Long Choudhury Poems
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I was a child, yes, even little old me,
curious and happy, my smile wild with glee.
But at the tender age of seven,
I learnt that family go to heaven.
My aunt, a distant, great, great one,
who I'm told baked Welsh cakes second to none,
passed on by in her sleep,
no sickness, no hospital stay or cardiac bleep.
Too young to mourn my mother said,
too far to go for distant dead.
To be honest, it wasn't until that time,
that I learnt about my family's line.
My grandad had two sisters see,
each as unique as one could be.
One died some time before my birth,
now sadly this aunt was laid in earth.
Yet, along came a parcel, a letter, a note,
'To Charlotte' , from 'Uncle Sam' it wrote.
The parcel, I opened, like any young child,
ripping at the packaging, like kid gone wild.
Inside was a teddy bear, my aunt had owned,
given at the same age as me, seven years old.
The letter was written in cursive, neat, aligned,
with a twenty pound note, how beyond kind?
It said 'use on something you will treasure,
please write me a letter, at your leisure'.
Who would have known that I'd do just that,
buying a fishing rod, a reel, tackle and hat.
And sooner than later we visited, on my request,
he greeted us, in wellies, lumberjack shirt and vest.
Such a marvellous man, such stories he told,
from sheep stealing dinners to finding lost gold.
A friendship of two, age didn't matter,
we were both unique, quirky, mad as a hatter.
Fast forward ten years, he is so gravely ill,
me at his beside, in the hospital on the hill.
I speak of stories, now tales of my own,
a distraction from his internal body groan.
I hug, I smile, bless him for his love,
and that next morning he was called above.
Through bereavement and loss, I gained a friend,
we remained close right until the end.
Love like that, so unique, and so raw,
changed my whole outlook down to the core.
My heart still skips, like I was seven,
when I reminisce about my uncle, now in heaven.
06.05.2021
Tender moment as a child contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
The dawn is yet to be seen, yet I am here with coffee in hand, drinking my fill from the early riser’s mood. There is darkness still embracing the clear sky and stars wink down, glimmering and flashing, creating a lively sparkle across the heavens. I hear the silence through the solitude, echoing a rhythmic breath of inspiration on halos of laughter that caresses the ever after. I long to whisper joy through the night, hurling music through the dim dreams that reverberate across space, creating a melodious wave of exhilaration through the ambiance of feathery impressions lifting the tone to a tenderness that feeds my yearnings with healing, hope, happiness that flows through me, purifying my insights and coloring me in hues of brilliant flames.
~
morning simplifies
sorrow changes to laughter
healing hearts with hope
~
Prayers of praise lift to the heavens, breaking through the thick night that covers the morning in a layer of gray. Starlight is soft and details of a full moon stroke the black coat of heavy air as it lays quietly across the sky, washing everything it touches in a coat of shadowy darkness that reaches through the heart’s longings to touch on the insights that prepare one for hearing God’s voice as it sends out its still small whisper to the listener. I turn my attention to the heavens, listening and hearing the intimate stroke that comes down and caresses me with a gentle hand, one that knows my ups and downs, my ins and outs, my entire being… laid open, naked to the gaze of One who knows me better than I can even know myself. He smiles a warmth through me that gives me a second chance to be assured that I have all I need. My prayer for this moment has been answered with a kiss from the One who blesses me more than I can possibly thank Him for and I know I am loved beyond my own imagination or hopes. I am loved.
~
worship warms my breath
a whisper, just before dawn
quenching dismal doubts
Moments Of Reflections - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
March 26, 2021
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
HARLEY DAVIDSON
The roar of the victorious twins that spark,
Enigma of the spotless glint in the dark,
The riders, symbolic of rare brood,
Tattooed with insignia and bandana as hood.
Third year of the twentieth century, there starts a stride,
Relentlessly over a century, stands stout in pride,
The post First War years, gave birth to the twins,
Sidecars mated, to the 18 horses’ wings.
“Milwaukee” heaven, created the stars,
In a big bang scatter, they traversed the universe,
The years of the big wars, saw seventeen-inch twins,
Immaculate with epaulettes and battle olive greens.
At the end of the war, God lent a hand,
To evolve a shiny steel armour for the generation, next clan,
The Knuckleheads, the Glides set the road on fire,
Protectors of human dignity, induce fear on felons’ desire,
The low riders of the seventies, launched with a zing,
The world of its class termed it “A mean machine”,
The XL’s the K’s, roll out with a whack,
Its looks and tyres, burnt all tracks.
