Long Busied Poems
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This Poem was submitted for the poetry contest "Jamie's interesting contest 1" sponsored by Jamie Pan, for theme #6. Reflections in a window.
Once while my mind was drifting through a cafe fenestration,
Whence my cappuccino cup carouseled round a mindless spun spoon,
A presence within a reflection's penumbral lines broke my lack of concentration:
A woman stood between the clash of shadows and pale light of the moon.
She stood there in the street resound on the glass,
Dressed in a pomegranate gown which melted to the ground.
Around her the air shuttered and shook within a glowing gas,
And she stared at me through the glass, although her head was not around.
Looking around to see if anyone else could see her too,
The busied bodies around me kept on being, undisturbed.
I rubbed my eyes and shifted to erase her from my view,
Yet she stayed put in the window with her body unperturbed.
"The horseman is a marewoman" I thought, fancying myself clever,
"And she is headed to a ball and forgot her head;
Perhaps we've been telling the story of Cinderella wrong forever"
The thoughts from inside my attention deficit head said.
I stopped, when suddenly, the phantom in the reflection crossed her arms,
And I imagined her absent head shaking in disgust.
Having unwittingly insulted a ghost, who haunted me in a foreign town of farms,
I apologized in my head to this woman whom I was beginning to distrust.
Guilt was replaced with anxious fear as I realized this woman was in my mind,
Hearing my thoughts and reacting to them appropriately.
Sweat trickled down my neck and dropped into the cup of espresso grinds,
And I averted my gaze from the woman and noticed the barista looking at me.
Having noticed me staring intently through his window,
He looked through to see where my sight dove in to swim,
I looked at him look and then looked where my eyes had showed,
When the woman lifted her arm and pointed right at him.
He dropped his demetasse, which cracked in half upon the floor,
Spilling a machiatto onto the granite beneath his feet.
He looked back at me whilst everyone looked as he swore,
As he quickly cleaned up his mess to make it, yet again, neat.
I immediately went up to him before I had time to think,
And asked: "So you saw her, too?"
To which he said with a wink,
"Saw who?"
2/15/17
The stars above are as beautiful as you, love
That, I know of
The heavens above are pure and peaceful as doves, love
That is where I long to rove
Nightfall is as gracious as your eyes that shine high above
That is where I set my mind always, my love
My heart soars so bright as a hawk in the sky above
That is where I remain inspired and free, my love
Where is your love when I need it most?
Is it beyond the mountains and the coast?
Where is your love when I want it most?
Has it vanished like the seas and deserts’ ghost?
Where have our true love shared gone?
I couldn’t compare it to the wisest and mysterious of forest-dwelling owls
I couldn’t compare it to a morning’s run
I couldn’t compare it to the precious, burning rose or the wolf’s unique howls
Feel free to stare at my universe eyes -
There, you’ll find the truth behind the lies
Feel free to weigh out the pendulums of our lives and what’s left of it
There, you’ll find enigmas of bizarre imagination, sparkling alit
If anything, I’m apologetic
For acting pathetic and perplexed you to the core
If everything, forgive me please
Set you and I at ease and quit acting like disturbed bees
In their hives of busied lives
I’m sorry I let my guard down
I’m really sorry I had let you down
I’m sorry I have to wear this frown
I’m watching the time fly up in this town
I’m sorry I let my guard down
I’m really sorry I had to leave you speechless and breathless
Upon the cold ground of your devastating demise
I’m really down and about, so bring me up from my abyss
Sunshine, I wish you could simply undim my eyes
The clouds above are as beautiful as you, love
That, I know of
The sunshine below is reflecting upon your oceans of delight, my love
That, I know of
That’s where I rove
The moonlight in the surface of this well we’re in is shimmering anew, my dear
That, I do not fear...
For God is near
The enigmatic system
Will be brought low
By His heavenly Kingdom
That, I will soon know
That He loves us, despite our tribulant downfalls
That He lives in us and answers our righteous calls
Who can say otherwise?
The truth behind the lies
Will never conceal our stories of a strenuous, yet genius journey to the greater, infinite and meaningful afterlife
It’s the peace behind the strife that we aim to look forward to all our life
Sophomore year’s clocked-up my free time. Last summer I made some core promises (to my mom) to go harder on the pre-med track. Perfect grades are ok, I’m told, but they’re underdog, alone. So, this year, my “spare” time is split between hospital volunteering and a (nominally) paid research project. The goal of all this hustle is to pad my resume up, as proffer, for a 2025 med school slot. I’ve never felt so observed, judged and weekend-less, but playas gotta play.
