
Accidently accelerated into oblivion astonishingly
Now, I am free
Take flight with me
Take flight with me
Take flight with me
Come on now
Somehow,
You got to shine gloriously
Into the air of vast beauty
A vitality beyond vivaciousness for an eternity
Honestly
Frankly, I don't give a damn about your flame or your watery passion
I am in the air and in the clouds of my compassionate fashion
Precious in dirty area,
when king Herod heard
about the coming of a new king.
He was so confused and wished
to see him so that he could fulfil his hidden agendas
As God was playing His part to expose
jealous and hate of King Herod.
Yahweh commanded the eastern star to direct
the investigators till where Jesus was born.
Astonishingly, he was in the dirty place,
among cows as long as there were nice
places in Bethlehem.
What could be the reason of God
to put precious in dirty area?
The investigators saw him , changed their mind
not to go back to give feedback to king Herod.
Do you know how many investigators who investigated
you and didn't report back to their bosses?
king Herod forgot it quickly,
After two years , pressure increased
and he thought to terminate all two years
old boys,
may be his so called rival could be among them.
Did Jesus come to chase out Herod ?
Yoh! an intelligent person cannot hate people
due to rumours
of some haters.
Do you see why men don't live long on earth?
Why didn't Herod think to be replaced
by a woman in the future?
God revealed the hidden evil plan of Herod
to Joseph and they became refugees in Egypt.
Yoh! Herod killed innocent boys
because of fear and jealous.
Why going deep into a hiding Zone?
Was king Herod powerful in the presence of Yahweh?
No
and
No again
There is time for every thing
Twenty eight years passed,
Herod died,
They returned.
Remember ,
He was One in Marry's womb
He was refugee from two years old
He returned and
being baptized at thirty years old
He went to be tempted
In forty days.
So
One,
Two,
Thirty ,
And
Forty
Have meaning to God.
Remember,
From a rotten lion ,
Samson found honey
In the cattle,
the Saviour was born
The plan of God is always
above human understandings.
September 30/2023
Dog fronted automobiles are seventh state in a placed race to hold a fantastic gold baton. Hamburgers and egg jiggling. How rather jolly says the gentleman stood by the train. His fine twisted moustache and hair stuck thick. In suits we stay my dear boy. My name is sir peter eccleshaw and I see that once again your education has done you no favours as you spit and curse so. Upon then my private carriage I will dwell. And upon gaining power my words will spit upon you. You poorly ill adjusted shabbiness. Your lack of self respect and dignity. Scoffing your salted potatoes and guzzling your brown awful sludge, whilst I much prefer my crab canape and 1953 chardonnay. Oh such bliss. No adopted theories merely a recognition of inheritance plus acknowledged monetary systems. Within I am as unique as a thoroughbred or a pedigree hound. Upon my return to my fair isles I shall ask George if he wishes to play polo policy. Upon leaving the dark one sees the murky fusions of underlining histories. Long left. Long forgotten. Thoughts traversing and travelling through realms. Still at helms it is wise to put a jalapeno on one's head. Thought beams. Dangerous. Danger equals dead. Oh dear. Yet hahahah calls before the table a large amount of butter laughing in a bowl at the toast. Swooping are the denominations of the dishes arranged. In tongue. In name. And on bookshelves many a library burps when the dinner gong sounds. Is the time to consider adding flowers to salads and hopefully this will equal a 600 metre tall thistle will sway in a breeze. With a pin. Or with a Pollock. How amazing and delivery of a sand dog to a plateau is a very admirable deed in an afternoon waltz. So fathom not a radiant radiator in a winter basin. Xx derived delivered draping. *** interesting but I would rather eat a lettuce as they are often extremely comical and sensitive to the world. *** whirl. Whirl. Whorls *** blinkering blankets blinked.....wow....how astonishingly supreme. However never wound a peanut with a butter knife. *** double edged cigars . ..drafted by an interlude of a fish xxxx z.z
Form:
{And as we progress ever onward, I related all that need be said
Recounting only of recent and never the past for Twit to partake
Astonishingly for one as he, Twit’s astounding silence was almost unbearable
Listening too attentively, yet his welcoming approach was indeed charitable
And with the last of detail conveyed, we finally reach the summit
Though knowing time is against, my this one little time I’ll permit
There were breaths of splendour in company of unearthly delights
Leaves of green ever so rich with touches of dew in dusky sight
It was a moment so calm, where dreams are believable to come true
So full of divinity is the place and to think it even exist from few
Evermore so, with streaming waters running alongside so pure
Angelic times in melodic chimes in gentle harmony whence of yore
Breathtaking was the only thought in mind, yet I must press on
Laying Alkaiya on an enormous stone, I stood forth with Twit to guide along
Yet… of time within The Ancients exhausting away momentarily
An inevitable cause to open my eyes to see, I’m no more within flights of fantasy}
Was it a night I’ve slept to?
