Long Compilation Poems
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A splash of liquid…spoiled cloth…
Locked up restrooms, and someone directed,
A simple direction to a covered area…
An enclosed area where the artists were changing dresses
As they were getting ready for a show.
Inside, someone was already there, changing
I was standing, dumb and frozen,
Not knowing quite what to do…...
A silenced pause and anger were growing inside
Not sure, how to egress with that feeling.
On that rather uncomfortable moment
She stood up, a sharp, tall figure,
She told me to carry on…. with softness in her voice
I was suddenly relieved and tried to forget
That specific moment, somewhat suffocating.
Not sure why, I felt, life is a compilation
Of these insignificant, little moments,
Tiny points of recollection of memory…
Of little or no value, whatsoever.
And I felt, tremendously grateful for having a life, there.
(Source of Inspiration: The Prophet : Kahlil Gibran)
Men of learning mired are in envy,
Those of influence, proud and haughty,
As rest are ignorant,
My poems have gone gaunt,
Untold, unread, old and weary.
___________________
Translation | | poet, poem
Poet’s Note: Bhartruhari was a poet king in central India in the seventh century CE, who when disillusioned in love renounced kingdom and became an ascetic. Neeti Shatakam, a compilation of hundred verses on moral values was written by him along with Shringar Shatakam on romance, and Vairagya Shatakam on dispassion and renunciation. This verse is taken from Neeti Shatakam. It seems, even in these olden times, poetry suffered from the same fate as now--getting old unread.
Boddharah matsara-grastah prabhavah smaya-dushitah |
Abodha-upahatah cha anye jirnam ange subhashitam || 2 || Meter: Anushtup
We're so fragile, I can't even think...
My love was dear to me and to the family,
Then came the enemy—Death.
I know the day is near when Death will disappear.
We'll welcome our loved ones again.
But we'll have to wait 'till then.
Death is the wage of sin.
Yes we'll have to wait 'till then.
Death is the wage of sin.
We're so fragile, I can't even cry...
It's so unfair and most difficult to bear
Fighting thoughts and emotions that won't end.
Pray for the day God will wash tears away
And our loved ones will be in our arms again.
But we'll have to wait 'till then.
Death is the wage of sin.
Yes we'll have to wait 'till then.
Death is the wage of sin.
We're so fragile I can't even speak...
Copyright © 2003-2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Published 2005 in "A Short Compilation of Poems-Vanessa's Song" by Mark Toney
Published 2016 in "Up In Smoke-A Collection of Poems" via wattpad.com
Photo credit: Night Gift | h.koppdelaney via Foter.com / CC BY-ND
The year was ‘72; Morrison had died,
yet I felt little sorrow, for when he was in his prime,
I was a pre-teen junkie for bubble-gum rock
like the songs of Herman and his Hermits, Grass Roots, Bread
and whatever else became hot tunes on the radio.
Knowing little about Jim Morrison, I was aware of his name,
however, and was a fan of three famous songs:
“Light My Fire,” “Hello I Love You,” and “People are Strange.”
Stopping by Woolworth’s later on in ‘72,
I came upon a compilation album of the Doors
named Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine.
I had been collecting albums but never one of the Doors.
The album was a very good price, so I nabbed it!
At night I lay in bed listening to the album’s tunes,
some of which were, as the album’s name implied, indeed weird.
However, I enjoyed lifting the needle of my record player
again and again to spin on the turntable
two of my favorite songs from that album:
“Don’t You Love Her Madly” and “Riders on the Storm.”
Listening again after all these years
and knowing now what I know of Jim Morrison and his demise,
I sense the irony as I listen to the last lines
of “Riders on the Storm” -
“Girl you gotta love your man. . .”
up to this incongruous lyric: “Our Life will never end.”
May 13, 2019 for Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Writers on the Storm" Contest
What "do you see"
"What are you looking for"
"Why"
Why "do you do what you want"
You know it causes Me pain
You could be "my everything"
"Are you determined" to go it alone
"Sure" you can rely on your own wisdom
"Each" "moot" point " you" "test"
"What you want you get"
"Just know" it will never satisfy
"Ready or not" the end will come
You have a "see through heart"
Lacking the "gift of eternity"
"See where you are going"
"To you" I say, do not grasp the "final straw"
"Ready or not" "it is you"
"Oh yes" it is your choice
You can "rest in me"
"If you want it you shall have it"
"Your Treasure" is safe in my hands
"Whatever touches you" will never harm you
"You are an essay" I wish to complete
"Wisdom" can be your companion
"I live" beyond simple imaginations
"See with my eyes"
"I will guide you"
"Oh beautiful one"
"Beautiful you"
I am waiting "for you"
"Peace" is but a "breath" away
"Ask and you will receive"
"Love, Lord"
All the words in Quotes are titles from Toquyen Harrell's poems.