Last week, Peter (let’s call him my BF) was invited to some random alumni event. He wasn’t excited about it, but he thought, “Ooo, free meal.” Actors and doctoral students are all about free food. Then, after he signed onto it, they told him the group was going, by train to Washington DC, on an overnight trip (all expenses paid) where they’d visit the White House and meet the President.
They took the train through New York and down to DC arriving late at night and then they had to meet in the lobby, the following morning, at 7am to get COVID tested for the White House. He said the White House experience, and the meet-and-greet seemed surreal. While he didn’t get to meet Joe, he shook Jill Biden’s hand, and in a parting, fog-headed moment, suggested she “have a good one.” (Hopefully, she did.)
As an extra, on the way back, at union station in DC, they heard gunshots and there were a few tense moments where they saw people in the station (outside the train) running about in panic. Eventually, security pronounced everything safe. A man WAS shot in the foot but that passes for a calm night in DC. All-in-all the event and train travel made for an exhausting trip for poor Peter.
Bizz, BIZZ-BIZZ-BIZZ At first, the alarm sound seemed unreal and unimportant. I opened my eyes and through my three, open dorm windows, I could see stars still flickering busily, like light off of so much broken glass. “What?” I mumbled.
“I have to go,” Peter said drowsily, as he kissed my forehead, “it’s getting early.”
It seemed I blinked, and he was gone. After he left, I woke up several times. The silence seemed heavy, almost solid and it easily pressed me back into sleep.
.
slang:
clocked-up = busied-out
core promises = inescapable swears
underdog = expected to lose
Proffer: “present (something) for acceptance.”
weekends = a mythical time to catch up*
A young boy lived in an old orphanage in North Carolina.
He ran away to find something better than a lonely building.
From the tallest hill to the lowest grounds he search and search.
Wondering from place to place he could not find where he belonged.
He tried selling newspaper on the street, shined shoes for a dime.
Preformed country music with he’s old guitar and even joined a circus in town.
Many months have past and still nothing could fill in what was missing.
The young boy was too stubborn to give up; he tried once more at this factory.
After along day of hard work he knew this wasn’t it.
He felt hopeless and defeated by the world.
If only he find something that could make his spirit be full.
Deep down inside his heart cried out to the dark blue sky.
He hands fell to the cold ground and hot tears ran down on his face.
The winds started to grow heavy with rain coming down.
Darkness covered the whole sky like a black sheet.
He struggled to walk through the winding trees.
Everything that had owned was blown away by the firing wind.
Stumbling at every move did not make him stop going.
His legs became bruised by the rigid rocks.
Roaring winds blew at him like giant waves.
A small light from afar was glowing on a hill.
He pushed the thorn branches to make his way through.
Moving closer to the light he fall to the ground and began crawl.
Slowly he got up and was looking at wooden building with painted windows.
He opened the doors and found a burning candle sitting on a table.
Above the table was a cross held up high on the wall.
Walking up with amazement because everything had became quite inside.
Everything had become still and all the rain had stopped.
A loud voice called on him and told him not to be afraid.
The young boy fell to his busied knees with his cut hands on the floor.
He began to cry in pain of his throbbing body.
The voice called on him again and healed the young boy.
In astonishment the young boy looked up at the cross.
He asked the voice who he was, then a bright light came over.
I am God the creator of all things and you are my child.
The young boy smiled with tears in his eyes.
Love filled his heart with joy for this is where he belonged.
A child of God is how he lived for the rest of his life.
Form:
“Cats teach us how to enjoy life. They savor every moment, from
the warm sun on their backs to the joy of a well-played pounce.”
– Anonymous
Snow stopped rubbing against my leg to get attention
when he became curious about Christmas tree lights
tangled all over the floor to the point of contention.
I saw him begin nibbling the bulbs, taking little bites,
so I shooed him away in a moment of apprehension,
afraid that he might break one. Oh, the hypertension!
That lasted all of thirty seconds, and Snow was back,
crouched in hunt mode, his eyes locked on a string.
I saw him tense, creeping closer, ready for the attack.
He chattered and launched himself like a coiled spring,
landing in strings and ran as if he was on a racetrack.
I reached for my camera. It was moment for my Kodak!
Instead of being frightened, he was perfectly content
to walk around, wrapped in lights from head to toe,
so, I let him prance like that for a while without dissent.
But when I tried to take them off, I got a hiss from Snow
letting me know that giving them up was not his intent.
