Long Bhutan Poems
Long Bhutan Poems. Below are the most popular long Bhutan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bhutan poems by poem length and keyword.
I feel like lots of things.
I feel like the worn out tracks through the carpets,
The old and wobbly furniture.
I feel like the noisy dryer in the basement,
And like the ugly peeling paint on the walls.
I feel like the cracked and bowed floor boards,
The abused sidewalks of seventh avenue and Broadway.
I feel like the balded tires on the truck,
The broken down bulldozer in the yard.
I feel like the dulled blade that can no longer make a gash,
The worn out bearing that won't spin.
I feel like broken e string that you cannot pluck,
Like the trend gone out of style,
I feel like all the Polaroid cameras sitting in attics.
Like the boxes of cassette tapes you'll never listen to again.
I feel like the public telephone, or the phone booth that closed.
And the VHS player sitting in the basement,
I feel like the lost Greek Fire nobody will ever understand.
Like the shoes or bottles buried in the wall and nobody knows why they're there.
I feel like the lost Athapaskan languages,
Like navigating a mountain in Bhutan with a broken compass.
I feel like I've got a nose bleed in a shark tank,
And I feel like I'm out here catching the volcanoes eruption with just a bucket.
It feels like being hunted by something I can't see or hear;
Or like I'm holding back the tsunami with an umbrella.
I feel like a cinder block,
And I feel cold and like I cannot move,
But it doesn't feel like you've broken me.
Maybe I shouldn't feel so brittle from all the weathering.
Maybe I can feel strong.
At Paro of Bhutan I found the clouds
Gathering over the snow white peaks
Over the summit the deep blue shroud
Kept looking on in dazed disbelief
If one takes up my fountain pen
Or snatches my favourite umbrella
Restless naturally are all the grains
Confusion arrives in the sweet tabla
White clouds start fondling the peaks
Drawings of beautiful chaos emerge
Surge of colourfully deep drum beat
Dance in the white peaks go berserk
Rises from the foothills the peace palm
Lifted in the air from a milky white lotus
In the eyes smiling the poems of psalm
Enjoy in peace, ---says a voice sonorous
I quieted my pen and put down the notebook
In bliss kept fixated my blue pacific look
_______________________________________
Tabla : A small drum or pair of drums of India turned to different pitches and played with the hands : In Dictionary.com
May 2, 2016
Without Knowing Your Gender...,
(nonetheless ex post facto still flattered)
Bhutan names defy affiliating,
determining, identifying... gender,
and what a faux pas this dada admits,
when a blessed high school
student did league gully tender
benighted, gifted, ordained yours truly
with sobriquet "Guru"
alluded to in previous poem, render
ring this foolish hearty good fella (me)
falling prey to embarrassing situation,
(I did misrender
as would be expected
from this crash test dummy,
who dented his psychological fender),
vis virtual mind bender,
when an initial presumption
smarted Matthew Scott as offender,
asper online youth NO pretender
by him, aye mean the sender
communicated his admiration,
adoration, adulation for this big spender
of sincerity, viz singular poetic magi - (ha)
made presumption that
unknown messenger slender,
and female, and
upon enclosing appender
referencing person as "lovely princess"
did respondent clarify finding deface
of zee poet here -
logic chops went thru blender
as if slapped by a suspender
experiencing irrevocable shame
as though a contender
attempting to guide false supposition
playfully mistaking sexual
identity of male sender,
he (young kneeler)
bowed as winning scoring goaltender
down as mine professed
metrical feet, he who acquiesced
non Asian minor, friender
NOT seeking moneylender,
nor mistook my heart of gold),
mine apology I did obligingly surrender
and possibly chuckled to himself,
asper an uproarious hellbender
whereat my countenance turned
fifty plus shades of lavender.
Without knowing your gender...,
(nevertheless ex post facto still flattered
genuine heartfelt kinship mattered,
hence the reasonable rhyme
across the webbed wide world
I subsequently scattered).
Linkedin to the previous poem,
(similarly written scant few years ago.
I also codified, glorified, and lamented
an unexpected cessation of communication
with he/him who affixed yours truly
appellation of wise man, which modesty
of mine gently downplays.
