Long Common man Poems
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OF THE COMMON SEAS
"We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice." **
Truth need not be found
in philosophers' musings,
or complicated by thoughts bound
with theorems and words, fusing,
nor within the intricacies
of mathematical proofs,
as one and one may indeed
not equal two; un-truth is truth.
Truth becomes vast in life,
and like the pearl, can be found
as beauty captured, in seas rife
between the common oyster's gown,
Or found within the common leaves
of books written by common men,
discovered by those literates who read.
Truth is simple, now and ever been.
I stumbled on such a prize
In Dana's autobiography;
of common men on common seas
living truths of common humanity.
** Dana, Jr., Richard Henry, Two Years before the Mast, World Publishing Company, 1946, p. 283
1
Like a moth to a candle flame
I pondered the perceived right
of those of wealth, culture, piety and fame
to control and lead the common blight -
(the average, struggling and forsaken souls);
yet have never descended to the lowly station
to learn the culture of these earthly ghouls,
their dreams, their pleas, their damnation.
As gods atop their cloud draped mountain
how dare they, in their empiric quackery
force the masses to their impure fountain
to drink of the laws and life that they decree,
yet having not trod the tracks of the plebian path,
having never felt the sordid plebian passions,
but worshipping instead their comfort and wealth,
adorned in decadence and richly clothed fashions,
how can they govern those they do not know,
minister to anguish they have never felt
or heal their sickness of body, heart and soul?
How can they play the cards, to them never dealt?
Are they leaders, statesmen, kings and lords,
or simply counterfeit men full only of themselves,
vainglorious peacocks, strutting hordes
deceiving not a common man, only just themselves?
We have them here, in this land of the free,
politicians, preachers, corporate men and judges.
None have suffered and worked, you see
yet dare to rule, when by common men begrudged.
Form:
My Poem on Christmas
‘The Ringing Bells’
NOTE:
I have yet to shape this Poem as a Christmas Song. To do so I may have to make some changes here and there, but I am hopeful to make it later on.
If at all I get success in converting it into a Song I will let all my PS friends know about it. With Best & Warm Wishes
For a Merry Christmas & a Very Happy New Year 2015
to all poetry soup members and the team of Poetry Soup.
Ravindra K Kapoor
The Ringing Bells
I love to hear the Music
Which comes
From the ringing Bells.
When the sounds
Of Songs are sent
With each rising prayers
To Heaven.
When words travel
From Earth to Heaven
Arising from different parts of Earth
When faces blooms with happiness
And joys are celebrated.
While listening
These beautiful words like Songs
My heart began to throb
With an unknown
Joy and happiness.
I love to watch
A big Bell
Hanging in the air
When I began to imagine
The circles of its sounds
Floating and rising in the air
Where it gets mingled
With words coming from prayers
And it creates a magic
In my Music thirsty ears
And then my heart
Began to feel a thrill
Even before these sounds
Reaches high in the air.
I believe
These sounds
Coming from the ringing bells
Which floats in the air
They first try
To clean their surroundings
And the whole air
Before they reach
In the ears of God.
Even they try to clean and purify
The idle corners
Of the listener’s heart too
Which often remains empty
In want of Music and Prayers.
And then these ringing sounds
Rise high in the air
To get mixed
With the voices
From the Earth
Which comes from
The heart and soul
Of the singers and men in prayers
When they open their hearts
In the form of words
Or Prayers.
The impact of these
Mixed voices and sounds
Which comes from the rising prayers
Are often very different and deep
As it moves the God
To listen to these Songs and tunes
Coming in the form of Prayers.
Blessed are all those
Who creates such wonderful
Songs, Sounds, Tunes and Prayers
Which take the messages
Of a simple common man and women
To God
To quench the thirst
Of every
Music & God Lovers.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 24th Dec. 2014
Protected under the copyrights provisions of Poetry Soup.
Civility and Man: A Historical View
Since man began to populate the earth,
And feel the pull of Satan’s evil ways.
The angels came to teach the fallen souls:
Proposing righteous ways to live earth days.
Decorum had been taught both then and now.
Man, Adam and his wife with death had played.
The badly chosen fruit waylaid their plight.
Enlightened, but from loving God they strayed.
Significance and consequence brought death.
The mortal two began to populate.
So rules of etiquette began to grow.
And man’s new fate embraced their mortal state.
Before too long, grave envy showed its face.
And Cain did not obey the rules, as taught.
He chose a rock and struck his brother dead.
Civility was not wrought in that rock.
When Moses led his people through the sands.
And Father carved some rules upon a stone.
Uncivilized, they bickered, played, and sinned.
Respect for God and His great words had flown.
When Socrates and Plato came around,
Civility…philosophy was deep.
