Long Balustrade Poems
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With that invisibilty of age
I can fly my life like a kite !
Uninvited and unseen,
albescent, grey, you know what I mean,
( not the first flush of youth or strong,
the young forget that we were young, )
hold on to that, the string of that
to grip the meaning of it
as I grip the iron balustrade
along the miles of esplanade ;
think the century's wise men are ignored,
each lamp a light, a sage for each lamp.... ...
Drawn to the Sailor's Arms, her kegs
the weight of years upon the legs,
for whispers round an inglenook
where galaxies are in the glass,
to swap a tale, another round,
a golden fleece, a crumpled map !
Or waft around for words, like smoke
along the butt - ends from the tar,
or vanish down into the draught
if Alan Watts is at the bar.... ...
Below, where gulls quarrel in kelp
no harbour there need shelter me,
no life - boat slip to cries for help
need bring my spirit to the lee -
I hear the past with all its murders,
the wind wail through the rusting girders
yet still am I, free to fly with you
who lean against the railings, too !... ...
The world may seem to come in bits -
let nonduality begin ?
Come celebrate your opposites
for all depends on loss to win !
Tribal culture in your face -
to win is everywhere you turn,
if God is losing all the time
then will we ever, ever learn ?... ...
'You'll win' he said, 'its in the bag',
out on the point
what can the mindless wind do
but wave the flag?
Missing the point forever
signalling our nascent spirit.
And the voice said
'raise your head when the night is cloudless
and tell me who you are subject to,
remember the truth of your own story
as your eyes take in the glory'.... ...
Full to be empty, empty to be full -
do you hear the paradox, do you feel the pull ?
I do not mean to be patronising,
have I asked you too soon ?
Do you see what I mean when you gaze at the moon,
when the full moon, lifeless is full of light ?... ...
I sit upon the lobster pots
that decorate the harbour wall,
if you come a little closer
you can see me in the hall,
if you do not hold the key-
Mrs keepings locks the door,
I'll be looking out to sea
after eight but not before.... ... ...
It’s Thursday morning, the twelfth day lock-down here. While sitting cozily in my room’s balcony with a bible and ukulele, some tiny birds perch tamely at the balustrade inviting me to play the most romantic melody as each critter hops and struts closer into pairs. Filling the air with their boastful flirty-chirpy chats and rubbing their wings sweetly against each other, the peeking sun displays its radiant smiles from the white fluffy clouds. Overlooking my spot are green trees laden with summer flowers, mostly supannikas and golden showers. Under the dense leaves are branches where other birds sing joyfully in unison with the tunes of their daily unique songs.
God sent songs of love
under our natures’ grand wings
listen and be glad
Amidst the orchestrated warbles of birds, the flowing water at my residence's swimming pool is heard while its dispenser strikes its keys to echo the refreshing music of serenity. The small lake across my spot is vividly viewed while it acclaims jubilantly the wonders of the day with its shimmering tranquility, mirroring the fire trees and bushes in its surroundings then accentuates the peeking sunrise that caresses my face with its warm glowing shafts. I read silently some verses midst nature's sounds then close my eyes to feel the majestic wonder of another day, another extension of life and lots of nature’s smiles. With thanksgiving, I start to finger-pick each string and sing with all my soul and heart a praising hymn.
nature's boundless gifts
our God's overwhelming grace
long reflection piece
May 6, 2021 3.06pm
Moments of Reflection -Haibun contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Place: 1
Judged: May 11,2021
The front bar of the Criterion is filling up,
It’s after five and the patrons are filing in.
Placed orders echoing off the old timbers
Vying to be heard and adding to the din.
The Grand Old Lady proudly plays host
As she looks out over the muddy Fitzroy.
Thirsty travellers mingle with the regulars,
Escaping the heat with a time worn ploy.
The nubile young bar staff are soon kept busy
As the chaos of orders are shouted out.
Pots and schooners, Bundy Rum and XXXX,
Of their burning thirst there can be no doubt.
The old burnished timber balustrade
though hints at an earlier time of splendor.
An era lost in a more genteel age,
When the old lady was of years more tender.
There’s a Dining Room and spacious Saloon,
Public Bar and upstairs rooms in which to stay.
All retaining their charm of yesteryear,
You can imagine just what they would say.
They’d tell tales of the customers of old,
Of the dusty drovers long on the track.
To the bar to slake a hard earned thirst
Before again mounting up to “get on back”.
Of the bullockies breasting up to the bar
Still cursing that cranky old lead beast.
In language blue they summons the barmaid
And soon settle in for a liquid feast.
Floorboards ringing to the thud of hob nailed boots
As the thirsty stockmen venture into town.
