Long Coconuts Poems
Long Coconuts Poems. Below are the most popular long Coconuts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coconuts poems by poem length and keyword.
4.
on this spine
having a mouth of crocodile
always jump down
the climate
everyday
the sunglass changes
look at the soil and the sky
no one of them has any body-guard
the open mouth of the light
swallows the grey coin
here the wall becomes more tamed
the wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart
and hums
then ripping open my veins
should i also vomit the blue elocution
accumulated on the cock-pit
after recovery of the flower-mill from fever
the harmonium is being played on
even introduction with the gas-balloon
has not been done yet
5.
arrangements are being made
the green shirt will gradually
turn reddish
the culverts that have become exhausted
within the travel-format
will get recharged again to sit up straight
and the hawker will get passed the silent-home
shouting with undressed coconuts in hands
from the lap of the stand-still rocking-cradles
of the children-park
the amaltas will say
i’m ready
then to escape the sun-shine
the boy who comes to attend the private tuition
will embrace… oh margosa … its your pierced-heart
you may tell him that the name of the girl
who is eating guava and swinging her legs
sitting on its branch is munni
6.
the horse is running
just above 3 feet of the yellow cornice
his back is full of dreams
or a girl named miss dorothy
around it is the mid-night
around it is the wind that wants to be printed
and in every corner of its flying
are hundreds of skirts
all are of free-size
what may be their market-price
there is no shop-keeper there
in that valley
a shadow is proceeding on
do you know whose shadow it is
he is philip the teacher who gets irritated easily
this time there is no thin cane
in his hand
in the pieces of papers dumped in the waste-box
under his window there is a manuscript eaten up by the worms
there is ‘darling’ there
and ‘yours beloved greta’
in which skirt
a touch of that greta does remain
is it being searched even today
is it greta or margaret or eliza
there is no bar if it is dorothy
in whose smell there is no greta
who has no such horse flying just above three feet
of the yellow cornice
each mid-night fills the fountain pen
with the flow of blue ink
for Alan Painter
I have put into many ports
labelled:
handle with care
stood on the wharfs, bare-shouldered
up to the knee, unloading
cashew and coconuts
and then set sail again
finding no substance to trade
with
I have seen the waters rising
and the walls submerge
the roofs converge
the children washed on
the battlements
I have heard the chasm cries
Stifled under jackboots
the whimpering against walls
lost somewhere
in the hoarse
Gött mit Uns !
Come home, she cried,
strappadoed
in the lap of jettisoning tribes
Come home, my weary ones
home to toil and die
labour and sigh
curse and cry
Did he not withdraw to that
holy backwater by Milan
and with the cup of his Confessions
bathe his horrent sins away
I listened to a story
that our first quarter
remembered to tell
but the waters of the Himavant
had long curdled
in the breast
of the suttee wife
I listened long
in the myopic light
disfigured in the white heat
of our Enlightenment
to the trapped voices of inquiry
before all the mania of demigods
trumped through the weaning years
in
the delirious lust of revenge
And then, and then I
did not care what happened
what could happen
there was life
it was worth having
So I went
labelled: handle with care
Who are those people
skimming past the mortal coast
torch untouched by hand
in the drowning mists
have they no work to do
And that rope of smoke
A troubling dizziness
rising out of the funnel
of the Black Forest
where professors they say
guide the race
in the aftermath
of charred marrow
tissue
brain
Yet
I see no mists, no ghosts
No coasts, only torches
and parades and blocks and blocks
of beering beef and munition mounds
and in the not too open days
froth in the lolling oceans
and bowelling brain-splattered skies
even like unmapped sunset glories
now the Krakatua lies spent
fished out of some Japanese isle
the false auroras of enchanting horizons
when soughing metallic dust
courses through skulls
lava in an epileptic fit
(...continued in Part Two)
When you clean houses you get to see the strangest ornaments,
Some collections are a defence and a wall of armaments,
Others represent a lifetime of memories and recollections,
A wonderful improvement on memory’s imperfections.
Perhaps the strangest objects were on Mrs Karminski’s shelves.
She had roaring lions, beautiful birds and wizards and elves.
She once sat me down and explained what some of them meant to her.
“Well let’s see, This Lioness was given to me by my husband,George
It must have been around 1957.We were just married,I
only 17.I told him I was pregnant but that he didn’t have to worry
I was going to take care of it.
I knew that Mrs Comody would get rid of the baby before it
was too late. Abortion was illegal in those days and I had
to go all alone. George didn’t like that sort of thing.
George left a few months after that.
Mrs Comody must have made a mess of it because I wasn’t able
to have any children .
The lioness was for bravery I guess.
Mrs Karminski started to cry.
“Sorry about that I guess I shouldn’t have started with that one.
Well this next one is a Heron. That is a water bird. They use their
pointy beck to catch fish.