The Ten Commandments were the reigning rules.
And politics gave zealousness a hold.
George Washington and others wrote some rules.
These rules were social rules, not civil laws.
Civility back then meant manner’s guide.
Respecting one another, yielding self.
The hundred plus ten rules, then set in place.
Fell prey to proper conduct’s judging ways.
And judgment for their lacking could be cruel.
If down the nose one’s self-worth found a sneer.
Dear Harry Truman taught a civil dream.
Of unity within the scope of men,
Together working for the greater good.
All brothers hand in hand respecting each.
The world today is filled with hatred’s fray.
Mankind now turns away from loving ways.
The common man believes all shall be well.
Surprise! Civility is on the road to hell.
Good actions are respecters of all men.
With energy beget not violent ways.
Or great travail shall overcome mankind.
Civility to me, most surely means:
Loving one another, there and at home.
Willfully revising loveless thinking.
Rebuking darkness with the light of love.
Unity and freedom…let us ring.
United wisdom drinking of love’s well,
No longer greeting slaughter of lost hope.
But civilly, rethinking plights of man.
© Name withheld for the contest
March 21, 2010
Poetic form: Free Verse
PLEASE PRAY FOR THE WORLD AND FORWARD THIS AS INSPIRED.
A hundred years have come and gone
to what wonder and tragedies
have you belonged?
My father:
Born in the aftermath of a world at war
danced to the flappings of the twenties roar,
a time when poverty and wealth wore torn in two
when the future feared depression's loom;
just a young man filled with wide-eyed dreams in bloom
where would steps move
in the prophetic ravings?
the Dust Bowl blackened clouds with farmers braving
drowning anthems of a Star-Spangled banner still waving
and the solo flight of history
forever remains a mystery;
political isms rise in freedoms slow demise
while Hollywood reviews the movies
in truth and lies;
the end of an era welcomed in the shanty towns
as Europe recovers with a parade of suicidal clowns;
off to war drafting historic days of infamy
when bloody battles raged
as alliances filled the stage
and at last, a momentary peace was cast;
with love and hope returned again,
life was never quite the same;
distrust, cold war gloom
threatened the next generations bloom
a hated war embraced love freely,
killed in a plaza at Dealy
perhaps too easily, we gave it all away
as nuclear power paved the new day;
the power mongers rose,
wealthy and the greedy exposed
life continued for the bold,
growing rebellious children in the fold
with yet a newer fear to mold,
wars and change in the aftermath
for everyone who has lost their path;
equality returned to the open stage,
the promise of an enlightened age
but time is never stationary
and no one man is a visionary
with walls torn down and freedom's cries
history burns with false truths and lies;
drugs and saturated imaged shadows quickly return
to clouded hazy minds burned
in foggy dreams to be unlearned
and fallen heroes disappear and die
close the century with disappointment
and no magic panacea provided ointment
now at the turn of time
in the final last hurrah
a battle rages yet no one with power speaks
of the lesson taught,
history must once again,
repeat.
Seen it all
my dear father
the foolishness, the truth, and lie,
in which mankind lives and dies
the messages by which the common man exists
is only the futures that we all resist.
A musing recollection on my father's 100 birthday. 8/19/19
That Adam.
Had the pleasure to meet him.
An honest man,
faithful ... trusting, relying in God ...
He's centered!
Lives his life,
strait from the heart.
Can do the math.
Found him shreding wood today;
with his thumb.
Stands ...
right smack dab in the middle.
A common man.
Can break down a ruler by half.
Be it whatever the width, length, depth ... or height.
Lives his life full throttle ...
places himself right there in position
first thing in the morning.
Got a bum knee ...
but still ...
he hits the ground
just a running.
Knows ... life's just one big grey area!
A free for all
freefall!
Knows just when;
to pull the shoot!
Believes life's a perfect science.
He's everything but ... off kilter.
Maps his life out in his head.
Something doesn't quite figure.
Holds his head high.
Waves his white flag of surrender.
Takes it all as it comes.
Called out to me one day,
threw out his hand,
sat me down beside his confidence ...
offered me a beer!
Walked up,
started today matter of fact,
or so to speak!
Building a porch with him now.
Plan to secure it with a roof,
sealing fan ... lights,
the works.
Working-hard ...
to live in peace.
A humble man of God;
building up his simple life,
through-the-mercy-of-his-hand.
One mighty hand,
gentle, true like few
that Adam.
So-hey-man!
Me ...
wouldn't-even think to-cross-him,
because-my-friend;
I sure can respect him;
for this!
So-if-any,
there's a plan,
your betting on.
Well ...
you'd be best to have another look!
Because bud I tell you his hand ...
man it's capable!
