Long Broadly Poems
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In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
await him.
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
3. At the Cabin
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
(The Chokugan = a shinto prayer.
The priest is protecting himself from
the ghosts.)
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Do you live here?
MURASAME
Why do you ask? Who are you?
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Just a traveler, benighted on my journey to ...
MATSUKAZE
What you request is little enough.
But our cabin is sparse, unfurnished, rough.
We are ashamed. It's far too humble. See?
We cannot offer hospitality.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am not looking for feathers or feast.
I am a simple, unassuming priest.
A fog is gathering swiftly around:
Please don't ask me to sleep on the ground.
MURASAME:
I am sorry. You cannot stay ...
MATSUKAZE
Wait!
The fog is freezing, and the hour is late.
The moon sails out from the refuge of a cloud,
and I see the form of a man who has vowed
to abandon all license. That, I admire.
Approach, holy man, our wretched fire.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am grateful, ladies. Yukihira,
the much-lamented young poet,
put it thus: "If anyone
should ever ask for me,
say I'm in paradise, and I know it:
in Kobe, enfolded by green sea,
and fine women, to dote upon:
no place could possibly be dearer".
MATSUKAZE
Aieee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
What's wrong, young woman? See,
I prayed this morning, by the tall tree,
two-trunked and handsome. Nothing bad
can come this way. You look so sad!
MATSUKAZE
You have mentioned the name of our dead lover.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
A peasant told me of two women from here,
who both loved a Kyoto nobleman.
He composed exquisite poetry,
but sickness took him, in the prime of youth.
MURASAME
Aiee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I think I have stumbled into the truth!
You are the girls who live in the tree!
You gave your hearts to Yukihira,
and now you're ghosts! The Chokugan!
Many thousands of bright stars, will guide Santa tonight.
On a cold Christmas Eve, through snow crisp and deep.
Now Santa's sleigh's laden, with lots of new toys.
All gifts for small children, now in dreamland asleep.
When Santa confessed, to losing his naughty / nice list.
Rudolph smiling broadly, gave an all knowing wink.
While waving a copy, he had scribbled unseen.
It was all done in secret, with invisible ink.
And won't reappear, until yuletide next year.
Now all little children, as Santa promised they would.
Will receive lots of presents, whether naughty or nice.
For Santa knows naughty kids, are more often quite good.
While every child dreams of peeping, when Santa arrives,
It's overexcitement that leads nosey children astray.
So after saying their prayers, and while counting sheep,
They fall asleep, until jingle bells ring out Saviours day.
11/ 29/ 2017.
For the contest Christmas Rhymes.
By Kim Rodrigues.
Take Me There
Take me to the place where it’s broadly known
In meadows and woods famous poets roamed
Where hosts of blithe yellow daffodils dance
In expectation of budding romance.
To view magnificent mountains and lakes
And spectacular countryside landscapes
In hopefulness that it all will inspire
My muse to explode alike a drumfire.
The Lake District I will visit one day
There’s so much to view and do on a stay
Such serenity and astounding grace
Is found in Cumbria’s stunning showplace.
*+*+*
9th January 2023
Take Me There Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Minnie was a moaner
She was always blue,
She had lost all her friends
Although she only had a few.
She moaned about the weather,
Especially when it rained.
She complained about her neighbours,
Who thought she was a pain?
She didn't like animals.
She had never owned a pet.
The price of pet food was daunting,
Without paying for a vet
The birds were too noisy.
She hated fluttering things,
Their feathers dropped out everywhere
Even from their wings
Bird seed and litter boxes,
Dog bones and dirty paws.
She was terrified of foxes,
So she locked herself indoors.
This self-induced isolation
Filled Minnie with sorrow
She would make an effort
To going shopping tomorrow.
She dressed with care,
And put on her best hat,
Then she heard her knocker
Making a rat a tat.
Minnie was surprised
When she opened the door
There stood an old man
Who she had never seen before.
Who are you?
She said in surprise,
As she looked at the old man
Who had a twinkle in his eye
My name is Mick,
He said with a grin
I've come to introduce myself
As I have just moved in,
Moved in where?
I'd like to know.
You don't live here
Would you please go,
I'm going nowhere,
I've just arrived here
I knocked on my neighbours
To say I'm new, not to cause fear
To you, old dear.
By the way, what's your name
I should like to know
I knew a girl who looked like you
Many years ago.
Minnie, Minnie uttered quietly.
Trying to hide a grin
If your surname is not Mr Mouse
I may let you in.
The old man smiled broadly,
No, my name is Mickey Finn,
Not Mickey Mouse
He said with a saucy grin.
Now we are introduced.
In a proper way
Can I escort you to the shops,
It's such a lovely day.
It is indeed said, Minnie,
Straightening her hat
Then perhaps we will share a pot of tea
And a long chat.