Then there were the softails, those flew like a dove,
Elevated the pillion rider, for the embrace of Love,
The zing of the V2 and the double chrome exhausts,
Reflects the personality of a star, that rocks.
Out arrived the fat boy who could cruise an endless mile,
Traverse across the continent in elegant style,
The Dyna and the Low Riders with their fiery spokes,
Came in with accessories that included tattooed blokes.
The King of the road with flashers and sirens run,
Vigilant officer in uniform with a holstered gun,
The Buells, The Cyclones, The Lightning and Thunderbolts
Menacing street fighters, up on the roll.
Exotic long forked choppers, on a smooth ply,
The rattle sound merges, with a helicopter in the sky,
It is the character, that reflects, the heart alone,
The charisma, of falling in love with, ‘Harley Davidson’.
By Pradipta Roy Choudhury
From The Transient Soliloquy
published by Notionpress
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
PRECIOUS MOMENT WITH GRANDFATHER
I had so many tender moments with my grandfather,
who passed away, sixteen days after my tenth birthday.
He showed in so many ways how much he loved me and
cared for me in little gestures that meant so much to me.
Two days ago I was talking to my eighty five year old
aunt, his last surviving child and who is so dear to me.
She told me that my grandparents loved and adored me
so much and cared about me being their first grandchild.
Ahh, it made me reminisce all those tender, sweet
moments with my grandparents during my childhood;
but most of all the most tender moment when I saw
how my grandfather looked when I was very ill.
When I was five I had a very high fever that would
not come down and the doctors could not to anything.
I was in bed for days, not able to get up and barely ate.
I could hardly move and talk that I could only open and
close my eyes and looked at everybody around me.
He always stayed with me, watched me and I saw in
his tender gazes the caring, the concern he had for me.
He never gave up and had his friend, a faith healer
or a quack doctor came to do something to save me.
I would never forget, my grandfather staying with his
friend, listening and doing what he asked him to do and
my grandfather’s faith that he would heal me for his
look of concern turned to hope that I would get well.
I saw my grandfather’s smile at the corner of his mouth
glancing at me while watching what his friend was doing
and I also wondered at that moment why I was able to see
what his friend did step by step, although I was so weak.
Suddenly, I started making slow movements and looked
at everybody and when I glanced at my grandfather, who
was smiling while talking to his friend, I saw the joy in his face
and he came beside me touching my forehead so tenderly.
6/12/21 A Tender Moment From Childhood Poetry
Malabika Ray Choudhury
Reflection - The Fragrance of Grace
Mail order catalogs seem to have the ability to procreate in my mailbox. Just when I think I have rendered them infertile they give birth to multiple sets of quintuplets right under my nose as if by magic fertilization! And, of course, I have to examine these newborn opportunities to raid my bank account just to make sure I haven’t missed some article of clothing or thing I can’t possibly live without for the survival of sanity and my eternal happiness. They are like new spring leaves!
spring sprouts in new leaves
boughs sport jackets of light green ~
chartreuse convention
A new arrival from a New England country store pictured a garden of stately purple iris that immediately grabbed my hand and took me on a ride back into my grandmother’s iris garden with delicate, yet eloquent, perfume wafting from silky petaled garden royalty.
Each page was an adventurous journey through my childhood reminiscing about miracle wrinkle erasing creams, magic bunion healers and kitchen gadgets long declared useless by technology. But, one page made me stop, drop and drool - perfumes. No nascent scents but old friends looking at me from glossy pages bringing to mind the women who gave my life definition – the Royal Secret of my grandmother; Bellodgia and Gardenia of my favorite aunts; Tigress of my tigress mother and Blue Grass, a Kentucky meadow perfume of my teens.
These remarkable women straddled fleeing decades, crushing depressions, cataclysmic world wars often suffering the unthinkable loss of infants, children, husbands, siblings and miscarriages. Yet, through their signature scents, they taught me about thanksgiving in tragedy, faith in grieving and the irrepressible iron will to live in the fragrance of grace.
harlequin bouquets
fragrance of flower’s essence ~
sunlight washed gardens
4-21-21
Contest: Moments of Reflections
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
beautiful delicate moments from my childhood ...
is when I was helping mother ... in her flower garden
father always said we were happiness digging
in the earth ... and that was true
I started
helping when I was very young
~ mother knew all the Latin names for the flowers
but, I only knew that they were purple, pink or yellow
or pretty, or yuk, I don't like that one~
I loved when we would go the garden nurseries
such an array of different flowers and colors
always something new for us to buy and plant in the garden
mother said we had to hide them somewhere
from father ...
