Long Chagrined Poems
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Catholic
Stern but saintly Father Meissen
scolded the parents for not having
their baby boy baptized sooner.
It was April, 1952,
inside the stained-glassed catholic church,
ensconced on sun-split Newlin street,
avenue of pink oleanders and cracking sidewalks.
According to the chagrined mother,
she was told that delaying this pivotal sacrament
for three complacent months,
after the boy’s birth on January 11,
was unequivocally unacceptable,
and that waiting so eternally and unendingly,
actually jeopardized her befuddled baby’s soul.
For if he had died, say in March of 1952,
unbaptized,
then his eternal soul, because of original sin,
would have been mercilessly subject
to the inscrutable tortures of hell,
and the lake of fire.
As per destiny, this glued-on scenario
was not realized, and instead,
the boy received the abundant graces
of a head-turning God that day,
as the boy’s shiny oblivious head
was gently and sanctimoniously doused
with priestly-blessed holy water, fresh
from the rippling baptismal fount,
anchored dogmatically with rusted rebar,
deep below the shadowy sacristy,
among the obstinate urns
and the dark-voiced Dominus vobiscums.
But now we hear his older, wiser voice,
undulating like a lark’s-heel after the begging,
hiding the treason of a reprobate mind,
fondling the prayers of ten thousand children,
crying silent astonished tears
into the cold marble baptismal fount;
A groping wet madness firmly set
among the kneeling statues, and the holy linens,
encrusted with fool’s gold and trusting threads.
What kept these stilled voices unheard for so long?
Why did they not speak before this somber time?
Why did they bend, roll over and
close their eyes so cooperatively?
So reverently?
No one can possibly speak
about the unspeakable, for
Father’s holy, righteous indulgences
were unequivocally unacceptable.
But it is too late now.
Mine eyes can clearly see now
the crying sunken skull at Golgotha,
turning its furious eyes away.
Form:
SOP OF A SONGBIRD
At the labyrinth of life
Fear of its complex nature griped our heart
Like a stranger at a tripartite junction.
Worries came afterward , humping us high and dry with impossible mission
Life became humdrum in a fixed gyration
And like a gyro, our earth revolves
Sonorously , we are made to sing : the songs of the slaves
How can a fire burn without fuel and hands functions without bones
Then you can tell, how the life can function without divine faith
Now! Let the ear that hears hear
the songs of a humming birds
A song of hope , the tune of faith
The faith that fires fear
A true reflection of hope, treasures of our rich universe
And the saviour of mankind
From the chagrined and chary of life
Form:
These sparks that the flames
Toss up in the sky
To dance with the stars
Aflame in our eyes
Burning and searing
Aloft on their own
Burning and soaring
As never before
Have little resistance
Once up in the air
They fly on the currents
That wave in the air
They move with the breezes
Which fan them along
Up, up and away
As we follow along
Each spark has a lifeline
It follows with zest
Some quickly descend
Some put to the test
The magnetic pull
Of gravity’s hold
(These are the bigger
The brazen, the bold)
They reach for the zenith
A pinnacle far
Far up and away
As if they’re a star
To hold us enthralled
With their sizzling flight
They strive for the stars
While we gaze in the night
While straight to the heavens
It seems they will go
They still have a limit
(As everyone knows)
Their flame soon burns out
They sputter and fade
Their ascent is stopped
Their climb it is stayed –
No matter how strong
Or how fierce they may burn
Each spark hits a point
And then it returns
A little chagrined
At the course that it flamed
A little bit singed
Marred now – and changed
My friend sent her friends a message the other day…the message said, “Pray for me!”
because she needed prayers, because prayers can be given wholeheartedly and because all prayers are free
“And while you’re praying for me,” she said…(since she is a loving person who cares)
“pray for anyone in the world who may also be in need of prayers”.
When people ask for prayers from me…there was a time I felt chagrinned..
until I realized a prayer is just a wish we whisper on the wind.
For I am not religious…I have no God to call my own…
but I have faith when I make a wish for someone…that wish will find a home.
When I close my eyes, take a deep breath and make a wish for you…
it matters not to me which God that wish floats to.
Or if it never finds its way to a God…but travels across the Universe…wide and far…until one day it finds itself adding brightness to a star.
We never know while forming a wish within our mind…when we finally make it…
once we whisper it upon the wind…where the wind will take it.
So I closed my eyes and upon the wind I whispered a wish for my friend…
hoping it will join other wishes..other prayers…and help her troubles mend.
And following her lead I made another wish and then another and another…
I sent out wishes across the world for all my sister and my brothers.
I wished no one would go to bed hungry…I wished for the people of Ukraine…
I wished people would stop banning books…I wished for California to get rain.
I wished we were a kinder, gentler world…where everyone was blessed…
To be treated with acceptance and compassion…where no-one was oppressed.
I wished everyone was accepted…no matter their color, their religion, if they were gay or straight…I wished people would stop using religion as a vehicle for hate.
These and many more wishes, once I opened up my heart were freed.
to hopefully find their way across the world…and to my friend in need.
So if you were like me, when someone asks you to pray for them and you feel a bit chagrined…remember…a prayer is just a wish…we send out on the wind.