Bhutan names defy affiliating,
determining, identifying... gender,
and what a faux pas this dada admits,
when a blessed high school
student did league gully tender
benighted, gifted, ordained yours truly
with sobriquet "Guru"
alluded to in previous poem, render
ring this foolish hearty good fella (me)
falling prey to embarrassing situation,
(I did miss render
as would be expected
from this crash test dummy,
who dented his psychological fender),
vis virtual mind bender,
when an initial presumption
smarted Matthew Scott as offender,
asper online youth NO pretender
by him, aye mean the sender
communicated his admiration,
adoration, adulation for this big spender
of sincerity, viz singular poetic magi - (ha)
made presumption that
unknown messenger slender,
and female, and
upon enclosing appender
referencing person as "lovely princess"
did respondent clarify finding deface
of zee poet here -
logic chops went thru blender
as if slapped by a suspender
experiencing irrevocable shame
as though a contender
attempting to guide false supposition
playfully mistaking sexual
identity of male sender,
he (young kneeler)
bowed as winning scoring goaltender
down as mine professed
metrical feet, he who acquiesced
non Asian minor, friender
NOT seeking moneylender,
nor mistook my heart of gold,
mine apology I did obligingly surrender
and possibly chuckled to himself,
asper an uproarious hellbender
whereat my countenance turned
sixty plus four shades of lavender.
On learning to become a guru...
The following artfully crafted back in the day
(actually poetic endeavor presented below
written a few scant years ago) in response to
unexpected positive feedback received on
the most popular social media platform.
Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any
influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare
pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers
targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor
susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric
abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly
followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.
Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.
I will move mountains for you, oft said
with little brain and surplus testosterone.
But why the plurality?
Surely, a single mountain moved
is Herculean enough to satisfy
the desires of the most covetous princess.
Then, what is a mountain?
I’m sure a mound or hill won’t do.
Also, move; would an inch to the left or right
gratify? I think not, dear sir.
So, where to find this mountain?
Bhutan seems a reasonable choice
they have so many, moving one
would likely not be missed.
Where too? The Midwest
could do with a mountain or two
attract more tourists, that sort of thing.
Then the naming:
something American,
that reflects the Native lands,
is gender neutral?
Then, would you and your girlfriend
climb to the top of Mount Sis Hank Running Bear
and both look out over the beautiful land?
No, she will be at home waiting for another man;
the man who said he would make the Earth move for her!
In the world of our reality
Abounds too much bitterness
Let us come to Thimpu
For dews of peace and grace
Green hills surround the cool town
All day long multitude of birds
Blue shadow envelopes our mind
Before Buddha swords calm down
Happy faces of children and grown ups
Handsome flute in their eyes
No much hustle and bustle
Peace-laced liquor in small wine cups
Hill allures the amorous cloud
Clouds embrace the hungry hill
Lovely lovemaking plays out
Crazy turns our cerebral quill
The town sits amidst the vales
In clusters on various slopes
Cottages full of light blue tales
Life in crimson hopes
The capital of Bhutan
Thimpu, the town where
Braids of moonlit woman
Sway in moon-mixed air
___________________________________________________________________
5/1/2016
On Learning To Become A Guru...
Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any
influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare
pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers
targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor
susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric
abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly
followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.
LIFE IN ACORNISTAN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a brown-haired squirrel named Stan,
the charismatic, electrifying mayor of Acornistan.
His fur held a most strange zap
“We’ve got to do something ASAP!”
His advisor suggested, “Call in the g-man.”
They summoned a blind man from Bhutan
‘You’re fur’s gotta go,’ he said, his face deadpan.
‘But like Samson, I’ll lose my power
To this static I shall never cower!
You’ve got to have another gameplan.”
‘Maybe some crème rinse or a bit of Dippity-Do*
will eliminate the static from your furry ‘do.’
‘Dippity Do,’ Stan exclaimed. “Just who are you?
Go back to Bhutan, you silly man. Shoo! Shoo!’
‘Stan decreed. ‘No static in Acornistan. Static adieu, adieu!’
Most of us should know that the fourth Thursday,
is called a Thanksgiving Day celebration.
The first Tuesday after the first Monday,
we elect the leaders of our nation.
Maybe you even know the first Sunday,
is when Daylight Savings comes to an end.
But did you know on November the first,
National Pomegranate Month begins.
Also, Native Heritage and Military Family Month,
Epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, and COPD awareness.
How about NAN-O-WRI-MO or Pancreatic Cancer too,
we’ll throw in No Shave November just for fairness.
The first Wednesday is Eating Healthy Day,
the first Thursday is Man Makes Dinner.
The first Friday is Samoan Arbor Day,
and of course, Black Friday is always a winner.
Who can forget World Vegan Day,
or Coronation Day of the fifth Druk in Bhutan.
It’s Liberty Day in the Virgin Islands,
Self-Defense Forces Commemoration in Japan.
It is Veterans Day on the eleventh,
Pneumonia Day on the twelve.
Parfait day on the twenty-fifth,
if you don’t care about your health.
I could just go on and on listing them,
but just between me and you.
We’d still be here reading next November,
and we probably still would not be through.