I won it in a Fair Ground in Linton. I was dating Sidney and we had
to throw coconuts at some tin cans. I managed to knock
them all over in one throw. The prize was this bird.
I really loved Sidney. Oh he was tall and handsome and rich,
but the bastard was married.
One day I opened my front door and this crazy women
through chicken’s blood all over me. Ruined a perfectly
good white dress I had on. I found out later that it
was Sidney’s wife. I never heard from him again.
The Heron reminds me of tolerating the unfaithful.
“Well this last ornament is a little Red panda. I was given this one
on my 30th birthday by my best black girlfriend Cheryl. She was a
wonderful friend. We loved each other very much. Cheryl
was bashed to death by some KKK men because she used a
White only tap in the park.
Red Panda’s are solitary bears. They choose to live life alone.
I have done that myself.
The Red Panda is for Solitude.
I guess that’s my life: Bravery, Tolerance and Solitude.
Not a bad way to live, I thought.
When you clean houses you get to see the strangest ornaments,
Some collections are a defence and a wall of armaments,
Others represent a lifetime of memories and recollections,
A wonderful improvement on memory’s imperfections.
Perhaps the strangest objects were on Mrs Karminski’s shelves.
She had roaring lions, beautiful birds and wizards and elves.
She once sat me down and explained what some of them meant to her.
“Well let’s see, This Lioness was given to me by my husband,George
It must have been around 1957.We were just married,I
only 17.I told him I was pregnant but that he didn’t have to worry
I was going to take care of it.
I knew that Mrs Comody would get rid of the baby before it
was too late. Abortion was illegal in those days and I had
to go all alone. George didn’t like that sort of thing.
George left a few months after that.
Mrs Comody must have made a mess of it because I wasn’t able
to have any children .
The lioness was for bravery I guess.
Mrs Karminski started to cry.
“Sorry about that I guess I shouldn’t have started with that one.
Well this next one is a Heron. That is a water bird. They use their
pointy beck to catch fish.
I won it in a Fair Ground in Linton. I was dating Sidney and we had
to throw coconuts at some tin cans. I managed to knock
them all over in one throw. The prize was this bird.
I really loved Sidney. Oh he was tall and handsome and rich,
but the bastard was married.
One day I opened my front door and this crazy women
threw chicken’s blood all over me. Ruined a perfectly
good white dress I had on. I found out later that it
was Sidney’s wife. I never heard from him again.
The Heron reminds me of tolerating the unfaithful.
“Well this last ornament is a little Red panda. I was given this one
on my 30th birthday by my best black girlfriend Cheryl. She was a
wonderful friend. We loved each other very much. Cheryl
was bashed to death by some KKK men because she used a
White only tap in the park.
Red Panda’s are solitary bears. They choose to live life alone.
I have done that myself.
The Red Panda is for Solitude.
I guess that’s my life: Bravery, Tolerance and Solitude.
Not a bad way to live, I thought.
When you clean houses you get to see the strangest ornaments,
Some collections are a defense and a wall of armaments,
Others represent a lifetime of memories and recollections,
A wonderful improvement on memory’s imperfections.
Perhaps the strangest objects were on Mrs Karminski’s shelves.
She had roaring lions, beautiful birds and wizards and elves.
She once sat me down and explained what some of them meant to her.
“Well let’s see, This Lioness was given to me by my husband,George
It must have been around 1957.We were just married,I
only 17.I told him I was pregnant but that he didn’t have to worry
I was going to take care of it.
I knew that Mrs Comody would get rid of the baby before it
was too late. Abortion was illegal in those days and I had
to go all alone. George didn’t like that sort of thing.
George left a few months after that.
Mrs Comody must have made a mess of it because I wasn’t able
to have any children .
The lioness was for bravery I guess.
Mrs Karminski started to cry.
“Sorry about that I guess I shouldn’t have started with that one.
Well this next one is a Heron. That is a water bird. They use their
pointy beck to catch fish.
I won it in a Fair Ground in Linton. I was dating Sidney and we had
to throw coconuts at some tin cans. I managed to knock
them all over in one throw. The prize was this bird.
I really loved Sidney. Oh he was tall and handsome and rich,
but the bastard was married.
One day I opened my front door and this crazy women
threw chicken’s blood all over me. Ruined a perfectly
good white dress I had on. I found out later that it
was Sidney’s wife. I never heard from him again.
The Heron reminds me of tolerating the unfaithful.
“Well this last ornament is a little Red panda. I was given this one
on my 30th birthday by my best black girlfriend Cheryl. She was a
wonderful friend. We loved each other very much. Cheryl
was bashed to death by some KKK men because she used a
White only tap in the park.
Red Panda’s are solitary bears. They choose to live life alone.
I have done that myself.
The Red Panda is for Solitude.