He can level a porch,
with it too!
So if in fact,
you ever feel he smarts you ...
and were you,
to dare!
I don't know I tell you!
Take care!
"Pull the shoot" bud!
Though I just met him myself.
a good old boy I like him.
So before you get to jumping!
Friend ...
maybe you-should too!
Because to be true with you friend,
I haven't a clue.
But sure,
I'll bet you this!
Don't know what else he can do!
"Working with him today myself,
and I figure I know now ...
"he's a good man that Adam".
Many British Thermal Units needed...
To heat these lovely bag of bones
more so than required to generate clones
aging musculoskeletal physique groans
kvetching synonymous nsync with exactly
indistinguishable among where generic
garden variety alter kocker and/or like
mummified Pharaoh moans.
Hence, I will beg, borrow or steal,
as profound philosophical thinker
oh no... no... no, this
non smoking bandit, nor drinker
will explain to police officer,
that me willingly doth plead
guilty as freshly showered stinker
without spectacles yours truly
can only blinker
if nabbed do time inside
state of the art clinker,
where ample heat warms hoodwinker
covering mine rickety musculoskeletal,
while escorted to attend requisite
appointment with headshrinker.
Token Doubting Thomas here
resorts to life of
petty crime without fanfare
for this common man
dirt poor bloke who doth air
(not that anybody
will rat's a$$, nor care
a jot regarding me
squalid financial welfare),
but analogous to Scrooge
grossly dislikes Xmas time of year
not always the case, cuz as lad din
Southeastern Montgomery County
one cute little boy with
short cropped hair,
(a 'curse unbiased
opinion), aye declare
Santa Claus and shopping amidst
madding crowd no living nightmare
like today December eighteenth
tooth how sinned nineteen
bajillion people angrily glare
with livid rage expect
whistleblowing thru air
courtesy bull-let-in aiming crosshair,
whereat vendors pushing merchandise
hooping he/she can scare
up brisk business, hence
caveat emptor i.e. buyer beware
aside from aforementioned
hypothetical scenario - won't ever
occur within glorious land
of bilk and money
America, the home of the free..., where
distribution of wealth very unfair.
Yukon still enjoy of beauty,
this po' witless can bet
dollars to donuts without
spending yourself silly
garnering mountain due of debt
subsequently weeping
(think guitar coming
unstrung at every fret),
thus... ya gotta get get
aware simple pleasures
experience mindfulness, such as
zipping across globe on private jet
hobnobbing with rich and famous,
then swing by utmost secluded un convent
chin null monastery, and meet...
nun other than one cell bated abbott.
People in pain
You've got to stop thinking
that things will never change
You've got to stop thinking
that things will never change
(there's) people in pain
(there are) people in pain
They say they can't take living alone
It's torture in this place called home
(ooh)There's people in pain
(there are) people in pain
And you know (oh)
they suffer in a silence, only they can hear
but, you turn a blind eye, cause you live in fear
well, we need fellow feeling
cause, there are people in pain
there are people in pain
The bottle is his only friend
feels his future's at it's end
(ooh there's) people in pain
(there are) people in pain
And you know (oh)
tomorrows a word that they can't understand
And you know (oh)
this world gives no hope to the common man
well, we need fellow feeling
we're all people in pain
we're all people in pain
well, we need fellow feeling
we're all people in pain
we're all people in pain
John Derek Hamilton
September 15,2016
Here lies the gallon of horse’s blood
and soldier lies beneath this hope now dead,
trapped within mans sin
waiting for bayonets kiss.
In this moment of war, these seconds of time
the shadow of foe merges into one
and fate is held in mind.
The trigger or the knife?
To feel a man as blade enters his heart
can only come from hate.
The trigger is easier the civilised way
This conscience that looks on helpless foe
expected to kill, just one bloody more,
feels the cross of servants war
that Kaiser bids by heaven and crown
to give reapers charge his due.
For crown has right to heaven’s door
and empire would deny me this.
Yet my hand it does tremble
to see the eyes of England.
This soul of man with broken colours
for he is the wretch of me,
and though we speak in mother’s words,
I hear only the voice of a common man.
For language can merge this pain
and our blood will always pour both ways.
And in this moment, these seconds of war.
My German heart strokes sorrow on comrade beast,
a reminder of edelweiss days
of mountain silence and the purity of home
and a tear unites, what has been lost.
Hate and foe are gone this day,
replaced by Bucephalus blood
For here lies a noble beast.
Bucephalus blood has touched the hearts of men
this moment of war is betrayed
The soul of a soldier can walk away
and dignity is mine this day.
And as I return to comrades trench
This moment of life is all I have.