The mellow chords of a cello draw tears
as its bow vibrates a combo of strings.
And as that sound found its way to my ears:
it pulled on my heartstrings and clipped my wings.
The sorrowful cry of a violin
imbues empathy, felt within its pitch.
And, the moan of a bass fiddle cut in,
emphasizing its power to bewitch.
French horns, like brass thorns, both piercing and sharp,
elevate each note, and I'm left reeling.
And the lingering soft bleat of a harp,
haunts and taunts, with a heavenly feeling.
A full orchestra leaves my soul in awe:
every chord bound to the conductor's will.
Pretentious, yet artistic, like scrimshaw,
a compilation of talent and skill.
Plastic cups, filled with medicine;
Little preschool boys and girls with revelations;
I am part of the new reunion;
It's just an opinion;
Are you gonna get that purple visions of retaliations;
Kool Aid made from Nebraska;
What time is it any way?
Who canceled my New York Times paper;
NO, NO I AIN't NA ENABLER;
a fabric washed and worn over and over again until it's tattered and torn
a blade of grass, a flower in summertime burning under the sun
a pot left on the tip of the stove burning beyond over cooked charred
Sunset to dawn,
a new birth day month, year, gone
Just
The
Way
of
the
Aged
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
August 08 2014 (c)
chosen for University of Nebraska @ Omaha
Poetry to Bridge Generations Compilation
Poems for and about the Elderly
3:35
The wise shall inherit a glorious name,
But fools shall promote for themselves shame.
10:1
A wise son makes his father glad,
A foolish son makes his mother sad.
10:5
He who gathers in summer is a wise son,
But he who sleeps in harvest is a foolish one.
10:14
Wise men lay up knowledge and instruction,
The mouth of the foolish is near destruction.
12:15
A fool's way is right in his own eyes,
But a wise man will listen to advice.
13:20
He who walks with the wise shall be wise,
But a companion of fools shall be destroyed likewise.
14:3
In the foolish mouth is a rod of pride,
But the wise's lips will preserve them in their ride.
14:16
A wise man fears and departs from evil,
But a fool's rage and confidence causes upheaval.
15:2
The tongue of the wise use knowledge rightly,
But the mouth of fools pours out foolishness lightly.
21:20
The wise shall be filled with oil and treasure,
While the fool spends all for his own pleasure.
28:26
He that trusts in his own heart is a fool,
But the wise shall be delivered as a rule.
29:11
A fool utters all that's on his mind,
But a wise man guards it behind.
08.14.2020
A compilation of Wise and Fool proverbs in rhyme.
In youth, I wrote many poems of rhyme,
quatrains flowing freely on the lines.
Here and there a couplet would unwind
and on occasion quintains undefined.
As time progressed, I tried my hand
at Japanese Haiku and tanka you
but mine were plain and bland.
Soon enough came some monologues,
they are always in my head,
brandishing wild, love lustful poetry
with blank verse and ballad narratives unsaid.
Nowadays though, I think I may have settled in
with a grandiose display of my version of free verse.
But as age and loss requires and incurs
elegies and eulogies and epitaphs, the worse.
Still on occasion, a line plays out to idylls,
some kyrielles and odes.
Few limericks survive, as learned outside of school
but writing feelings, love, emotion
often lets me play both the lover and the fool.
A pastoral or deep poetic prose may still find
and shape in sonnets may reveal a deeper mind.
Hidden somewhere is a multitude of Vaasokhts
but not a single verse of love revealed
leaving many on the sidelines unknown
awaiting other compilation remaining to be shown.
Easy to please an ignorant,
Easier still, man of talent,
But too hard ‘tis a call
To please half-baked know all,
Whom, even gods of heaven can’t.
_______________________
Translation | | please, ignorant, intelligent
Poet’s Note: Bhartruhari was a poet king in central India in the seventh century CE, who when disillusioned in love renounced kingdom and became an ascetic. Neeti Shatakam, a compilation of hundred verses on moral values was written by him along with Shringar Shatakam on romance, and Vairagya Shatakam on dispassion and renunciation. This verse on fools is taken from Neeti Shatakam.
Ajnyah sukham aradhyah sukhataram aradhyate visheshajnyah |
Jnyana-lava-durvigdham brahma api naram na ranjayati || 3 || Metre: Arya