I guess that’s my life: Bravery, Tolerance and Solitude.
Not a bad way to live, I thought.
In a dismal old fashioned cell at our ancestral home,
Wherein coconuts, new and old, heaped like a hillock dome;
Kid-butterflies, we're often asked to pick some for curry,
Finding phantom-forms we ran as scared as rabbit bury...
Ghosts of the dead, cloud-looking, appear before the living,
Like quirky grey fogs, smokes, or polar creatures, fear-filling!
Great buffets - Necromancy holds - of hosting for the ghosts;
Thirst of restlessness of souls could be quenched- animism boasts...
My logician friend, at the name of ghosts, like thunder, laughs,
Scared, like a mouse, at celluloid ghosts; impulsively coughs!
My alienist neighbor mocks at the poor ghost-affected;
He, in anger, shouts and yells, like a spirit-infected...!
Returning home from Saint Jude Shrine, my grandpa narrated,
Ghost - a monstrous muddy vulture - flew after me, dread spread!
Helpless, like a lost, at that odd hour of snoring slumbers,
I genuflected; made signs of the cross, countless in numbers...
Ghosts got into human beings, like, termites in the wood,
Jesus, chasing them away, their cruel power, withstood;
He worked, as on war-time haste, erasing, greatest evils,
Did the traditions allow him to nail down true devils?
Merchants and money-makers bake ghosts- cakes and sell gently,
Spreading tales on ghost-havocs, they hoax humans kindly;
Holocausts, burnt offerings, and slaughters they delight in,
Cannibalism, for ghosts-sake, in their eyes is not a sin...
Fire-walking, hooking the flesh, live animal wedding,
Cow-trampling, hanging in the air on hooks, hand-hair plucking...
Goety, Bruja, Lamia, incantation, witchcraft...
Aren't all such mountainous magic and myths great ghosts-updraft?
Phasmophobia, like death-knell, is a fright alarm,
Like illness of body, it hurts the spiritual realm;
An equilibrium of body, mind, spirit, and soul,
Could free us from false fears, molding us integrally whole...
Humans are ghost-angel amalgamation in nature!
Loving and hating themselves and every common creature!
Each thought, word, and action can turn into a ghost in life!
When morals derail from the tracks of existential strife!
17 October 2021
(Missed the Contest)
If my lifevest were a donut that floated, I could float and eat happily for a week.
I was alone amid the choppy sea, baking under a watchful hot sun -
Near me were scary fins; they stayed close but had not yet attempted to bother
me.
I drifted on the tubular float, my feet barely in waves.
I saw in the distance a floating wood dock…
Or maybe it was the smallest little island I had ever seen, only with no trees or
shrubbery. I could not tell.
By and by I drifted closer…
And spotted a most unblemished figure standing alone with long flowing hair,
long legs and bronzed buttocks to be sure, tanned coconuts by her feet. That
much I discerned.
I floated and bobbed on my donut tube and hoped that I might float to her and her
happy dock –
Two fins specifically came closer.
Silver gray looming primeval fins slicing thru the water more pronounced and
curious than the others, seemingly purpose-driven –
The woman with coconuts on a level dock waved to me.
She then signaled to me in warning that there were sharks in the water [as if I did
not know]. I was only in seven feet of water -
Red coral reefs were around me below the sharks…but it was to me perhaps the
most beautiful inviting water in all the world.
Even with these awesome man-eaters . . .
I was closer to the dock now. Fifty meters. I was sure of it! I wanted to rip off the
vest and make a quick marathon swim to the girl – I did not think I could make it.
My lips were chapped and my skin (hot from sun, wind and tropical haze) hurt
badly and peeled, floating into the island air and into green waves. My skin.
I thought my skin was stinging, but . . .
Something pulled at my foot. Burning pain crippled me. A fluorescent jellyfish had
stung me.
When I looked up, there was no woman on the dock. But still the goddamned
fins -
I splashed in quick turning circles to try and find her, this woman on the dock,
goddess, figment of my imagination…whatever.
I saw more fins, the same fins, but no girl.
Then, lo, there was splashing. The girl was swimming to me . . .
When at last splashing ceased, and I was calm, I noted a warm easy wave come
over me
Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari) of Tamil Nadu,
Might be copious of the core concept called Xanadu;
Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea,
Amalgamate and mingle here, like mermaids, full of glee...!
Treasures of silver, gold, and gemstones within oceans lay,
Sea gods and goddesses; ghosts and angels; live here, they say;
The sun, like a pendulum pushed from the sea, rises up,
Descends and disappears, like a kicked ball, before we sup...!
The southernmost part of the Indian nation is this,
Men and women of many religions live here in bliss;
Temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, and palaces antique,
Exhibit their inter-religiosity, unique...!