The clock of war demands the kill,
And this reservoir of blood is deep
for men are but sheep
bleating before the gun.
And bitter is the taste of Bucephalus blood
I will not shoot at you?
To waste this nature, this flower of time
Taken from the valley of life
To be spilled by blind invention
My grave will carry not your cross
For Man is not worthy of gallant charge
His mind is drowned in tomorrow’s corpse
and killing is all that is planned
For Peace lies hidden in common man,
banished to a mountain of hope
which war refuses to climb?
And the rope has taken the drop
For the many who have tried.
This war will ride on Bucephalus back,
his spirit will die alone
and Alexander will weep among the gods
as brothers fall in Flanders field,
killed by the widows rant
and anointed with Bucephalus blood.
LXII+ years old and he still carries a security blanket
Move over Linus
Van Pelt of Peanuts fame,
cuz yours truly
also psychologically lame
since prepubescence
mine noticeably long hair
delivered inner comfort,
yet found some classmates
calling me "hippy" by name
though other tormentors among them
hurled expletive laced offensive insults
even ethnic slurs much less tame.
Absolute zero
anti-bullying laws prevailed ahoy
when reasonably rhyming poet
just a little beastie boy
"mean kids" hurtful tactics
they did deploy,
though one bookish lad named Donald Hoy,
he rode the same bus as me,
and most likely practiced magic ploy
to ward off nemesis.
Impossible mission
to detangle mane reason why
I experienced omnipotent
hair reed bond neither thy
father, mother nor therapist
could understand or qualify
outsize (obsessive/compulsive)
significance well nigh
much more (hyperbolically writing)
blatantly mystifying and unsettling
versus comprehending meaning
regarding the bridge on the River Kwai,
whereat these long strands
emanating from scalp, I
imagined them extending
out into space into no fly
zone, and if adored locks threatened
with someone brandishing scissors
one puny lad would cry.
Parents did not berate,
when early within mein kampf,
no matter my mother did execrate
obsessive compulsive thoughts did instigate
long necked pencil geek son
did unwittingly irritate
analogous to Samson
(though Delilah not my mate),
I imbue power courtesy each golden lock
atop me addled sub tracked pate,
where fifty plus shades of gray matter
houses ticky tacky psyche substrate,
which doth bubble, gurgle and percolate.
Only upon taking me last breath of air
viz, when grim reaper delivers death,
I will unroll welcome me
Scottish Harris tweed mat without fanfare
(for this common man),
and just maybe allow, enable, and provide
thee opportunity for scissors
to lop off longish straggly hair
subsequently repurposed into a
security blanket ideally suited
to create creature comfort within lair
for garden variety and generic caveman,
who truth be told lives very near
yours truly in Schwenksville.
Darkness looms, even in the stariest of night.
Fears come forth attacking those with sight.
You hinder, you holler, but no one can see, what my minds eye is trying to tell me.
I myself cannot, place a finger hold.
I myself cannot, hear what is told.
I myself cannot, be ever so bold.
With shaking hands, and knotted gut,
Thoughts litter the soul, for what?
Anxieties fester, emotions run high,
Dreams or visions flying by.
What is truth, neigh it false?
Be it death or with a pulse.
Aromas, auditory signs come with;
having sight, not always a gift.
When one cannot gather what's meant to be.
Why was sight given to me?
The dead come, memories they share.
Of people I don't know, raping my mind bare.
Messages, colors, gems or smells.
Reminders that not all is well.
Nor Gods, nor demons, we understand.
Nor Angels, nor the power of the common man.
Nor past, nor future shall bestow.
Her eyes show only transverse modes.
To feel others pains, to share in their sorrows.
Makes life unbearable at times, to search for brighter 'morrows.
To keep the secrets from prying ears.
Acting normal for many years.
To bear the fruit of others labors.
Wish upon wishes, thankless favors.
"Turn to your tarot cards" my horoscope did say.
I have yet to do so, till this day.
May it be because of fear.
May it be because I don't want to hear; what spirit may speak.
May it be because I don't want to seem weak.
Black magic,
Voodoo dolls,
Fortune tellers,
See'ers of all.
Shall I choose to open the cards?
Being sure to take safeguards.
Only seek the light and love.
Only seek the information from above.
It is odd when a spirit takes hold.
As though you're not listening to what's being told.
Your body reacts in so many different ways.
JUST TELL ME ALREADY, my minds ablaze.
When unable to tell if good or bad.
Sensations have been known to drive people mad.
What ever it was has since returned.
This story is what's happening, pages turned.
Colors and whispers, they unfold.
There is something unfortold.
BUT WHAT? PLEASE JUST TELL ME?
OR OTHERWISE, PLEASE JUST LET ME BE.
~mp (copyright protected)