Today their pockets are full of promise,
Tomorrow hangovers they need to drown.
They’d recall long ago warm summer nights
With the polished chandeliers shining bright.
When the silver cutlery was out on display,
And well set tables made for a grand sight.
When gentlemen and ladies on the town
Took pride in appearance to look the part.
When crinoline, whale bone, lace and shift,
Were well placed to land a gentleman’s heart.
And assignations conducted furtively
In consummation of illicit affairs.
All in the rooms overlooking the city,
at the top of those carpeted old stairs.
I’m sure that today’s equivalent games
Are still seen daily by those left in charge.
The same scenes repeated by a new crowd,
The same desires on their faces writ large.
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
Chorus X 2
I wish you smell the cologne of my intentions
I wish you hear the piercing rhythms of my heart
I wish you see the torment of your short absence
and also to feel the weight of my promises.
1. Your apples are in need of a worthy taproot
let me jump in and remove anything toxic
of men, you hold unto superstitious factoids
I’m real and the main deal, ready to clear this rash
for every obvious fall, I’ll be your balustrade
and my trust will circle your wishes like minders
a needy heart in emotional tutelage
you think you are fragile? I need to be salvaged
the past and history design your book of fury
my simple touch will make such dark spirit abscond.
Chorus
I wish you smell the cologne of my intentions
I wish you hear the piercing rhythms of my heart
I wish you see the torment of your short absence
and also to feel the weight of my promises.
2. My words fly to other planets and seem pudgy
my actions void of thoughts in need of shame’s wimple
one of the brightest is from a supernova
I’ll make the road clean after so many stumbles
snapshots of my love, portray the highest skylines
our minds and bodies, I will make a whanau
your girlish sight and dreams are not mere postulates
their lasting waterfalls on you, I will lavish
on a dear, life may have a puckish agenda
for your sure escape, I’ll burn to any degree.
Chorus
I wish you smell the cologne of my intentions
I wish you hear the piercing rhythms of my heart
I wish you see the torment of your short absence
and also to feel the weight of my promises.
Bridge X 2
I have spiced it, just eat
I’ve buttered it, just bite
I have milked it, just drink
I have watered, just grow.
Chorus x 2
I wish you smell the cologne of my intentions
I wish you hear the piercing rhythms of my heart
I wish you see the torment of your short absence
and also to feel the weight of my promises.
Some would call me homeless. I call myself a traveler. In this city I traverse the wonder of human art and nature's beauty as if the two have melded together as one. The ornate iron railings seem to grow into the sweet smelling vines and flowers that live upon them. Hanging baskets with pink and purple impatiens and verdant ferns chuckle gently in the moist morning breeze as they adorn each balustrade. Hidden gardens beckon me as I walk past their gates painted with worn layers of lover's hands as they steal away behind secluded walls. They say I'm confused, yet I search to understand. Here, the past calls to me and I listen. Walking the streets and alley ways there is a sense of history, of lives that have loved and lost, of souls that linger in the heart of the buildings. Always searching, the walls can not contain their bewildered wandering. Inflicting confusion and sometimes pain on those they touch, they bath in the fountains and babble longing desires into each mind that seeks the peace of their soothing, gently bubbling water.
petals blush gently
the patient garden awaits
sweet stolen kisses
"For Sale," reads the sign on the window of the house before me. Delicate filigree rails frame the porch as I approach the old glass pane and peer through it. Inside I see a small room with peeling paint. Worn wooden floors trace the lives that have lived here. The ghost of Christmases past linger in the broken toys strewn across the floor. Brightly colored beaded memories of ages of Mardi Gras dangle from hooks on the wall. Upon the small corner desk I can see papers written in a fine pen like that of a poet's notes waiting an eternity for the completion of a long forgotten refrain. I feel the joy that once lived here and the pain of loss that remains.
stains of memories
the children's laughter lingers
a tear on my cheek
01/15/16
[Continued from Part Three]
Thereupon the elder gave them all a single cart.
It was tall and broad with gems adorning every part
and had bells on all four corners plus a balustrade
surrounding, with a hanging awning offering shade.
Valuable jewels, that were fastened with a cord
made of costly fibers, and the trimmings they adored
embellished every inch that their dazzled eyes explored…
How their faces now lit up at such a rare reward!
Also there were many flower garlands suspended
with a plaited ribbon on the top that extended
all around the border to make it look more splendid…
Oh, the awesome marvels of this cart never ended!
It was fitted well with vermillion-colored pillows;
satin fabrics, silk brocades streamed about in billows,
soft the carpets on the floor with which it was furnished;
brightly shone the vehicle, radiantly burnished.