Mortal bonds, the chains of flesh
Shackle a weary spirit
To a crushing forlorn succession
Of a failing in the means to find answers
Any action, bound to be
A fruitless endeavor
Disquieted passerby
One gaze into a jaded pair of hollow eyes
As if viewing through a pair of stained windows
Of ornate painted glass
The visage, like the empty pews
Of a magnificent cathedral
Of agonizing sorrow
that which never ends
Blunting the edge of indescretion
I will find no relief
Ceaselessly lamenting
dismally spiraling
Into loathing lol self reflection
Catatonically stricken
By the weight of calamity
Ironically symbolized
To illustrate a trend
Bending will, I broke it.
I chagrined in disbelief.
mortality, transcendence
The more I learn about people,
the more I like my dog.
~attributed to Mark Twain
She is decidedly anti-mingle,
preferring her cozy hermitage
in the verdant valley meadow.
She feels like Rip Van Winkle
waking at last to find the world changed,
but really it happened so fast!
While she wasn’t watching,
the world remained unrestrained
in its quest for pleasure.
Her hermit house was secure
with boundaries to keep people out,
except for delivery drivers bringing this and that.
Even a hermit has to eat,
so she mingles on social media
a little bit chagrined she needs technology…
because she talked it over
with Pippi and Poppi, the Pomeranians,
and they agree it should always be.
just we three!
Embarrassing Moment
Mid-Sixties, I went to the shore
A hot summer day, so I wore
My handmade swimsuit
It was very cute
Expecting I was, and I swore,
It looked just as nice as can be
My tummy was covered, you see
The shorts were cut out
For belly to sprout
Top flared over shorts demurely.
At once came along a great wind
My top flew right up and chagrined
By this great surprise
To see with my eyes
My tummy exposed as bare-skinned!
But now in these new modern days
No problem with bumps that amaze
Those covered or bare
Don't bring on a stare
When dressed up in clingy arrays
Back then we were less indiscreet
Maternity clothes for the street
Were tents that flowed wide
To hide what's inside
Our bumps took a private backseat!
So when my bare belly stuck out
So shocked, I spun 'round with a shout
Grabbed towel up fast
Embarrassed, aghast
I covered it up without doubt!
Date: October 15, 2015
Contest Name: Make Me Actually LOL
Sponsor: Nina Paramenter
'This or That, Vol 34' Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 18/6/25
_________________________________________
"It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions,"
Quote by William Shakespeare
Watching his face carefully for nuance of expression.
My sweet boy had developed such intense depression.
Every night his screams of terror would fill the air.
A calm uneventful sleep for him, was my prayer.
As sleep befell him, his panic and terror would begin.
Wailing, face wet with tears, unnerved by a horror within.
Holding him tight wasn’t any help as he trembled in fear.
His tired eyes fixed on a demon that isn’t really here.
Aggressive yet scared, an abhorrence to be sleeping at night.
Despair, overtook normal living to find a cure for his fright.
A boy once filled with love and joy, now replaced by distress.
Doctor offers strong drugs for him, reluctantly I will acquiesce.
Handing me a box, and holding a ladder, a neighbor came to call.
Stating this is for Michael and you must be careful not to fall.
I was most perplexed so for an explanation I sought.
What was the reason for his visit, and the things he brought?
He explained that he had seen his father die as a child.
The experience had turned sleeping into a horror so wild.
The box was full of self-adhesive glow in the dark stars.
Included were a larger peel- off Saturn and Mars.
His family had placed some iridescent stickers over his ceiling.
This, he explained was the start of his healing.
He helped me to adhere every last bright star.
During the daylight it is impossible to see where they are.
That night they shone and twinkled like candles in the wind.
Taking advice from a stranger, I was chagrined.
Next morning he called quite concerned, he hadn't heard a peep.
"Shhh" I whispered, "Since eight pm last night, he is still asleep."
When words speak for the silence of art, sponsored by Silent One 14/7/26.
It’s not that I am languid, more that I am chagrined.
So disappointed to be met by this dreadful north wind.
I am on my way to see him, and I will look so disheveled.
I am convinced the god Boreas is inclined to be bedeviled.
They say I have a porcelain face and that I never smile.
This is not my usual demeanor my intention is to beguile.
My soft chiffon garment intended to drape my delicate form.
Is now windswept without hope of keeping me warm.
I hold my scarf, my slender fingers holding it in place.
The daffodil I wear remains to draw attention to my face.
My ruby red lips catch the light as they shine like wine.
Hoping my raven hair will still shimmer and appear divine.
Blurred from the gusty wind are my lovely blue eyes.
They say I have undeniable beauty, now I feel otherwise.
My slate-colored scarf billows to resemble a conch shell.
The blackbird fighting against the wind isn’t doing well.
Soon I will be with my dear one in the safety of indoors.
My resistance to this harsh north wind, all for a good cause.
The movement depicted not allowing treachery to advance.
Shows strong conflict between nature and romance.
Trijan refrain
Grief ascends with the rising moon
'neath frosted Winter skies
A lone wolf howls, wailing a rune
desperate for replies
Her mate has died, she must lament
beside him 'til last breath was spent
Parted in death
Parted in death
His body torn, tattered and rent
Grief ascsends with the rising moon
as thorns, it pricks my skin
There is sorrow in the wolf's tune
My emotions akin
To shadowed darkness we lay claim
Eyes cold without a spark or flame
Feeling such pain
Feeling such pain
Love, it's you I seek to defame
Grief ascends with the rising moon
Haunting my thoughts tonight
Who do I blame and dare impugn
with defiance and spite
I would caterwaul to the wind
if death's warrant I could rescind
His life restored
His life restored
No longer would I be chagrined