It became a problem that I had to cleverly circumvent.
I thought that turning on the lights I'd already strung
might change his mind and fill Snow with a bit of fright
so, I busied myself with ornaments and stockings hung,
then found him cozied up beneath the tree. What a sight!
He was licking each brightly colored globe with his tongue.
That string still tightly wound around him, they were flung.
I didn't have the heart to take away his brand new toy.
While soothing him with my voice, I plugged him in,
standing by in case he was scared, but not my lil' boy.
Here's the photo and I swear, Snow is wearing a grin.
He's asleep before the hearth, on a pillow of corduroy.
A memory to treasure on this Christmas filled with joy.
When I placed a golden star atop my Christmas tree
I heard the faint mewing from beside the fireplace.
Snow's big blue eyes were open wide as if in plea.
I just couldn't stand the sad look upon my kitty's face
and put a star on his head, then got a holder for a battery
so his lights could move with him. Now, he's purring at me.
He/him (ratty, scrawny,
and tetchy ugly villain)
scurried into dark recesses of hermitage
averse to cavort, frolic, inure himself
into the duplicitous schemes
capitalized, glorified, popularized
courtesy vanity of *****sapiens
lest imp of the pervert
already sacrificed as renegade
hashtagged heretic condemned
without merciful intervention
after being duped into capture
subsequently broadcast viz TikTok,
when turncoat quasi nincompoop
kook Harmet Harms
kickstarted, ejaculated, and blurted
out hideaway of sought after perpetrator
to burn (no small potatoes) at stake,
but fortunately falsely accused
unbound against immolation
and reprieve jumpstarted, issued, and hissed
eleventh hour granted clemency
commuted death penalty
criminal sentenced solitary isolation
rat infested dungeon
housing convicted prisoner
ultimate crime and punishment
(decreed as non establishmentarian)
doled out after protracted proceedings
courtesy amazing graceful puffed dragon
unwittingly delivered merciful respite.
After being shackled hand and foot
then dragged into vermin infested cell
cowled ascetic (an exceptional escape artist)
busied himself disentangling restraints
and suppressed giddiness
when successfully free.
Off behind fake facade
walled in imponderable bedrock
dark passageways tunneled off
into unsuspecting chamber of secrets,
whereby amateur (he) brewed
exotic gaseous/ liquified potions
tumbled, gurgled, bubbled...
lethal skull and crossbones
labeled mixtures especially intriguing
adept alchemist expert
possessed sixth sense
intuitively discerning deadly
scorpion stinging poisons
abracadabra wizardry
magic spell cast
rendered, kindled, eased
tormentors severity relaxed
spellbound granted salvation.
Hence busily engrossed at makeshift laboratory,
our mutual (of Omaha) friend
did potchke with vials; every now and again
referencing ancient looking tome
vaporous emissions served as smoke screen.
Hands of father time
painstakingly elapsed amidst
flickr ring torchlight
grotesquely accentuating
exaggerating ferociously
pantomiming silhouettes courtesy
hungry skittering varmints
hurriedly scurrying to and fro.
After coming back from church last night, wishing everyone a Happy Easter, my sister's only wish was to watch The Greatest Showman. So, my mother and I took our seats next to her and watched, right in the dining table, with our dinners in front of us. It was past eleven when we got back to bed.
The next day dawned: the last day of the holidays. It started quite alright, with mom, dad and I plucking down a several ripe papayas with the help of a bedsheet and a stout wooden pole. Then my dad went home to work, while the rest of us busied ourselves in our own work.
I didn't note the time, but I did hear mom's phone ringing. Half absorbed in Pip's world, I hardly even noticed it. But my eldest sister got a call from dad, almost after the ringing of mom's phone stopped. She told mom to call dad immediately, telling something about the Kochchikade church, a church which I've known ever since I was small.
My mom gave a call and went to see my eldest sister, and she sounded serious. I overheard her speaking about the roof being blown out. I thought it was the wind. I never expected it to be bombed.
Everyone was calling. Most of them knew that we went there. Within those moments when we assured those horrified voices, we got to know the six other attacks. Now, everyone was paniced. Everyone was expecting curfew at any moment.
Dad hurried to the supermarkets to do last moment shopping. He told us that there will be curfew from 6 pm to 6 am of the following morning. During this time, I heard a strange throbbing and hum, which lasted only a few seconds.
After dad came back, we checked the news. Curfew had already started, and won't be lifted until further notice. Then there was something else. The 8th bomb explosion for the day: a housing scheme in Dematagoda, only a few kilometers from our home.