Barren, sterile sky bleat and sigh
Open your canopy, enlighten our eye
Expose the boundless mysteries that in your realms lie
Reveal your majestic, azure panels on high
Bleed your sappy, snowy cisterns dry
Unmask spirits that in your porous rotunda fly
From your lofty lattitudes carefully apply
Brightly-hued colors that will broadly imply
Beauty and luster to those who your pleated seams ply
Your grand mosaic with hope and promise tie
Bond light and love to uplift hearts that on your fealty rely
Bountiful, beaconing sky so fertile so spry
Shelter our dreams and drown our cry
With our aspiring visions gratuitously ally
If you have an enemy,
Treat him like a friend
He may not understand this
He may be too dense to comprehend.
When people do not like you,
It is not your fault.
They may not know the reason,
Why are you not their sort?
Some types of people,
Are their worst enemy,
They live in ivory towers
And look down on those they see.
But if you do not seem to notice
And pretend you do not care
Try smiling broadly,
If you should meet them anywhere.
You will confuse them,
And they will not be sure what to do
Should they smile back,
Or be obnoxious to you.
If they still don't want my friendship
It will no longer matter to me
As I will have to be content with the fact
C'EST LA VIE!
First sighting
It was an early summer morning when my best friend Edwin
threw pebbles on my window to wake me up
I like morning slumber, waking up at six, looking at the alarm
the clock on the bedstand and think of two hours more sleep.
Ewin said there was a big ship at the dock fully laden with
copra; five minutes later, I joined him as we ran to
the harbour to collect the broken nuts.
When unloading, bits of copra fell down; we had pockets
full of it, and the white flesh was still soft and chewable.
Look, said Edwin, and there, on the gangway, stood
the first black person we had ever seen; he had a bag
in his hands that turned out to have booze and cigarettes.
We took him home to our street to show him to my mother
She was working, but my aunt, living on the first floor
took him in; we were milling about till she threw us out.
Two days are gone, a tall -in our eyes- old man, the captain
who came looking for his cook.
He is from Sudan, the captain said, which, meant
little or us and he is black, oh, him, he is in my aunt's flat.
Half an hour later, the captain and his cook walked
to the ship, we followed at a respectful distance to think
a captain!
On the gangway, the Sudanese waved to us he looked
Happy smiling, broadly; it was a day everybody was happy
the crew waited to be fed, my aunt sat in a chair in
her flat smoking ready-made cigarettes.
Ordinary wasn't good enough for his love-filled notion
So he bottled his message and floated it into deep ocean.
Telling her he knew, red rose was her favorite flower
Made of sweet memories and petals that never cower,
Adorned with his sweet love of heart to heart appeal
Destined for heavenly encounter by cupid's secret deal.
In a faraway land a couple argued causing a breach
When boyfriend split, leaving her alone on a beach.
Disappointed she sought refuge from ocean breeze,
As evening dimmed and anguish refused to ease.
Twilight made a futile attempt to cheer her teary eyes
When moon peeked with assurances in distant skies,
Seeing the tides reaching their final leg on ocean
Delivering the bottle swiftly with bouncing wavy motion.
She opened the bottle curiously as angels watched merrily
Hanging about to ensure she read every word carefully.
Reading cherubic verses, enamored by his sincere plea
Embracing heightened elation, she set herself free.
Smiling broadly she called him, amid visions of divine sign
And he cheered mightily having found his sweet-valentine.
January 30, 2018
Placed 2nd: Brian's Choice 7 Contest by Brian Strand
Placed 3rd: Best rhyming 2018 contest by John Hamilton
Placed 8th in premiere valentine contest by Nayda Ivette Negron
The airport is packed, and the lines are long,
Reminiscing about the days when standing for hours was nothing when you were young.
A volunteer comes and pulls a few away to go to the next one—
Times like these used to be so much fun.
You finally cross and head to the nearest bench,
Lollygagging on your phone when a voice bellows something in French.
That voice, that tone—your eyes meet the gaze,
Your heart skips a beat, and you look up, amazed.
A chance encounter with an old flame—
The flame you tamed still feels the same.
Smiling broadly, you’re pulled into an embrace,
The smell of his cologne lingers in place.
A surge of memories brings a flush to your face;
You manage to squeak, “What’s the chance of meeting in this place?”
He is returning home to France.
You’re playing in a match of chess in his hometown—no chance of romance.
“The flight is long; let’s get together for old time’s sake.”
Your mind is saying, This could be a mistake.
The torch is still smoldering after nearly forty years.
You think of the last goodbye and the tears.
His hand reaches out to a strand of gray hair.
He winks as you take in the salt and pepper in his hair and try not to stare.
Tomorrow is not promised, but today is.
You link your hand in his; you can be his Miz.
Walking side by side and flying high,
A complete one-eighty, and you sigh.
You feel lighter; the future is brighter,
His hand holding on tighter.
A poem in the making,
Your reasoning is out the window—it’s an awakening.
What was meant to be will be.
You both agree to a degree.
You’re soaring as one and free.
Life comes with no guarantees.