To pull the cart there was a huge white ox, extra strong,
perfectly-proportioned for a journey very long.
In form it was superb; it had impeccable hide.
And with regular hoof-steps to match its steady stride
the ox could go as fast as the wind on any ride.
Yes, this powerful cart was the elder’s joy and pride.
There were numerous guards, furthermore, for protection,
attendants, squires, retainers— quite a big collection.
The children climbed in, overjoyed at the selection
of the man, for this cart suited them to perfection.
Equally, it satisfied all their predilections.
So, at once they drove off into the four directions,
absolutely happy and enchanted without bound
at the unrestricted freedom which they now had found.
[Continued in Part Five]
~ Harley White
the robin hops from the tips of the rose bush
spilling snow dust
sprinkling skeins of early dew
dusting with its uppity tail fan
a caterpillar
softly dousing concertina
then it trips up the clothesline
stops and grips it in its claws
sways and balances with its tail fanning out
chirps clucks tweets
and repeats itself
all the way down again
and up the scale
comes back once more to skip a note or two
and tumbles
sweeps past the old toy bicycle leaning against the wire fence
the claw marks hardly visible on the spray of frost-like snow on the balustrade
light ephemeral peripatetic
the dulcet flexions rising and falling on the tympana without breath of motion
or vibration
crisp colliding notes rising and falling
as the first tentative drops of drizzle before the rain
the robin gone to sing full throttle on wing
© T. Wignesan, Paris, 1997; from the collection: “Poems Omega-Plus”, Paris, 2005.
TURN THE PAGES OF YOUR HISTORY AND FIND THE PAGES OF YOUR SOUL
THE ONES THAT CONTAIN THE MYSTERY OF YOUR BREATH'S INTAKE (B)
BEND WITH THE WIND AND CURVE YOUR MIND AROUND THE THOUGHTS
THAT SPRING FORTH WITH LIFE AND TRUTH. SIFT AWAY ALL YOUR WORRIES
AND ENTER INTO THE SANCTUARY OF GRACE THAT HAS BEEN PLACED ONTO
YOUR PATH. CARESS THE WINGS THAT SUSTAIN YOU AND HELP YOU TO FLY.
THEY WERE DELIVERED TO YOU BY HIS HOLY GRACE . (B)
SILENZIUM, SIENZIUM , SILENZIUM , SILENZIUM, SILENCE,
TAKE ME THERE....
BOOKS AND BOOKS OF STORIES READY TO BE READ. YOUR STORY IS THE
ONE THAT NEEDS TO BE TOLD WITH THE SILENCE OF YOUR BEATING HEART.
READ IT TO THE ANGELS AS THEY PERCH THIER WINGS UPON THE BALUSTRADE
OF HEAVEN. UNHINGE ALL FEARS, FOR HERE IN PARADISE THERE IS ONLY ONE
THING THAT NEEDS TO BE ATTENDED TO. TELL YOUR STORY OF LOVE (B)
THISP AGE OF HISTORY CONTAINS YOUR SIGNATURE. SUCCEED AND YOU
SUCCESS WILL BE SEWN WITHING THE STITCHES OF THIS TIME AND MOMENT. (B)
REMEMBER YOU LIVE IN THE CRADLE OF THE GREATEST UNIVERSE OF ALL TIME.
THIS IS A ROCKING MOMENT AND YOU ARE THE DESIGN CREATED BY YOUR
MOTHER /FATHER. GIVE THANKS FOR YOU ARE A STORY OF ETERNITY WELL TOLD.
BREATHE..... a lasting message ,
"Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.
Mahatma Ghandi "
I have spent much of my entire life it seems somehow
Cluttering shadows walls with window box residue inside these rooms....
Considering now the hands of times potter and I, but its clay ~
While gently closing these doors, lowering the windows and, drawing the shades
Another moment amid a lifes journey; traveling far beyond chances place
Once more; consolations road winding unto the summit of hopes extended range....
This sphere above serendipities perceptions; reflections penetrating bright ~
Reasons subduing dust, to be placed in a canister of understandings
Soils of purpose and promise gathered within, stain covered palms?!
A tilling and mixture it shall be unto these, renovations dreams....
Such, jewels of visions sprinkled upon the petals and
Brushed about the partitions dividing calls; gentle pastels ~
Clarities lines, passing through this corridore inside
Cluttering walls of a shadows reprise....
Reminding myself yet again as I close the doors and, lower the blinds
My eyes; gliding atop the balustrade unto the newly carpeted landing
Slowly amid silent serenity gazing humbly across, times restoring treasures ~
Once condemned but never lost within; revelations resurrecting hands of
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Master Carpenter
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