The strange hum echoed in my mind, as all of us stared at our neighbouring building through the french windows of our home. We were staring at the grey wall of the tall housing scheme, which stood majestically in front of our veranda.
4/21/2019
I'd say it was late Spring or early Fall in 1954, a quiet time
in American history; and Mr. Eisenhower was The President.
There was a sweet and kind teacher hard at work,
teaching kindergartners how to figure, read, and write.
She's also teaching them fair play and how to do what's right.
No one seems to be interested in picking a fight with The Lord's
Prayer or The Golden Rule. No one is opposed to the reading of The Ten Commandments or The 23rd Psalm being read in public schools. Why,
there's a Bible on her desk. There's a little boy playing with cars and trucks in the big sandbox, and later that evening, I saw him on a stage in a play with several other kids as they were singing, 'twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are'. The next day, he was on the playground having the time of his life swinging high and seesawing. He and all the boys and girls were jumping on and off the merry-go-round and never grew tired of running and playing hide and seek. Every second of play is treasured, recess being so very brief. That old fashioned cowbell rings dutifully every morning, signaling class time. Several hours later, it was lunch time followed by a recess of fun time. I saw little girls 'jumping rope' or playing 'hide and seek' as the little boys busied themselves playing 'marbles', 'softball' or 'pop whip'. Sitruc, the little boy I referred to earlier, attended this little school about two years before it burned down, and he had to be schooled temporarily at a little church in the same little community. He was now in the first grade and loved playing 'pop whip'. As usual, Sitruc was at the end of the line, being held very tightly by an older boy, lest he being airborne, gets thrown across the grassy green campus grounds and get severely injured. Before long, the old cowbell begins to ring and kids start their trot for the afternoon classes.
020821PS
Not a true Choka...but uses a 5,7,7,5,7,7 format
-------------------------------------------------
Chill, steaming vapour;
Silence over pale water;
Faded, thin wisps of ribboned
Pink
Above the east gate;
I dip oars...and silence
Breaks.
Trace of flame in lilac sky.
Raise, lean, dip and pull;
Sculling forward little
Twirls
Swirl away from dripping
Blades;
Uplifted soul -- soaring!
Remembering how, when young...
Each new day would bring
New hope.
Extends the shoreline --
Sweeping inwards at the
Point;
Green bulrushes in the bay;
A bittern booming:-
Rising up like slow thunder
Drifting out of jade mountains.
My busied childhood,
Hidden pate not yet shaven;
Shrimping with a fine mesh
Net;
Loud, boyish laughter;
Brimming jars crammed with
Sunbeams --
The golden, darting minnows.
Horizon widens,
Shadow retreats from low
Hills;
Gathering orb comforts me;
Selfsame warm comfort
When held by sleepy women
In cold grey of early dawn.
The vaguest murmur,
Faint as drowsy breathe,
Of the soundings of dim chimes...
A call to prayer?
Hands hard-clenched on the
Staid oars;
Restrained by yesteryear.
I want go home now God do you hear?
I want to go home today without delay God do you hear?
I want to go home because all my friends and my wife are gone.
I want to go home now God DO YOU HEAR ME!
This was the rantings of a man I was setting with up until his last day on earth.
He was old and tired, he had lost his joy for living many a year ago.
He often asked me why he was still here as if I knew.
He was like ninety or so, so if you don't know I thought then how can I?
I think I was in my thirties than and not too worried about death.
This was almost his every thought.
Day after day he would ask why am I still here?
He didn't want to be here any longer he did not.
He would pray often to be taken but to no avail.
Then one day when he could stand it no longer he took his stand.
He would not eat or hardly do anything else.
He prayed and prayed to go home that day.
As his two daughters busied themselves cleaning and rambling through his things.
He was praying to go home.
His kids thought he was just making a fuss and showing off because of some displeasure.
They said it was because they were messing with his stuff.
I said I don't think so, my voice went unheeded.
About an hour or two later I saw his spirit leaving him.
He got real quiet and still like he was thinking or something.
His body went limp and all his color started draining from him.
I ran to get his kids and said he is leaving now come quick.
They barely got in as he breathed his last, they got in a quick goodbye.
Oh, the Lord had answered his prayer and he was home a last.
The girls his girls were glad he was home but not too happy with themselves.
"We could have spent his last moments by his side but yet we were too busy cleaning."
"If only we had taken the time to listen to his last cry's."
"At least we got to say goodbye because of you thank goodness!"