Was it a night before to remember?
Myself I awoke knowing not who?
Is there ever a moment to remember forever?
Ever once more, is the adventure to take root?
And once again, is adversity being the bringer of cause?
Are answers found in momentary neighbourhood?
Or be there givens to think always… for the lost!
Love in reality has nothing to compare…
Be it felt, be it dealt, simply misgivings to give
Yet threefold were in grievance to be aware
When its love in disorder and disarray to receive
I guess how I feel I haven’t the final say
Too much to consider, too much in deliberation about
Yet, whether reality or fantasy, them isn’t to sway
Is there a God or perhaps a Devil I can consult?
Love is there, love is where, love is everywhere
Whether in reality, either in dreams
With time only to belong an instance to share
Cause nothing in ever is ever to seem
……………………………
“ECLIPSE OF A FRIDAY’S CHILD”
Childhood nursery rhymes stick like glue
Parents provide our initial point of view
Before our vocabulary has fully matured
Enabled to recite nonsensical verse –allured
Dismayed that Little Bo-Peep had lost her sheep
Aghast at the notion of Hush—A—Baby on a tree top
Concerned that when wind blows the cradle will rock
Trying to comprehend Wee–Willie-Winkie running through the town
Up and down stairs in a nightgown?
Enjoying perceptions of diddle-diddle, a cat with a fiddle
That astonishing cow jumping over a moon
While a dish runs away with a spoon
Why would Georgie Porgy have pudding and pie
And then kissed girls to make them cry?
Besides Bo-Peep, “Mary” had a little lamb—its fleece the colour of snow
Hers she never lost—it followed her wherever she would go
I cat was asked where it had been
Astonishingly fortunate—‘to London to visit the Queen’
Nevertheless, all it did there
Was frighten mice under a chair
Those poor little kittens having sadly lost their mittens
Stern mother making them cry, informing them there would be ‘no pie!’
Looking back I often ponder, which rhymes I loved the best
Reflecting on the infatuating verses my mind still possessed--
The characters of children reflected in days of the week
Being born on a Friday I was pleased –at my peak
Monday was complimented for being fair of face
Even Tuesday was serene with their grace
Poor Wednesday and Thursday were full of woe with nowhere to go
Saturdays child – doomed to work hard for their living
While Fridays child delighted in being loving and giving
As adults now, mature in thinking and reasoning
Some of these rhymes were illogical—unforgiving
There rhyming nature successfully disguised
Hidden meanings, connotations implied to rationalize
In this world we live with greed, malicious and offensive sin
A loving and giving Friday’s child I’ll endeavour—to undertake-- to win
"YOUR'E A LITTLE KID AGAIN"--AGE 2-3
Kim van Breda—February 2013
In his songbook,
are raving songs of beauty,
which thrushes around the phrases of my mind
and embroiders my soul on an errand
into a white night of a white Christmas,
in a white dreamland,
and having sleepless dreams,
and numerous pictures,
which I can’t clearly depict
but I could reminder an auction,
where flood, was sold at a discount
and breath, to the tallest bidder
Therein in,
my late hero brother,
cheerfully sang from his hero’s songbook
and I astonishingly sang along
with a bright smile and cry,
craving for a new hug,
but we could not hug nor shake hands
And he palely said to me,
I am back to stay,
never to leave
But I woke up, to notice it was a white lie,
Why so, my hero brother?
I try to anger in white lightning,
but I notice that my anger is colourless
and my sweat is adourless
I also try to use white magical feelings to give him a hug or bring him back,
but I could not,
because I am not a professional white witch,
My emotions has been white washed,
and I feel like white trash,
because my hero brother has been trash away from me,
by death
I feel like giving up my white ghost,
like a prostituted white slave,
by drinking up a full tank of white spirit liquid,
so I could be on his ream
But my hero brother begged me not to
He consoled me by saying;
that no matter how transparently apart we where,
his soul will never stop blowing the whistle of joy
or flash a white flag in surrender to death
Because his music will never end, nor will his whistle blend,
because the only thing he has freely given to death is a white feather of shame
This filled me will plenty white hope,
I will sob no more!
Because I now know that my hero late brother is a white knight
I will wait for him, in this unlabeled white land
till we meet and share hugs again