~ often we worked all morning planting, moving or pruning
and then, we would have lunch in the shade of a tree and
father would have made the lemonade and sandwiches ~
mother had her favorites and they became mine also
one she loved was her pink peony bushes
I had never seen anything more beautiful
I always thought it was sad ithey only bloomed for a few days
father left for Heaven first and then, mother and I
lost ourselves in the garden .. it became our sanctuary
and when mother left me for 'Heaven' ...
~ well, I was shattered and broken ... but
I had the garden (until the house was sold) that is
now I have my own garden ... in honor of mother
I do it every year just for her
... and at their grave .. I have planted mother her beloved pink peony
that only blooms for a few days in summer ...
____________________
June 8, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/delicate memory
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1361-993-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, A Tender Moment From Childhood
sponsor, Malabika Ray Choudhury, Judged 07/01/2021
Ninth Place
Exemplifying jubilant triumphant life-building partnership
Sealed with remarkable intimate relationship
Around blissful freedom-bound fellowship
Upheld by care of loving leadership
Deserving loyal followership….
Such ties my Saviour through cord of sweet friendship
Nurtured by Christ upon Scriptural faith’s authorship
While I learn from His blessed mentorship
Propelling joyous faithful stewardship
Along functional fruitful discipleship…
God be praised for Psalm 23’s divine craftsmanship
inspiring my soul toward sublime worship
nourished to reach-out by sovereign guardianship
triumphing over trials upon truth’s headship…
grateful am I to the Lord* for His shepherding workmanship.
*Psalm 23:1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Inspired by “Mizmor Kaf Gimmel” (Psalm 23), the Psalm of David
Originally written in Hebrew
Translated to English by the King James Version (KJV) Bible translators in 1611
November 21, 2021
1st place, "Inspired By A Translation" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury; judged on 12/12/2021.
The following is the Hebrew text of Psalm 23
Mizmor Kaf Gimmel (Psalm 23) in English
Psalm of David, Psalm 23
1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Over eighty years ago, my father
made a miniature Model T Ford
from scratch to scale out of
paper, paint, cardboard, wire and glue.
He could cradle it in his palm
the size of a small teapot,
half globe used like a cake cover,
glossy black chassis, red trim,
a circular base of green felt.
Posing like a shiny eight ball
waiting to be struck by
our pent up kid hands.
We pined to push it across
the basement linoleum floor.
But never could.
Keeping us back was the glassy globe
and Grandmother Lil's wary warning,
"Children, look but don't touch".
Same stern voice our mother heard
many times growing up,
we knew she meant business.
So when arriving at Grandmother's,
we'd march to its stately shelf
in parochial school procession
fascinated with this classic in glass.
As little more than toddlers,
we knew nothing of the "Tin Lizzie" saga.
So impressionable was I in the 1950s,
could there be a secret world in there?
I wanted to go in. But never could.
Didn't lift that glass till my mid-forties.
By then, the model was too fragile to touch.
Like an old, dried leaf ready to crumble.
It reminded me of those snowflake globes,
if turned upside down, snow scatters.
The wonderment of my dad's deft hands,
his piercing blue eyes focused on crafting -
bending, cutting, painting, gluing each part.
Thinking of what he was thinking then.
Concentrating more, I feel his essence -
his scent, his voice, his humor, his breath.
Today, when I recall the car in the globe,
I see a tiny cosmos, a bubble much like
the one I create to protect my privilege now.
Grasping for solace in other worlds is
a childish ambition only achieved in delusion.
Through the globe, my father still speaks.
Sometimes my eyes get glassy to think of it.
2/27/20 written
A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponsor: Malaika Ray Choudhury
The greens of spring time held strong throughout the Ovens of summer. Heat waves simmered slowly.
Albeit, Autumn will arrive quietly, though purposely, kissing green into brown
090521PSCtest, Merse-Beauty Of Fall, Malabika Ray Choudhury.
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