We don't have the Angel Fall, but a few falls we have here,
Young and old, at leisure times, play within them full of cheer;
Nature has made her paintings, lo, with green woods and forests,
Lullabies of little birds and beasts, never find a rest...!
Coconuts, Arrack nuts, spices, and tapiocas grow,
Bananas of varieties put up their fresh fruit show;
Goods trading we do; fish in terms of fresh tapioca,
We share, our simple love, in cups of coffee or cocoa...!
Jewelry, stone carvings, cane work, lace work, metal casting,
Needlework, sculptures, and sea shell crafts go everlasting;
Coral grass mats, palm leaf designs, cane, and bamboo caudex,
Jute-based handicrafts and we have so fine fiber products...!
A dialect of Tamil-mix Malayalam we chant,
Though our mother tongue is classical Tamil known so grand;
Kalial, Bow Song, Karagam Dance, and Kathakali,
We carry on our cultural heritage zealously...!
Rice, tapioca, coconut, seafood, legumes, lentils,
Mangos, bananas, and jacks are our food fundamentals;
Fishing flourishes; and farming into the inner land,
Toddy-tapping and rubber rearing too go hand in hand...!
Though our innate quality is love mixed with purity,
Modernity, no doubt, has brought in insecurity...!
Trust in the divine and love for nature, yet, make us grow,
Inspiring us beyond the oceans, and the skies to go...!!!
22 May 2023
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
My Carolyn and I, on Plymouth Hoe we stand
To leave this shire of Devon, to far distant lands
Our desire to leave, and this change in our lives
There's a future out there, for me and my new wife
As I look down on the harbour, at these ships of grand
To be honoured and trusted, my voyage of command
Tomorrow we sail, to the South Seas and beyond
My crew and I, in dutiful naval respond
Even before we set sail, a hurricane did brew
At first we met calm seas, if only we knew
For as we headed south, Atlantic waters churned
Yet still my Highlander's passion in my heart burned
A tsunami grew on the eastern horizon
Would we reach our Caribbean island?
The huge water mass approached and toppled our ship
But James' strong arms ensured that we remained adrift
Tossed and battered, in the midst of her rage
Spewed onto the shore, our bodies and sands engage
Weathered and ashen, we arise in the sun
Deserted and beached, a new day has begun
We view our surrounds, in search of a haven
To collect our thoughts, now in survival craving
It's been many weeks, as we have formed an alliance
Our deserted island called home, in total compliance
A thatched roof he has crafted, shelter from the storms
On this palm-filled beach, two survivors are born
My sweet Highlander climbs and shakes coconuts free
He forages through jungles, brings meat to me
I crafted a spear and have caught many a fish
Whatever I cook, he says it's his favorite dish
When falling sun brings colorful skies, we cuddle
We embrace where nature's other creatures huddle
It's been many many years, on this island of ours
Living with nature, our most wonderful neighbours
We awoke one morning, to see a ship offshore
I turned to my Carolyn, with emotions galore
Do we stay here in paradise, or leave for new lands
It's what we intended, being deserted was not planned
Our signals in tune, we declare to prepare
What we have learnt here, the world needs to share
Form:
Island of fantasy
No swim wear on Bikini Island after all those testing years
waiting for the hidden radiance to…stop this is reality
I need to escape from where into what or do I when
one flash and blip in the history of time and my projections…
So here it is the nude beach stripped from another reality
granting a moment here or then stranded in magic another truth
in the loops and coconuts circuiting in the mind grapes hanging low
sweet and sour Me Robin’s son Friday or not…forever and another splendour
Essence food and shelter in abundance too much too plenty so
I’d rather bring a friend my lover soul-mate curvaceous sparkling
inspiration expiration joined in motion rhythm rhyme sequential
horizontal upright teasing poet tree in motion exploding fusing solitude
Cinnamon bark and musky flavour salt of the ocean chilli peppers
soul on soul skin on skin soul on skin intermingling penetration
of ideas creation words artistic dependent independent work in progress
giving taking heading truthful tongues lips balsam for the sun and tanning life
Books and poetry are also intimate wise companions mentors faithful fellow friendly
fire water earth and aerial dreams conjectures built up climax rest regeneration
and I suppose we like to write our own of rainbows thunder lightning comets
starlight moonshine distant proximity close by far away lands in kindness loving
Lotus flowers in perfusion fragrant storms meditating torrents stillness for
the mediation stories lived experience speaking hearing narrative exploration
where they rest on beauty interwoven follicles frolicking whims of nature nurtures
exude petals inner peace and outer seminal gentle epitome of sensual wisdom reason
But wait...why search on other ocean’s tide lines why run away from what there is
the island carol coral reefs and rainy forest dew in sunshine sweet perfume of life...
the envelope of brightness togetherness carnal mingling intellectual fulfilment
is here right here when we beam out from fantasy and run from insular fight or flight
06th June 2016